From: nakazawa@girtab.usc.edu (Rei Nakazawa) Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: "He Is Risen" Part 3 Date: 24 Apr 1994 17:22:51 -0700 Organization: University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA Message-Id: <2pf2gr$abu@girtab.usc.edu> References: <474.199404241455@lily.csv.warwick.ac.uk> Okay, where are you? I've only seen two responses, positive or otherwise, to this whole thing! What do you think? That's why I'm posting this, after all. This is not to slam those who HAVE written (and I'll write back to you people if only to thank you and ask about your opinions), but I'm getting a little lonely here! Tomorrow's my birthday; a message of encouragement and/or constructive criticism will probably be the best present total strangers can give me! At any rate, my standard opening remarks, and we'll get on with this. (it's shorter than the other parts, but I'm sure you can find SOMETHING to say about the whole thing...) I welcome any and all comments/constructive criticism; that's what I'm here for, after all. If I get enough thumbs-up, I'll be posting other stories, though I'll leave a decent break... I'll be going home May 7 or so, but I'll try to keep up via modem every once in a while. As for me, I hope to be doing this for quite a while. I'll keep on doin' this as long as others are and/or as long as the readership is out there... As I said before, if Star Trek can last so long, why not this newsgroup? ("not" was miswritten as "now" in my last post. I mention this just to clear up any confusion...) And now, the conclusion... Dr. Brewster watched Sam leave. He bit his lip as he tapped a pen on his desk in thought. Finally he came to a decision. The situation was all too clear. It was now or never. He grabbed his raincoat and rushed out of the office. "Ms. Reynolds, I'm not feeling very well, so I'm quitting early." Before the startled receptionist could answer, he was out the door. The police station was almost empty, and dead quiet. The sheriff looked around the small office. Only one deputy was on duty, and things promised to be quiet. He decided that he could probably leave and not arouse too much fuss. But first he had to figure out if what he was doing was really right. After all, there was a lot he didn't know about. Finally he grabbed his slicker and headed out the door. The deputy didn't look up from his paper even as the door slammed shut behind his boss. Dexter Owens took another deep drink from the whiskey bottle he had kept in his desk for just such an emergency. He knew he had nothing to worry about; what could Jake prove? Yet he was nervous. He ran over his plans in his head. If there was even the slightest flaw, he could be blackmailed, or worse, arrested. But he was in way too deep to back out. He could almost feel the walls closing in on him. Taking one final draught from the bottle, he capped it, put it back in his desk drawer, and hurried out of the office. Stacey Andrews paced about the room. The road to happiness seemed clear now. So why did she feel so miserable? Was it because she knew that she had selfishly ruined her life, her husband's life, her daughter's life? She loved Ray, there was no doubt about that. Yet she knew that she still had strong feelings for Jake. And a divorce would lead to a revelation of the affair, which would devastate everyone involved. She could see no way to extract herself without hurting those close. Wait, maybe there was one way. It was desperate, but she was desperate. Lucky they owned two cars. She grabbed her car keys and ran out of the house, oblivious of the rain. Jennifer Andrews squealed in delight as she splashed through the large puddles in front of her school. Even as she did so, her eyes darted up and down the street urgently for any sign of her ride. A familiar car drove up to the curb in front of her. The driver leaned over and rolled down the window. "Oh, hi!" Jenny said brightly, despite the fact that she was shivering and soaked to the bone. "I thought Daddy was going to pick me up." "Well, he can't make it, so he asked me to get you home." "Great!" She hopped into the car, which silently drove away. "Jenny?" The call echoed through the empty house as Sam ran in. "Stacey?" No answer. Just as there was none at the school when Sam finally remembered that he had to pick up "his" daughter. She