Chapter One
As Steve left the apartment, ensuring the door was locked behind him, he pulled his thick parka closer to his body. A blustery wind had been blowing all day, rattling the leafless trees like skeletal bones in the dim afternoon light. It was December in Maine and darkness was setting in earlier and earlier each day. He inhaled the frigid air deeply through his nose. The air carried the smell of impending snow, an aroma that you can only distinguish as a long time resident of the great white north as it is sometimes called. Steve Cross fit that description. The Cross side of the family had lived in Maine ever since they’d gotten off the boat from England. They had started as a fishing and farming family in coastal Maine, but as these industries became more commercialized the family had gradually moved inland. Steve’s father had actually grown up in Portland, Maine, but had moved to Augusta to take a job with a renowned law firm. Thomas Cross started his family and moved to the suburbs. He was now a senior partner at the firm and had expected that his son to follow in his footsteps. Steve enrolled at The University of Maine in the pre-law program, but during his first semester of freedom decided that he was more interested in the life of a starving artist and had switched to the Creative Writing program. His father never failed to express his disappointment in this decision every time Steve came home. He often stated there were enough failed writers in the world without Steve adding one more. Despite his father’s trepidation Steve enjoyed the studies and was determined to prove his father wrong. In one of his first creative writing classes he’d met Butch. They worked together on an assignment which had gotten published in the campus literary magazine and though they’d just met they felt as if they’d been life long friends.
Steve was done with class for the day and only finals week separated him from a four week winter break and then his final semester at the university. He hopped into his car and headed to the coffee shop where his roommate Butch was working that afternoon. Traffic was beginning to pick up on the roads winding through Orono, but he made good time pulling up in front of the building with a few minutes to spare. He eased into a parking spot in the gravel lot behind the building and waited in the idling car. After a few minutes he saw Butch leave through the back door of the coffee shop, look both ways and then cross the lot, his breathe a visible cloud from his mouth. He had two steaming cups of coffee in his hand and Steve had to lean across the passenger’s seat to open the door for him.
“Thanks for picking me up,” Butch said as he sat down heavily in the vehicle.
He handed one of the cups to Steve and set his down in the cup holder. The aroma of the coffee filled the interior of the small car making it smell like a Starbucks. Steve opened the plastic top and took a sip. The hot, black coffee instantly warmed his entire body and was delicious.
“What kind is this?” Steve asked.
“It’s a new Sumatran that we just got in. It’s supposed to be a big seller, but no one was buying it today so I thought I’d bring you some and see what you thought,” Butch smiled as he spoke. “Now can we turn up the heat in this bad boy and get moving? I’m freezing.”
Steve reached over and turned a knob on the console and the fan kicked loudly into gear, ejecting hot air from the vents. Steve turned the vents that were pointed at him on his roommate and set the coffee cup in the second cup holder before shifting the car into drive and pulling out of the parking lot, gravel crunching noisily beneath the car’s tires.
Butch was still shivering beneath his thin jacket. Unlike Steve he was not a lifelong Maine resident. He’d moved up from Arizona to go to school. As a final act of teenage rebellion when it came time to apply for schools he had made it a point to find a major college that was geographically as far as possible from his family. Hawaii was not a possibility so he had decided on the University of Maine at Orono. At the time it had seemed like a good decision, but he regretted it every winter, which usually began in early November and didn’t end until late April. He often flew back to Arizona for long breaks from school, but this year he had decided to stay in Maine and work. He was a semester from graduating with a Bachelor’s degree in creative writing and he and Steve had long been talking about collaborating on a writing project. Butch was not the name that he had been born with; he’d been cursed by his father with the name Harold Hartline. Not only was he named Harold, but he was Harold Hartline the Fourth. In middle school he had decided that he would be Butch going forward, but deep down he knew that when he had a son he was going to name him Harold as well.
“Where are we headed?” Butch asked, looking out the window and seeing that snow had begun to spit from the clouds.
“In celebration of finals week I thought we could have dinner at Sam’s and then go to Rita’s for a couple of drinks,” Steve replied, quickly glancing from the road to his passenger to gauge his reaction.
“Sounds good. You buying?”
“Me? You’re the one who has the nearly finished novel back at the apartment. I think the next Tom Clancy should pick up the tab,” Steve joked.
