Background
Brothers Jack and Cody McClellan embark on an adventure that will change their lives, and the lives of their families, forever.
Not much of a summary, but come on! This is just chapter one!
I'll be
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Some days never go away. Every sound, every smell, each item seen or touched stays. It never changes, it never fades. Those are the days that make or break a person.
It was a single day that nearly broke Jack.
A thunderstorm and its accompanying cold rain, not at all unusual for mid-November, blew in early that Monday morning. Lightning darted and ripped across the predawn sky, momentarily lighting ominous clouds. Reverberating thunder rumbled like a long, unsettled growl from the throat of an ancient, unseen spirit-beast. By five o'clock that evening early darkness had fallen, intensifying the chill in already cold, still air. The rain had stopped, but loud raindrops dripped lazily off of tree limbs and eaves, creating a soft, rhythmic solo. Its pulsing was joined by a chorus of crickets stationed randomly around each house, interrupted only occasionally by traffic splashing down the road or horns from the miles-away highway.
One house, in particular, looked deceptively dark and half-asleep. The white Texas stone had turned to desert sand in the early night. One light burned in the kitchen window and another on the porch. The curtained living room window flickered with the alternately bright and dim lights of the television. With football in the air, and on the screen of nearly every house in town, it would've been unusual for the TV to be off on this night. Consequently, the set had been turned on, but it entertained no one; it sat mostly unnoticed and muted. More than a dozen cars, all except Jack's Bronco and Laine's Taurus, were hidden carefully on neighboring streets and driveways. It looked like any other night on the quiet street. All signs of excitement and surprise were hidden within the walls of the peaceful-looking home.
Jack surveyed the house from his marshy front yard. He nodded, satisfied his brother would pull up to the house none the wiser and walk into the surprise of his life.
Jack had dressed for the surprise party pretty much the way Jack always dressed: in a cotton sweater, boot cut jeans, and running shoes. He wore sneakers with everything from jeans, to his one and only suit, to dress pants and a pearl-snap shirt. His wife complained that it made him look like he may burst into a brisk run at any minute. She had, on occasion, purchased dress-shoes for her wayward husband, to no avail. Jack was comfortable in his shoes and besides, he reasoned, there was no telling when a man might need to run.
He glanced up the street one final time, frowning against the gathering gloom. He examined the intersection and streets leading into the subdivision for one specific set of lights, fairly certain he wouldn't recognize them if he saw them. The hoped-for headlights, or any headlights for that matter, failed to cut through the blanket of nightfall.
Jack tried to imagine himself as his brother, pulling up next to the curb after a long workday, hurrying to the house because he was late for dinner again. The slight sounds of party guests that escaped the house could be attributed to TV noise, he decided. He looked again at the house for anything that might give the surprise away. Finding none, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sauntered back to the house, careful to miss the worst of the mud and puddles as he walked. Laine would take his head if he tracked up her floors just in time for a party.
The inside of the house proved to be as tumultuous as the outside had been peaceful. The noise hit Jack like a blast from an oven door opened suddenly after a day of baking. Men's deep-throated conversations, women's quiet laughter, the almost shrill excitement of children playing in the adjoining den all made for a joyous cacophony that left Jack smiling as he closed the door behind him.
Laine smiled across the room at him and he returned her greeting warmly. She had been his high school sweetheart, his bride, the mother of his child. He still found her breathtaking. He didn't believe his heart was coloring his vision; he'd seen the appreciative looks she received from men on their evenings out, and the openly jealous stares from some of their women. She was tall, although she didn't look so next to him. She managed to maintain a trim figure, primarily by chasing a classroom full of kindergartners from August until May, and by keeping up with their 12-year-old son, Travis. She wore her brown hair curled and short and, although she tied it back, it continually bounced loose of the band, making her look younger than her 36 years. The hair framed a flawless, heart-shaped face. Her eyes, a pale green-gray, still softened when she looked at her husband. Jack believed, had she not married him, a plainspoken, unpretentious cop, she would have been a famous model. Or perhaps, watching her animated delivery of fairly simple information to her students, he thought, an Oscar-level actress.
He began to thread his way through the crowd toward her. She glanced away from him, but her gaze was drawn back in his direction. She intentionally looked away, then met his eyes again. A tiny smile played across her mouth and through her eyes. He returned her teasing look, suddenly and unexpectedly anxious to be next to her. He would only take her hand in his and squeeze it softly, but the thought of even that innocent contact caused him to quicken his step.
His mother's voice floated in from the kitchen. "Oh, no! That's not Cody, is it?"
"Too early, Rachel," one of the party guests replied over the din.
"Is Pam finally back?" she called again.
"It's me, Mom," Jack called, his low voice cutting through the chatter like a sharp knife.
