Slow Dance in Purgatory

Text copyright c. 2012 by Amy Sutorius Harmon

All rights reserved.  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

First Paperback Edition:  March 2012

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Harmon, Amy Sutorius, 1974 –

Slow Dance in Purgatory: a novel / by Amy Sutorius Harmon. –

1
st
Edition

Summary:  When seventeen-year-old Maggie comes to live with her aging aunt in a small Texas town, she finds herself enmeshed in a fifty-year-old unsolved mystery that leads to a relationship with a boy who no one else can see.

ISBN 10 1475043805        ISBN 13 9781475043808

Printed in the United States of America

For my four children,

I write for you, I dream for you,

I live for you

++++

Prologue

             
The halls had long since expelled the energetic swarm of youthful humanity, and the din of lockers and laughter had long since settled into stillness.  It was his least favorite time of the day.  He could lose himself in their conversations, lurk behind them as they ran, as they danced, as they embraced one another.  He could sit in on many a lecture, solve the most challenging equations, recite the first chapter of a Tale of Two Cities word for word, and as long as life filled the halls, he could pretend he lived among them.  But when they were gone he was utterly and completely alone.   Alone as he had been day after day, year after year, decade after decade.  There was a time he had descended into madness - but time had brought him out again.  What good is being crazy if there is no one who can deem you insane?  Or for that matter - care whether you are normal?  Insanity was exhausting and futile.  So was pain. For a time, the despair was so great that he begged for oblivion.  But time had taken even that from him.  Now he simply wished to feel anything at all.  And so he continued on, waiting for redemption.

1

“RUMBLE”

Link Wray - 1958

August, 1958

             
The parking lot had been freshly lined, and the pavement was so new and clean it gleamed in the moonlight.  The final touches had just been added on the brand new high school that cast a long shadow over a pile of construction debris that had yet to be hauled off.  Crickets chirped, and the breeze sighed, and from far off the sounds of a souped up Chevy with a loud muffler grew steadily closer.  Then, as if the noisy muffler had awakened the night, the sound multiplied and split, and lights from several vehicles swung onto the long road leading to the school.  Soon shouts and music could be heard spilling from open windows.  Shiny chrome and heavy curves slid and jerked to haphazard rest as arms and legs and exuberant youth spilled out of heavy doors painted in dizzy pink, pastel yellow and cherry red.  As the cars continued to fill the newly minted parking lot, battle lines began to emerge, as each vehicle seemed to pick a side, leaving a swath of empty black between the two.  It was a party atmosphere with an undercurrent of danger, and the expectation in the air hummed along with Chuck Berry reelin’ and a’ rockin from the radio tuned in on every car.

             
The cacophony of laughter and leers feverishly peaked and then hushed in anticipation.  The guys pulled their combs nervously through greased back waves, and the girls made sure their red lipstick was freshly applied as a low-riding, black Chevy Bel Air with thin red flames curling down the sides slid down the empty space between the opposing sides, like a dancer taking center stage. The car slowed and then swung into a spot left open just for him.  The heavy door of the shiny Chevy opened, and a black boot hit the ground as Johnny Kinross stepped out of his pride and joy and lit a cigarette like he had all the time in the world and no one was watching. 

             
He was dressed like some of the other guys -- jeans, boots, white tee and black leather jacket, but he seemed suited to his choice where others looked posed. His dark blonde hair swooped high off his forehead, and his blue eyes swept over the kids standing by or sitting atop somebody’s Studebaker or someone else’s Lincoln or any one of the various cars and trucks arranged in two lines.  Johnny noticed that Irene Honeycutt's pink Cadillac convertible took up two spaces.  It was a miracle she hadn't dented a tailfin yet.  That baby was so long it could drive in two counties at once.  Irene was the only girl in Honeyville who had her very own spankin' new wheels.  He wouldn't mind taking that car for a ride, not to mention the girl. 

             
Donnie had put new wheels on his truck, and it looked like Carter’s dad had come through on the new carburetor for his old Ford.  The last he’d seen, it was up on blocks.  He would have helped him put it in if he had known.  Johnny let the cars distract him; the cataloging of parts and paint jobs calmed him down and made him forget for just a moment that he was here to bloody a few noses, break a few tail lights, and generally raise Cain. 