“Actually it’s a finished novel and it’s more Stephen King than Tom Clancy,” Butch replied, continuing to stare out at the ever darkening evening.
*
Sam’s was a pizza place and local hang out for the college crowd. It was packed just about every evening and had been that way for almost thirty years. The original owner had since passed away, but his son and daughter-in-law had now taken over the business. Steve and Butch were seated at a table on the upper floor. The lower floor which had formerly been used for food storage had now been converted into another dining room. It had its own bar and food was often delivered to the wait staff via an ancient looking dumbwaiter on one wall. Weekend nights a band usually played, but no one had been booked for tonight.
The two young men were looking at the menu, though they were sure they already knew what they were going to get. Steve set the greasy, plastic two-pager down and took a sip of his beer.
“What can I get you?” a female voice asked, causing Steve to turn quickly in her direction.
The waitress was a cute brunette with a smile whiter than he imagined possible. She had an order pad in one hand and pen in the other waiting on their response. Steve continued to look at her without replying. Butch, as always, came to the rescue.
“Please excuse my friend here, Lori,” Butch began, reading her name from the name tag she wore on the left side of her white top. “He’s an exchange student and doesn’t speak much English.”
The waitress smiled at the joke as Steve punched his roommate square on the shoulder.
“We’ll have a pepperoni pizza, extra pepperoni. And a double order of hot wings,” Steve said and then handed the menu to her. Butch did the same.
“The Buffalo hot wings or the Insanity wings?” she asked, tucking the menus under her arm.
Steve looked at Butch who shrugged.
“Let’s give insanity a try,” he said.
“Ranch or blue cheese?”
“Both please,” Butch replied.
He knew that Steve would only ask for ranch and then he’d be forced to have the waitress make an extra trip to bring him the only dressing worthy of dipping wings in. The young lady finished jotting down the notes of their order and asked if either of them needed another beer. They both declined and waited for their food. It didn’t take long for Lori to return with a tray containing the pizza in one hand and a large basket of sauce-drenched wings in her other. She placed the wings down first on the table’s edge and then set the pizza down in the center.
“Can I get you two anything else?” she asked, flashing her impossibly white smile at the both of them.
“He’ll take your phone number,” Butch said grinning at Steve.
“Maybe if he tips well enough I’ll give it to him,” Lori replied with a wink.
Butch and Steve watched her walk away and then laughed.
“You heard her,” Butch remarked. “You’d better leave a big tip.”
And when the meal was done that’s exactly what he did.
*
The night had gone from incredibly cold to just plain frigid while they had been in Sam’s and then made the short walk to Rita’s. Rita’s was not the typical night club, but was a perfect fit for this college town. It was a two story building with a basement which had recently been converted to allow patrons more room. The building had had many incarnations since it was first erected in the sixties as an apartment building including housing a law office and accounting firm and more recently a small Mexican restaurant. They still served food, but specialized in typical bar food including burgers and fries, nachos, and wings. The students and former students that flocked here on weekends were not there to sample the cuisine; however, they were there for the alcohol of which Rita’s seemed to have an endless supply. Most nights they had a full time D.J. who also doubled as a bartender when he wasn’t playing music. Every other Friday a local band would take the stage and on the third Saturday of each month the owner would bring in a band from Boston to treat the loyal patrons. Butch and Steve entered the crowded bar and realized that their hope of finding a table was slim. They flashed their I.D.s at the man watching the door and held out their hands to get stamped, proving their age. They weaved through the people talking loudly to each other over the music until they’d managed to reach the bar. The young man and woman who were tending bar seemed overwhelmed, but managed nicely. It didn’t take long before both Butch and Steve had a beer in hand and began to scan the room for available seating or at least a place to stand that was out of the way. They were about to give up hope when they heard the voice.
“Steve, over here,” a melodic voice called from across the room. Both Butch and Steve turned in that direction to spot two girls sitting at a high topped table and signaling for them to come over.
“We’re saved,” Butch said and patted his friend on the back. “Thanks to you, Casanova.”
Steve only laughed as the two walked toward the table. He only vaguely knew the two women, but had obviously made a good impression. “It’s a good night to be me,” he said more to himself than anyone else.
“What was that?” Butch asked and turned toward him.
“Nothing,” Steve said.