Pam should have been back already, he thought, examining the inside of his home as he made his way past friends and family toward his prize. It had been transformed into party central, not by magic, but by an afternoon's focused effort by his wife and sister-in-law. Navy, helium-filled balloons bobbed at the ceiling, and dark blue crepe paper covered everything. A table full of brightly wrapped packages, cups, and a punch-bowl of pale green something-with-ice-cream-floating-in-it awaited the arrival of an equally decorated cake. Pam had rushed out over an hour ago to fetch the dessert, and for Michael and Katie, who she'd left for the afternoon with a friend. Cody had been ordered to meet his family at Jack and Laine's house "for dinner" after his shift ended. It would be a minor disaster if he arrived before the cake, not to mention his wife and children.
Jack's sister-in-law planned this little get-together and pitched it to him and Laine with eagerness. The surprise would not just be Cody's birthday party one week early, she'd explained, but the odd assortment of gifts he would be opening. Diapers, rattles, wipes, and baby clothes would all be wrapped as birthday gifts for him, and set the stage for the bigger surprise. It was a crazy idea, but that was Pam, Jack thought.
When she'd presented the plan to Jack and Laine the week before, Pam almost burst with excitement.
"After all," she'd beamed, "How often do I get to give him a baby for his birthday?"
Jack twisted his face and thought about that for a minute, mustering all the drama in his soul. Michael's birthday fell in the fall and Katie, the four-year-old love of Jack's life, made her debut in mid-July. "Never," he'd answered Pam in mock solemnity. "Unless you're not telling us everything."
"It was rhetorical, Goofy," Pam pretended to be exasperated with his efforts.
"Yeah," Katie mimicked her mother, down to the folding of her hands on the table and tone of voice. "It was re-dorable."
"You're re-dorable." Jack made a face at his niece.
Katie returned the warped, ghoulish glare immediately, in true McClellan fashion.
Pam chastised Jack with pretend indignity. "John Thomas McClellan! What are you teaching her? What kind of role model are you for my child?"
Jack arched his eyebrows at her, mouthing the word 'me?' He raised a finger to his chest and shook his head in innocent wonder.
"Who's John Thomas McClellan?" Katie asked. She frowned at her mother.
"Your Uncle Jack."
Katie looked dubious, glancing from her mother to her uncle and back. "Uh-uh."
Pam nodded. "Yes, it is. It's his 'in trouble name."
Katie took Jack's face in chubby hands, her eyes rounded as she regarded Jack in pity. "Be careful, Uncle Jack. When Mommy calls me Katherine Marilyn McClellan I'm in bad Dutch."
"That wouldn't be fair," Jack commented, leaning close to the blond pixie. You started it."
Pam laughed. "Right," she agreed dryly. "Because Uncle Jack never starts anything."
"It's true," Jack informed his listening audience, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "I'm a finisher."
"A finisher, huh?" Laine smiled as smugly as if Jack had just fallen into an elaborately laid trap, which he knew couldn't have happened. "Great! You can finish the dishes, then grab the trash and fold the laundry. Then we'll both be finished."
Katie, who missed most of the conversation, frowned again, her brow furrowed in concentration. "What's Daddy's in-trouble name?"
"Oh, darlin'," Jack said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Daddy doesn't have an in-trouble name. Never has. Daddy never, ever gets in trouble."
"He uses his brain before he uses his mouth," Laine commented, smiling sweetly at her husband.
"Now, Laine, you know you married me for my brains." Jack reached across the table to take his wife's hands in a gentle massage.
"I knew there had to be some reason..."
"Yeah, the first time I saw you, I sauntered over to you with a smile and a wink of the eye and this." Jack tapped the side of his head and cocked his eyebrows.
"Your hair?" Katie frowned in confusion.
"Yes, honey," ‘Laine laughed, "with his hair."
Jack smiled at the memory, hoping to keep the hair-gag alive with Pam for at least another week or two.
The phone rang, pulling Jack back to the present, detouring him away from the desired spot beside his wife to a small phone table across the room from her. He almost ached with the missed opportunity to hold her. Pam had called earlier, worried that she was running late, so Jack assumed it to be her again.
He picked up the phone. "Y'ello," he said, his voice booming to be heard over the steady hum of conversation. If it were Pam or Cody they would answer 'red' or 'purple' or 'green' or, on occasion, 'magenta'. No one else played the old family-phone game, obviously not impressed with Jack's humor.
"Jack." The voice belonged to Rudy Sotello, Cody's partner.
Jack glanced at the owlish face of his inexpensive Timex. Rudy was in on the gag, of course, but he and Cody still had ten minutes on their shift. Jack frowned. Too much paperwork would destroy the timing of the party and wreck the plans. "We have a glitch in the works?"