             
But someone had alerted the ladies.  Who the hell brought chicks to a rumble?  Johnny sighed and tossed his cig
arette.  He was almost nineteen years
old and already felt way too old for this shit.  Eyeing the school, he thanked his stars that he would never have to attend the shiny new edifice the whole town was talking about.  He had graduated in May, and he was never setting foot inside the new Honeyville High.  They would have to kill him first.  He had almost never attended classes at the
old
school.  Classes were torture, and sitting still had never been his thing.  Graduating had been tricky, but he had a head for numbers, and no one made him read in math.  Mechanics and wood shop were easy.  So all it took was a few stolen kisses with Miss Barker, his lonely English teacher, and she gave him good enough grades to just squeak by.

             
The passenger door on his black hot rod opened, and his fourteen-year-old kid brother, Billy, stepped out.  He didn't try to imitate Johnny.  It would have been laughable if he had.  He wore thick glasses with black rims and could never seem to get his hair to lie down at his crown or swoop up off his forehead, so he wore it in a tight crew cut and looked more at home in bow ties and sweater vests than tee shirts and leather.  He had insisted on coming along, though, knowing that Johnny was more likely to remain calm if his little brother was with him.  Johnny had told him to stay home and had expected Billy to give in to his stern command, but for once Billy had been adamant, knowing that Johnny was set on picking a fight all because of him. 

             
"You lookin' for Roger, Johnny?"  Someone called out.  Johnny didn't bother to answer.  They all knew he was.  Johnny strolled down the line of cars and stopped in front of Irene Honeycutt's pink ride.  Irene smiled shyly, and her girlfriends giggled a little and elbowed each other.  Irene probably shouldn't be smiling considering Roger Carlton was her guy, but Johnny had that effect on the girls.  If he wanted to, he could crook his little finger at any one of the twittering females perched on Irene's car and be hot and heavy in five minutes flat.  Maybe later.  He really wasn't that interested in Irene's friends.  From what he'd seen, Johnny wasn't so sure the blue-eyed brunette was that in to Roger.  But who was he to question it?  Roger was smart, rich, and popular, and Irene's daddy sure seemed to have plans for him.  Johnny had plans for him, too.   He was going to beat the hell out of Roger and all his cronies and swear that it'd be ten times worse the next time anyone messed with Billy Kinross.

             
"He isn't here, Johnny!"  A plump redhead named Paula called out, and Irene leveled a look at her that Johnny couldn't decipher.  The redhead squirmed nervously and ducked her head when another girl poked her in the ribs.

             
Johnny zoned in and moved close to the nervous little carrot-top.  Tipping her chin up with a long finger, Johnny spoke low and clear.

             
"Then where is he, Pidge?"

             
Paula stammered a little, and her cheeks flamed as bright as her hair.  "I, um, I'm not sure…he just wanted us to tell you he had better things to do…or something…I think.  Um…didn't he say that, Irene?"

             
"Then what are all of you doing here?"  Johnny jerked his head, indicating the crowd, his eyes meeting Irene's, demanding an answer.

             
She didn't respond, but her blue eyes were wide and the expression on her face had him smelling a rat.  The crowd shifted uncomfortably, and someone cleared his throat.  A few of the guys that Johnny called friend started asking questions and calling out, and everyone seemed to chime in at once:

             
"We haven't seen him Johnny –“

             
"Somebody said they thought he was here!"

             
"Tommy swears he saw his wheels parked here an hour ago!"

             
"Go home, Johnny!"  Someone else called out.  "No one wants trash like you or your brother hangin' around here!"  The voice came from back in the crowd and Carter and Jimbo were on it immediately, a scuffle breaking out before Johnny could even see who it was.  Like it had been carefully orchestrated, Roger Carlton’s friends were suddenly swarming out of the backs of trucks and cars.  Fists were pumping and insults flying as Carter and Jimbo were swallowed up in the fracas.  Donnie and Luke were in there somewhere, too.  Luke's bright hair and superior height made him visible for a moment before someone pulled him down.

             
"Hey!  Hey!"  Johnny shouted out as girls screamed and a few random horns bellowed as people scrambled to jump into their cars or out of their cars, depending on whether or not they wanted in or out of the trouble that had erupted.

             
Turning to Billy, Johnny swung his arm out fiercely, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him in close.  "Stay in the car, little brother.  These guys don't fight fair, and it's gonna get ugly.  I can't worry about you getting the crap beat out of you while I'm wailing on Carlton."

             
"Just let it go, Johnny,” Billy pleaded.  "We shouldn't have come here at all.  I have the willies about all of this, like cooties marching up my spine or somethin'."