wasn't in the school building, and her friends remembered someone picking her up, but they couldn't see who. An electronic beep signaled Al's arrival. "Sam, we've got to talk!" "Al, Jenny and Stacey are gone!" Sam shouted desperately, without giving Al a chance to speak. "I think they may be in trouble." "Forget them for a second. It's you that's in trouble!" Al waved his cigar in Sam's face in near panic. "What?" Sam's ears snapped to attention, but he was still focused on his search. He headed up the stairs two at a time. He wrenched open the door to Stacey's room. The stuffed animal, pink wallpapered, Elvis postered room was empty. Sam started as Al "zapped" in in front of him. "Ziggy found the death certificate, Sam! It's dated September 22!" "The 22nd?" Sam thought for a second. "That's today!" Al nodded urgently. "So that means that Jake Andrews does die." "And he dies today!" Sam stopped, rubbing at his chin reflexively, even though the action was alien to him. Probably a holdover from Jake Andrews. "What time does he die?" Al punched the question into his hand link. "According to the coroner's report, he dies around seven thirty p.m." Sam looked at his watch. Six fifty-nine p.m. He began to think furiously. Why? That was the main question. Why was Jake Andrews killed? There were at least two good motives. But were they strong enough to commit murder? The hall phone rang with a harshness Sam had never noticed before. He and Al exchanged glances, and, zombie like, Sam walked down the stairs and towards the hall table on which the white Princess telephone rested. He gingerly picked up the receiver, as if afraid it would explode at his touch. "Hello?" "Daddy?" came the terrified female voice. "Jenny?" Sam shouted. "Where are you?" "I'm at the church! Daddy, help m-" The dull dial tone rang through Sam's ears. He dropped the receiver back onto its cradle. "Jenny's in trouble! I've got to go to the church!" As he rushed out the front door, he barely heard Al shout. "Sam, no! According to Ziggy, that's where Andrews' body was found!" A lightning bolt struck a nearby oak tree as Sam drove into the churchyard. The same gloomy cemetery headstones Sam remembered from the previous day were even gloomier thanks to the darkness and rain. The church was ablaze in light, the stained glass window casting multi-colored panels across the lawn as Sam jumped out of the car and ran up the hill toward the church. He ripped open the doors. The place was lit, but silent. His footsteps rang hollowly throughout the building as Sam cautiously made his way down the center aisle. He could barely make out two shapes huddled in front of the altar. Concerned, he speeded up his pace a bit, but still on full alert. But the church remained quiet and, as far as Sam could see, empty. Al suddenly appeared near the shapes. "Sam! It's Jenny and the priest! They're breathing, but they're knocked out or something!" He looked up and gasped. "Sam! Look out!" Instinctively, Sam ducked. He heard the "whiff" of a long, heavy object swinging above him. Sam twisted around. A panting Raymond Brewster stood behind him, holding a long piece of lead pipe in his hands. "You've got to die, Jake! Stacey loves me! But you just will not let go!" With a primal scream, he rushed as Sam. A quick spin kick caught Brewster in the chest, sending him staggering back. Sam stood at the ready, hands raised in defense. Brewster stood back up and rushed him again. This time Sam kneed him in the stomach as he drew close, then gave a hard chop to the back of Brewster's neck, knocking him to the floor. Sam stood, prepared to fight again, but Brewster lay still. Sam relaxed and heaved a sigh of relief. "Whew. That was something, Sam." But Sam was silent as he turned and walked toward Jenny and the priest, still unconscious. Al read his hand link screen. "Well, I guess that's that. Now Jake... still dies?" Al looked toward Sam in confusion. "Sam!" Too late. A hollow clang rang through the air as Brewster slammed the lead pipe across the back of Sam's head. Now Sam was floored as Brewster grabbed his shoulders and dragged him toward the door. "You just wouldn't stay buried, would you, Jake? Now I'm gonna make sure you stay dead!" Brewster seemed to ignore the rain as he pulled Sam outside. Al followed, shouting. But Sam did not stir. Brewster finally