Then Came War

THEN CAME WAR

By

Jacqueline Druga

America’s Demise Series

Then Came War

By Jacqueline Druga

Copyright 2012 by Jacqueline Druga.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

AMERICA DEMISE THEN CAME WAR PHOTO © Brocreative - Fotolia.com

Special thanks once again to Ann Cochran for all her help

CHAPTER ONE – The Riders

Present Day

Harry Hayward had performed the same routine for nearly fifty years. Although there were times he had to deviate slightly, it was never much and never for long.

No matter what time of day he had to get up, Harry always woke before the alarm. He’d lie in bed until it sounded off and then swing his legs to the side of the bed and say a short prayer. Always, before standing up, he’d turn to his wife’s side of the bed and thank her for all the years she had given him, the love they shared, the home they built.

Since the moment he moved into the house in Windsor, Connecticut, this had been his routine.

As time moved on and he retired, he didn’t have to rush his morning routine and always prepared himself for a new body ache before he stood. He’d saunter down to the kitchen, make and have his coffee, wait for his bowels to kick into gear and then he could freely start his day.

He had worked in New York as a claims adjuster for the railroad when he was first married. But he hadn’t wanted to raise his children in the confines of a concrete jungle. It was worth the two and a half hour commute to see them running in grass, walking to school and playing in the street. But then, before his third child was born, he got a job as a brakeman for the railroad and was able to move into the suburbs. The hours were longer than they’d been when he worked in the city, but the money was better.

Now the kids were all grown and not only had kids of their own but also grandchildren. They all lived in different parts of the country. Everyone had their own lives, but that never stopped Harry from getting in his car and intervening in their lives. Nothing like a good car trip, Harry thought. He had to go see them. The kids didn’t call much.

Harry was a good man and lived his life for his family. He was only sorry he had worked so much that he missed a lot of things.

It was early and he had to catch the 6:20 train this morning, so he didn’t have time for a big breakfast. He’d eat at the deli place when he got into New York, even though his stomach would pay the price later that evening. But the guys liked it and that was where they chose to meet for their monthly reunions. They were the remaining five members of their naval unit. They had all trained together, fought the war together and survived.

They used to meet twice a year when there were more of them. Then, as the years went by and their numbers dwindled, it was clear they had to meet more often because time on the earth for all of them was getting shorter.

Leo wasn’t looking good the last time they met; in fact, Harry had called him to make sure he was still alive and would be there. Harry had a gift for him. It wasn’t anything new, but Harry had wrapped it anyway because he was certain it was something Leo would like.

Toast finished, Harry tucked the wrapped gift under his arm, checked his wallet to make sure he had enough money and went into the living room to say goodbye to his wife, June.

“Have to be going here, Junie. I have a long day ahead. Probably see ya' at supper. Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be careful. No harping.” In all their years of marriage, Harry never left the house without telling June he loved her and kissing her goodbye.

He kissed her goodbye and told her of his love, but Harry had only a photograph to kiss. Six months earlier, June had suffered a heart attack while driving and died.

He put the photo back on the mantel, grabbed his car keys and left his home.

Harry didn’t have much in his life now and he really looked forward to seeing his friends.

***

It was going to be a warm day for April; TJ could tell by the dew on the windows. Even though it was barely light out, he gave a solid, waking swat to his eight year old son’s behind to get him up and out of bed. “You don’t have time to eat. Let’s go, Ty.”

Tyler grumbled. “I’ll bring pop tarts.”

TJ chuckled. “You do that; you can eat them on the train. Now, let’s go.”

“I’m ready,” the child said groggily.

“You’re in bed.”

“I’m ready.”

TJ laughed and flung the covers from his son and saw he was fully dressed, including his shoes. This made TJ laugh harder. He should have expected as much. Tyler was so excited about going to work with his father. It was no wonder he was dressed and ready to go, that he had done so before he went to sleep.

Instructing Tyler to get up, brush his teeth and meet him downstairs, TJ left the room.

He was dressed down, wearing a pair of tan pants and a golf style shirt. It was allowed on ‘take your child to work day. TJ was comfortable. He was a fit man in his thirties. His hair was thinning with just a touch of grey. He was confident and charismatic, but he had to be that way. It was part of his job as a salesman.

TJ’s wife was sleeping on the couch. She had dozed off waiting on them to leave. “Hey,” TJ whispered crouching down to her level. “We’re checking out of here. The train comes in a half hour.”

“God,” she groaned snuggling the pillow. “I can’t believe you’re taking him out this early. That’s too long of a day.”

“Nah, we’ll be fine. I’m cutting out after lunch. Will that work?”

She nodded.

TJ stood when he heard the thumping of feet on the stairs.

“Ready,” Tyler said.

“Where are your glasses?”

With an ‘aw’ Tyler ran back up the stairs, was gone only a moment before he raced back down.

“And what about your jacket?”

“But it’s gonna be a nice day.”

“It’s chilly now.”

“Dad.”

“Jacket.”

“Fine.”

Tyler was gone a few seconds longer, returning with his spring jacket and a foil pack of breakfast tarts. “Can we go now?”

“Yes. Kiss your mother.”

Tyler ran into the living room and skidded to a stop. “She’s sleeping.”