The snow which had been coming down slowly, but steadily had accumulated to almost two inches and made the sidewalk feel slick beneath their feet. Steve was already unsteady on his feet as they walked to the car and the slippery conditions did nothing to help him. The two girls he knew from school had bought him shots which he’d felt obliged to drink and was now suffering the consequences of.
“Toss me your keys!” Butch demanded. “You’re drunk.”
Steve hesitated and opened his mouth to voice an objection, but at that very moment he lost his footing on the slippery sidewalk and had to use the car to keep from hitting the ground in a heap. He scrambled to his feet and realized then that, like himself, his objections would have no traction and tossed the keys to his roommate.
The drive to their apartment was around two miles and under normal circumstances would have taken just about fifteen minutes, but tonight’s circumstances were anything but normal. The snow that had already fallen was covering a thin skin of ice. The snow was coming down more heavily now and it made visibility almost non-existent. Butch drove slowly in order to account for the slick driving conditions. As he turned from the main roads the street lights became fewer and the road which had been brightly lit was now thrust into mostly darkness. He rounded a corner and saw a deer as it leapt from the left side of the road. He slammed his foot down on the brake in an attempt to avoid hitting the animal, but caused the car to skid on the icy road. Still being very new to winter driving he was not familiar with the mantra of turning into the skid and in a few seconds the car was sliding out of control for the side of the road. Steve tried to grab for the wheel, but in his intoxicated state his reactions were too slow. Butch threw his hands up in front of his face in an attempt to shield it. The car careened into a small ditch and toward the trees which lined the road in any place that there were no houses. A large pine was in their path and the car hit it directly, crumpling the front end of the vehicle. The air bags deployed, but Steve’s head had hit the side window with so much force that the glass cracked and he was instantly thrust into blackness too thick for him to escape.
*
Steve sat in a hard used chair in the living room of the apartment that he had until recently shared with Butch. It had been two weeks since the accident and he still felt both the physical and the emotional pain it had left behind. He kept thinking about that night. If he hadn’t had too much to drink he would’ve been the one driving and maybe the accident wouldn’t have even happened. Or if it had he and not Butch would’ve been the one to die. Butch had so much to live for. He had his family in Arizona and what promised to be a successful writing career ahead of him. He’d even just recently started dating a sorority girl. She was two years behind him in school, but he would have stayed around until she graduated if they lasted. He was a natural writing talent with a manuscript written and ready to be marketed to publishers. The words seemed to flow so effortlessly when he sat at the keyboard, something that Steve was constantly jealous of. He on the other hand struggled for hours, wrestling with each and every sentence. He was still busy revising short stories and sending them out to magazines only to get rejection letters a month later.
Steve looked around the small room at the cardboard boxes he’d been filling with Butch’s things. His body had been sent to Arizona for burial. Steve had been invited to the funeral, but hadn’t attended. He felt that he was not ready to accept the finality of seeing Butch’s body laid to rest and he knew that he wasn’t ready to face his family. They seemed disappointed with his decision, but he knew that it was for the best for all of them.
Steve rose from the chair, crossed to the kitchen and opened the fridge to get a beer. He popped the top and took a long swallow. This was just what he needed to finish the job, a little liquid courage. He swallowed the rest of the beer in a couple of gulps and grabbed another before picking up a box and heading into the room that Butch had used until two weeks ago. The room had a lifeless feel to it as if it too knew that Butch would never again set foot within its walls. The bed had been stripped and the posters and pictures had already been removed from the walls. The items that had been on the desk were all put into a box and his clothes had all been put into the two laundry bags he always kept on the floor. He took the box across the room to the closet and opened the folding door. There were a few of his button up shirts and dress pants on hangers. A couple of ties and brown belt were also hung neatly. On the shelf above the clothing there were two boxes. Steve reached up and pulled down the first, labeled pictures, and set it down on the floor beside his feet. The second was a manuscript box. The box was not yet sealed nor addressed. Steve removed the top, revealing a stack of white sheets of paper. The top one was a title page for a manuscript titled, Evil Unearthed with Butch’s name typed neatly beneath it. He looked at his watch. Quarter to seven, Butch’s family should be arriving soon. They were flying into Bangor and coming to the apartment to pick up their son’s belongings. He’d offered to send the items to Arizona, but they said they’d prefer to come pick them up. Much of the clothing they were going to give to the Salvation Army and they would decide what to do with the rest. Steve put the second box at his feet. He took the clothing out of the closet and laid it on the bare bed. He filled the final box with the other items that he could find and brought it out to the living room with the rest.