"Jack ..."
Cold, hard fingers clutched Jack's chest, stealing his breath. He felt his throat tighten. "Is it Cody?" he asked quietly. The room felt too hot suddenly; the banter of party guests too loud.
"We responded to a shooting, Jack." Rudy's voice sounded hollow, dead.
Jack could hear sirens and noise in the background and realized dispatch had patched Rudy into a phone line. His fear leapt. "Is it Cody?" he repeated. His voice sounded harsh and tight. His stomach began to knot.
"It's Pam."
Jack frowned, shook his head in disbelief. "What's Pam?" He waved impatiently at Laine and their guests to be quiet. Laine looked at him, mild confusion marring her beautiful, unconcerned face.
Rudy took a deep breath. "Pam's gone, Jack. Cody can't handle it, man. When he realized it was their car..." Jack listened intently to a moment of quiet as Rudy clenched his teeth and swallowed the lump clogging his throat. "I shouldn't have told you this over the phone, but … he needs you here. Now."
Jack felt the room spin around him. The cordless phone felt hard and ice-cold in his grip, but for a moment it seemed to be the only solid thing around him. Laine watched him, concern lining her face. She opened her generous lips to speak, but instead walked to him and laid her hand softly on his shoulder. He realized at her touch that he was shaking.
"It can't be Pam, Rudy. I just talked to her ... not 15 minutes ago. She's on her way back here. She's just running a little late. She'll be here any minute."
"No, she won't, Jack." Rudy stopped talking abruptly, trying to maintain control. The wail of another siren drifted hollowly through the phone line. "It's her."
Jack squeezed his eyes closed. The smell of catered barbeque drifting in from the kitchen suddenly nauseated him. He stared at a crocheted pillow top on the couch. "What happened?" he asked, too stunned to put Rudy's comments together and make sense of what he'd been told.
"A robbery; a stupid robbery. They shot her for forty bucks."
Jack shook his head again, horror blocking out the room around him. His mind reeled and he grasped frantically for a reason that this couldn't be true.
"We're at Remy Square. Near the ATM."
The bakery was at Remy Square. Jack shut his eyes again. "Damn."
Laine looked scared now. She tried to catch his eyes with hers, her face etched, her excitement destroyed. Jack pulled her into his arms, holding her tighter than he'd intended, relaxing his grasp when she grunted softly. His mother stepped into the room, her head back, crystalline laughter preceding her. But seeing Jack's expression as he looked toward her she paled, reached for the support that wasn't there, and stumbled. A desk sergeant who had worked with Jack and Cody's father caught her and guided her to a chair. Jack watched, acutely aware that now every eye in the room stared into his face; that every conversation had ceased. The desk sergeant knelt beside Rachel, took her hand gently, and stared at Jack, grimly awaiting the bombshell.
Jack croaked hoarsely, "The kids. Are the kids okay?"
"Not hurt. Hurry, Jack. Hurry."
Jack, Laine, and Rachel arrived at the dark parking lot of the shopping center in slightly less than twenty minutes, but the drive felt like it took forever. Laine, pressed as close against Jack as physically possible, clutched his knee in a steel-hard grasp totally outside of her character. Rachel sat next to her, staring blankly out the dark passenger window, unaware of passing traffic or early Christmas decorations. She held her arms tightly across her chest, rubbing ungloved hands over the smoothness of her coat as if trying to warm herself. Silence penetrated the car and wore against the threesome's frail emotions. No one said a word, afraid that any sound would make the nightmare real. Rain, which had come and gone all day, sprinkled the windshield with a fine, even mist. Jack turned the wipers on as he pulled into the parking lot, streaking the tinted glass, turning the world into a blur.
Rachel left the car as soon as Jack stopped it, but he and Laine sat still for a minute after he turned off the ignition, protected for a little longer from reality by the streaked glass. Hand in hand they slid out the driver's side of the car, looked around, blinking and frowning as if they stepped from the Bronco into an alien world.
The red lights of police cars bounced off the wet asphalt and glowed in shallow puddles, making everything appear surreal and unnatural. The night smelled of rain and wet tires. A somber quiet hung over the area, officers talking quietly, spectators whispering.
They found Cody sitting on a curb, hugging his children tightly against him. His eyes were locked on the spot where his wife's body lay. Rudy paced close by, looking miserable and helpless.
Laine walked as close to her fallen friend as crime-scene tape allowed and knelt, staring in disbelief at the shrouded body. She watched a gust of wind tug at the edge and began to cry softly. An officer stepped close, urging her to return to her car, and she raised empty, confused eyes to him.