His mother replied, “My eyes are just closed. Have fun.”

“Love you.” Tyler kissed her on the cheek.

“Love you too.”

TJ kissed his wife as well, running his hand over her head before leaving his home. He was smiling and happy about spending time with his son.

It was going to be a great day.

***

The razor blade was new, purchased just the day before for the occasion. The shiny, sharp object was clutched tight between Abby’s forefinger and thumb. The edge was a millimeter from the skin on her wrist.

She was going to do it.

She had to; she just couldn't go on.

Twice before, she had failed due to her own weakness. No one knew she had made the attempt to take her own life. In fact, the blade to her skin was the closest she had been.

No one knew because no one knew Abby.

The people at Carl’s work did. They had been calling for months for her to pick up her husband’s things. But she couldn’t bring herself to go into New York to do it.

She wasn’t ready.

But they needed the items cleared out.

Quite simply, Abby didn’t want to live.

She was alone, completely alone in not only a new town but also in a new country.

She, Carl and their three year old son had traveled from England, so enthused about his promotion within the international company.

They had a picture perfect dream house.

In fact it still smelled of fresh new paint. Then not even three months into living in Connecticut, Carl and Landon went to the store and were killed in car accident.

Her life ended that evening.

Now she was a mere vessel carrying around her soul. The heartbreak and heartache were relentless. They pounded at her every single waking moment.

She carried an ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away. It was heavy and increased in intensity every single time she thought of her husband and son.

There wasn’t a night she didn’t cry herself to sleep or wake up sobbing.

At first everyone was around her, being supportive, and then as the days dwindled by so did the people who called or stopped by.

Abby was alone.

She had promised she’d come get Carl’s things but she just couldn’t face that.

It was her day to die.

She had gagged on the pills and couldn’t pull the trigger.

But the blade was there now. Right there on her wrist.

One cut, that was all it would take and no one would be around to save her. Hell, no one would find her for days.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her brown hair was messy and short. She had tried to put on makeup before going into town to buy the razor blade, but the tears smeared it.

Abby thought she looked old, old and worn out. Her heartache was apparent on her face and it showed in new lines and dark circles.

She thought of her husband, her baby and her heartbreak.

Just as the blade cut and the first drop of blood appeared, Abby folded, broke down sobbing and dropped the blade.

Again, she couldn’t do it.

She hated herself for it.

***

‘I’m such an asshole,’ Ben thought. Sitting in the driver’s seat, his eyes went from his own reflection in the rearview mirror to the Starbucks’ entrance. He glanced at the time and then back at his reflection again.

He pulled a grey hair, not that it would do any good, but that particular one was wiry and stood up straight.

A huff, another look at the time and he muttered out loud, “I’m an asshole. Sometime today, Lana.”

He shifted his eyes to the Starbucks again and sat straight up when the passenger door opened.

Lana extended the drink carrier to Ben and then slid inside.

“We’re going to miss the train,” he said.

“We’re not going to miss the train,” she replied. “There was a line in there. I swear it went out the door. Why are all these people out and about this time of day? I got you a latte to enjoy on the train.”

“I didn’t want one.”

With a slight shake of her head and roll of her eyes Lana said, “Whatever.”

“Whatever? Unbelievable.” Ben backed from the spot. He tried not to get irritated; he didn’t have to stop when she asked. But that irritation grew again when he looked over and watched her sip her latte so prim and proper so she wouldn’t mess up her lipstick which matched her perfectly manicured nails. She sat in the car as if she were some sort of high class princess. Her business suit skirt was perfectly pressed, her shoes shiny and her hair pulled back so tightly it gave her a pseudo face lift.

They weren’t going to miss the train, not by a long shot, but Ben liked to play it as if they were cutting it close. He huffed at every stop sign and sighed when they caught a traffic light.

“You know, I could have driven to the station myself,” Lana said.

“You should have.”

“I would have.” She paused to sip her coffee. “But you asked. In fact, I believe you insisted, because you didn’t want me using the gas in your other car. Not my car, mind you. Your car.” She waved her hand in a dismissive manner.

“I paid for that car.”

“I don’t know where you think my salary has been going. Funny how the cars are yours and the house is half yours. I must own the utilities.”

“Enough.”

“You started it.”

“No, you started it when you asked to stop at Starbucks.”

“You didn’t have to stop.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ben grunted. “I’m an asshole.”

“Yes, Ben, yes, you are. And don’t worry; I’ll make other arrangements to get to the train until my apartment is done.”

“Good.”

Lana said no more. She turned her body more toward the window, gazing out, sipping her coffee.

Ben kept glancing over at her, not saying anything or wanting to. They had said enough in their twenty-three years of marriage and Ben was glad it was only a matter of days until they were finally apart from one another.

He hoped, as they rode to the station, that she was right and it was indeed the last train they’d ever take together.

***

His name wasn’t really Foster, it was James Mason. But Foster was the nickname that he acquired from his peers because he was constantly being shuffled from one foster home to another.

Of course his latest set of foster parents refused to call him that. His foster mother number eight said, “No, no, it’s so ugly.”

Okay sure.

He had been in and out of foster homes since he was three. The state told him his biological mother was a prostitute with an addiction, but Foster knew she was a crack whore. He knew it because he lived with her several times.