stopped in front of a large pit. Al looked at the tombstone at the head of the hole. "'Jake Barton Andrews'? Hey, this is the place!" Apparently, the grave Sam was to have been buried in hadn't been filled in yet. Brewster opened a coffin he had put outside earlier and heaved Sam inside. He slammed the lid in satisfaction. Al's head passed through the lid as he leaned into the coffin. "Sam! Wake up! Sam!!" But still he did not stir. "You shouldnUt have pushed us. You just shouldnUt have pushed us, Andrews!" Al watched helplessly as Brewster pushed the coffin into the grave. The doctor laughed again as he began shoveling mud into the hole. Suddenly, Brewster's whole form was suffused with light. A car had driven up, and the driver's side door opened. Stacey ran outside, her raincoat pulled tight over her body. "Ray? Wha-why did you want me here?" Brewster grinned in satisfaction. "He'll stay buried this time, Stacey. And we can be together!" "What are you talking about?" "What do you think he's talking about?" Al shouted, though neither could hear. "Y-you have Jake down there?" Brewster nodded quickly as he continued shoveling dirt. She grabbed his arm. "Stop that! Don't do this, Ray!" Brewster turned on her with the shovel, an angry light in his eyes. "Stacey! He deserves to die! He was going to keep me away from you! Once I finish burying him, we'll finally be married!" Stacey stared at him numbly. Brewster's expression darkened. "You still love him, don't you? Don't you?!" Stacey backed away, shuddering. "One word, and you join your husband down there, you understa-" Next thing Stacey knew, Brewster pitched forward to the ground, knocked out cold. Sam, stained with mud from head to toe, stood over the fallen form. Carefully, he stepped over the doctor and sat next to his wife, who had fallen to her knees. "You sure you want me to touch you?" Sam joked weakly as he put one mud soaked arm around her. Stacey laughed softly. "You know, I just remembered why I married you. Your sense of humor. And your perfect timing." She looked up at him with eyes shining with a light that Sam had never seen. At that moment, the rain stopped. A single ray of moonlight punched through the clouds and illuminated Jake Andrews's tombstone. The two stared at it. "Looks like the rain's stopped," Sam observed. "Yeah." She and Sam held each other for a minute, shivering. Finally, she couldn't hold it in any longer. She gripped Sam in a tight embrace, oblivious to the mud that stained her coat. "Oh God, Jake, I love you!" she sobbed. Sam looked over her shoulder towards Al, who simply looked up from the hand link and said softly, "Sam, you did it." Sam smiled, feeling warm despite the cold. And he Leaped. "Willie?" The voice seemed to come out of nowhere; it was so dark. Then again, Sam's eyes were closed. Sam could feel his back reclining against a wooden wall that rocked severely, a somehow familiar rattling echoed throughout what sounded like an empty room. Sam opened his eyes, but the darkness didn't get much better. There was only a slight ray of light slipping through a crack in the opposite wall. As his eyes became adjusted to the darkness, Sam could see a boy shaking him. He had wide blue eyes, short cropped blonde hair, and a backpack slung around his shoulder. "Willie! C'mon, we're almost there!" He went over to the crack, stuck his fingers into it, and pulled. A loud groaning noise rang through Sam's ears as the place flooded with sunlight. In the new light, the room seemed to be a large wooden box, which it was. As Sam got up and tentatively approached the newly opened door, he saw trees tear by at a dizzying rate. He looked toward the ground, at gleaming metal rails. "We're on a train," Sam croaked under his breath. "Hey, don't forget your pack!" The boy pointed to a large backpack lying in a corner. As Sam went over to the corner and got the pack, the boy suddenly shouted, "Hurry up, or I'll go on without you!" And he jumped! Sam gasped and ran to the door. "Hey, are you all right?" Suddenly, he found himself barely balanced at the edge of the door. His arms windmilled in a desperate attempt to keep his balance. It failed. "Ooooooohhhh..." He saw the ground, still rushing along at some insane speed, rise very quickly to meet him. "...boooooyyyy!!!" So, what do you think, sirs? Shall I go on with this?