When he heard the knock at the door he was sitting in the chair, the remains of a third beer sitting on the table beside him, with the manuscript box open in front of him.
“Just a minute!” he called and removed the top sheet of paper from the pile in the box. He crumpled the piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket. He then crossed the room and opened the door box still in hand.
The middle aged couple was standing arm in arm in the December cold. It was not the first time that Steve had seen Butch’s parents, but it was certainly the hardest. His mother’s eyes were red-rimmed and Steve figured she hadn’t stopped crying since the day that she’d heard her son was killed in a car accident. Butch’s father looked stoic, but Steve was sure when no one else was around he allowed himself to break down as well. Steve felt his own throat tighten and could feel the burning sensation of tears developing in the corners of his own eyes.
“Are you going to invite us in, Steve? It’s awfully cold out here,” Butch’s dad said, snapping Steve back into awareness.
“Uh, yes. Sorry, I was a thousand miles away.”
Steve moved out of the way allowing them to step into the not quite warm enough confines of his apartment. Mrs. Hartline saw the boxes on the living room floor and put one hand to her mouth. She excused herself to the bathroom, leaving Steve and Harold Hartline the third in an uncomfortable silence. Mr. Hartline decided to break it.
“So, how are you holding up?” he asked.
“Not well, Sir, but I can’t even begin to imagine how this must be for the two of you.”
“What have you got there?” Mr. Hartline asked indicating the box in Steve’s hand. “Is that Butch’s also?”
Steve looked down at the box as if he just now realized that he was holding it.
“This? No, it’s a manuscript that I finished in one of my classes this semester. My professor told me that I should make some inquiries and try to get it published,” Steve lied.
“Really? That’s great. Congratulations. I know that if Butch were here he’d be very proud of you.”
Steve suddenly felt very guilty, but couldn’t find any way to back out of what he’d said without coming off looking like a villain. Besides, who would it hurt? Judy Hartline came back from the bathroom, her cheeks still wet with fresh tears. She stood beside her husband who put his arm lovingly around her shoulders. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek before turning her attention back on Steve.
“What were the two of you talking about?” she asked.
“Steve here wrote a book. He’s going to try to get it published.”
“Good for you,” she said, but Steve could tell that with everything else on her mind this news took a backseat.
“Well, we should be getting out of your way, Steve. Is this everything?” Harold asked.
“Yeah, this should be all of it,” Steve answered aloud, but an accusing voice in his head was screaming for him to tell them that the manuscript also belonged to their son. He set the box he was holding down in the chair.
“Okay. We’ll be staying for a couple of days in Bangor and then heading back home. If you find anything else just let us know.”
Steve nodded at Harold and walked over to Judy, giving her a hug because she looked like she could use one.
“Take care of yourself, Steve,” she said as he released her.
“I will, Mrs. Hartline.”
“You know you can call me Judy. If you need anything or if you just need to talk give us a call. Okay?”
“I will, Judy. Thanks.”
Judy grabbed one of the laundry bags and went to the door as Harold reached out and took Steve’s outstretched hand in a firm handshake.
“Thanks, for being such a good friend to our son. He was new here to Maine and away from home for the first time in his life. He said that from the moment the two of you met he felt like he’d known you forever. Without a friend like you I don’t know how long he would’ve lasted up here.”
“He was a great guy, Harold. He made it easy to be his friend,” Steve replied, again feeling the tears beginning to work their way into the corners of his eyes.
“I just thought you should know that your friendship meant the world to him. Like my wife said, take care of yourself, son.”
Harold grabbed the items that he could carry and Steve bent to grab the rest. He held the door open for them as they exited into the sub-zero night air. The three of them walked in silence to the rental car, snow crunching beneath their feet. It took only a few minutes to load everything into the backseat of the rental. Judy opened the passenger’s side door and got into the vehicle. Harold turned to Steve and shook his hand once more.
“Let us know when your book gets published. We’ll be first in line at the bookstore for a copy.”
“Thanks again, Mr...” Steve hesitated, “I mean Harold. Send it to me and I’ll autograph it for you.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that, Son,” Mr. Hartline replied with a smile, releasing Steve’s hand from his firm grip.