Rachel gathered a sleepy, crying Katie into her arms. The petite child leaned into her grandmother and whispered, "Gran, why is my mommy sleeping in the rain?"
Rachel hugged her, sorrow closing her throat.
Michael refused to let go of his father, who sat stone-like, seeming not to notice the arrival of his parent or brother.
Jack knelt beside him. "Code," he started, but didn't know what to say after that. He put a hand on his brother's tense shoulder.
Cody looked up at him. He looked as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him, like he'd lost himself in another place. "She's gone, Jack," he whispered. He swallowed hard, took a breath, and seemed to hold it before asking, "What am I going to do?"
Jack remained silent and shook his head mutely.
"I've loved her since I was 16-years-old. Not one day has passed that I haven't thought of her. What am I going to do?"
Michael told them later, through hiccups and sobs, that they'd arrived at the small bakery late. They were getting ready to close, and Pam realized she was out of checks. The little bakery didn't take plastic. She'd frequented the Mom-and-Pop sweet shop for several years, and the owners agreed to wait for her to return with cash. Pam loaded the kids back into the car to drive the short distance to the ATM.
"Sh-she said she'd be right back," Michael sobbed, leaning against his father. "But she didn't come back, Dad. She didn't come back."
"I know, son." Cody stroked his son's hair, pulled the boy against him, and leaned down, putting his cheek against the top of Michael's head.
"I just s-sat there, pouting about the weather and about Katie bugging me all the time, and ... she didn't come back. I just sat there, Dad! I just sat there, and -"
"Calm down," Cody whispered. "Calm down, Michael. This isn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."
Michael began to nod his head, not lifting it from his father's shoulder. "Yes, I did! I just ..." he sniffed back tears, "just sat there and watched! I just sat there and let him ... let him sh-shoot her and leave!"
"You couldn't have stopped him."
"I could have done s-something besides sit in the stupid c-car!"
Cody shook his head gently, his face ashen. "You could've gotten yourself and Katie killed, too, but you couldn't have stopped this." He appeared sick at the thought, his lips tightening into a hard, thin line.
Jack wondered if he'd make it through the night - if any of them would make it through the night, or if the robber had killed them all.
"Thank you, Michael," Cody whispered, "for not drawing attention to the car."
A thundercloud passed over the moon, cutting its light. It felt like it would stay over them forever.
Neither brother was allowed to work the case. Homicide assigned it to two more-than-competent detectives, both of whom Jack knew well and had respected until the investigation. During that time, however, he found himself second-guessing their every move, questioning every decision. An arrest was made shortly after Pam's funeral, leaving Jack's misplaced anger nowhere to light.
Cody arrived at the precinct four hours later. He made his way past silent colleagues, accepting awkward condolences with an expressionless nod. He tapped on the captain's door, entered, and laid his badge and gun on the desk. "I'm done." He turned to leave the room but stopped at the door as Captain Evans spoke.
"Let's wait on this, Cody. Don't make any decisions now that you'll regret later. You've got leave - take it. Take as long as you want, but don't do this. You're a cop. You come from cops. It's part of you. You can't just change who you are."
Cody didn't turn around but stared at the deep brown of the metal door jamb. He put his hand on the knob, aware of its coolness. "I arrested him three weeks ago. I checked the logs; three weeks ago today, Cap'n."
The captain nodded, rubbing a weathered hand across tired eyes. Putting his elbow on his desk, he rubbed his hand across his mouth for a minute, staring at the badge in front of him. "Yeah...for possession and assault. But he made bail. You're not responsible for this."
Cody turned but stared out the window just behind Evans' head. "I thought I was making a difference, you know?" He almost smiled, his mouth pale, eyes swollen. "That sounds moronic, doesn't it? But I've got to wonder...how many times has this happened? How many times has it happened and I don't know about it because it's not me that gets slammed by the system?"
"We're cops. We play one part in a larger game. We can't be responsible for all of it."
Cody made eye contact. "It's not a game." He looked down, apparently interested in the flooring. "I'm sorry, Cap'n," he nearly whispered. "I don't think I can do this anymore. I don't think I want to."
Some days never go away. Every sound, every smell, each item seen or touched stays. It never changes, it never fades. Those are the days that make or break a person.
It was a single day that nearly broke Jack.
Author Notes
If this looks familiar to any of you 'old timers', I"m rewriting an old book. It needed to be updated, and Im looking at publishing this time around. The first chapter of the book is divided into three parts, and all chapters will be dealt with that way.
This is Christian fiction, but it's not sunshine and daisies. My experience is that life is not like that, even for those of us who love the Lord and are called by Him. But life has also taught me that we never walk through those dark times alone, no matter how black the journey or how long the path. That has certainly been true in my life.
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