Monday, May 25, 1987
High in the Taum Sauk Mountains
Arcadia Township, MO
Bruce Stacey shovels the last spade of dirt on his father’s grave before sitting down on a nearby boulder. Bruce looks to the rustically carved stone that marks his mother’s grave, next to where he has just buried his father, he has added the name Lawrence Stacey to it. Sitting there he looks around the forest and then back to the cabin his father built. The cabin is much to look at, but Bruce was raised in that cabin, spent his whole life there. This is the only life he has ever know. Now with his father gone it is time for him to leave it behind. To begin a new life.
There are so many wonderful memories here, but this is all they are to him now. His father chose a life of solitude but now it is time for him to choose something else. Bruce’s father often spoke of how Bruce had a great destiny before him. The twenty year old young man knows that his destiny is not here in the Taum Sauk Mountains of Missouri. His father had many books and taught Bruce all about the world beyond this mountain. Now it is time Bruce Clark Stacey to join that world beyond this mountain.
Bruce returns the old shovel to the tool shed where is father always kept it. He will leave this place just as his father kept it. Walking back to the cabin he washes up and puts on a fresh shirt. Gathering up the last of his things he wants to take with him. He slings the bag made from deer skin over his broad shoulders. It contains only a few personal items and the book he has written over the past five years. There is another thing he must take, a scrap of paper with the name Cloris Armstrong and her address written on it. She is a book editor of which his father often spoke highly.
Bruce begins the ten mile hike down the mountain not looking back once. This is not the first time Bruce has walked this path. Every spring and fall, his father would take him down to the General Store at the bottom of the mountain for supplies. Larry Stacey lived on very little money but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any. On one such trip several years ago when Bruce turned eighteen it was to the bank to put his name on his father’s account. It is that money he will use when he gets to St. Louis. In his bag he carries all of the papers he will need to begin his new life.
Bruce is both excited and a little scared of what lies ahead of him. No amount of reading or stories from his father at the fireside could do justice for the truth about city life. Bruce’s father always impressed upon him that he had to be better than the rest of society. He could not let other people beat him down as his father had been. No matter how many times Bruce asked, his father seemed to never gave him the truth. All he would say was that, “It doesn’t matter, you have proved me right!” His father was always very cryptic when it came to his past.
Alameda International LTD.
The offices of Howard Publishing
1221 W Lockwood Ave
St. Louis, MO
It is like any other Monday morning when Cloris Armstrong arrives at her office. She sits at her desk sipping her morning coffee looking over the drafts of several new book offers. Little does she know how drastically her life is about to change with the ring of her phone.
“Hello, Cloris Armstrong,” she answers the phone on her desk.
“Please hold for Mr. Alameda, the woman on the other end of the line says.
Mr. Alameda! Cloris thinks to herself. The owner of the International Media company? Why would he be calling me?” “She hasn’t heard a word from him in twenty years, since the day he hired her. “Hello?” Cloris says timidly into the phone as she hears it click.
“Yes, Cloris Armstrong, Publisher at Howard in St Louis?” the voice replies.
“Yes, that is me,” Cloris responses unsure of what is happening. Does he even remember her?
“This is Howard Alameda, I am flying in from London,” “I would like to meet with you and the new author you will be signing tomorrow.”
Cloris scrambles to look over her calendar for the day in question. There is nothing of a new author signing. “I’m sorry sir, but I have no plans to sign a new author tomorrow.”
“You will, he should be arriving early tomorrow morning, his name is Bruce Stacey, a very talented young man,” Mr. Alameda tells the publisher. “I will have the paperwork ready for signatures by the time I get there,” Mr. Alameda tells Armstrong.
“If you say so, sir,” she says abruptly. “I will be waiting, but I will have to see his work first!” Cloris responds feeling undermined by the man she hasn’t heard from in so long.
TJ’s Truck Stop Diner
Showplace Dr
Farmington, MO 63640
Bruce walks into the truck stop, he has never been in a place so full of people. He looks around at all of the faces. The variety of facial features and expressions amaze him as he stands at the door to the dining room, taking in everything.
“Howdy big boy, can I get you a seat?” the hostess asks walking up to Bruce.
“Yes please,” Bruce replied politely.
“Just you?” she asks.
“Yes,” he replies.
“All we have open is at the counter,” The hostess tells him as she leads Bruce through the tables on the diner floor.
He looks at the food on the customer’s plates and he is intrigued, such a wide variety of things to eat and drink. “That would be fine,” Bruce replies looking over to the empty seat at the counter.
“How is this?” she asks handing him a menu.
“Fine, thank you” Bruce replies taking a seat next to an older man with a bushy blonde mustache. They nod to each other as the man sips his coffee.
“I’ll be back in a few to take your order,” the waitress told Bruce as she slides a glass of water, placemat and silverware onto the counter in front of him.
Bruce can’t help but to let his attention be drawn to the TV mounted over the waitress station. Having grown up in the mountains without electronics Bruce has always been fascinated by them when he would come to town with his father. On the TV it is the News that reports the incoming storm to the greater St. Louis area. The governor has called a state of emergency for the region. The interstate has been closed down to all tractor trailer traffic until the storm passes sometime tomorrow morning. “Is this why this place is so crowded?” Bruce asks the man next to him.
“Sure is,” the scruffy man replies. “I was headed to St. Louis when I heard a report on the radio about a possible tornado, figured I better stop for the night.”
“A tornado, how exciting,” Bruce says. “I’ve only ever been in one of them but it was incredible!”
“Boy, just where are you from?” the blonde man asks raising his cup for a refill from the waitress.
“I grew up in the mountains with my Dad,” the young man explains. “My name’s Bruce Stacey,” he says gesturing to shake the older man’s hand. Something his father taught him was important when meeting a new person. Always make a good first impression, Dad would say. “I’m headed to St. Louis to sell my book.”
“Charles Hart, friends call me Chuck,” the blonde man says shaking Bruce’s hand. “What few friends I have, that is.”
“Nice to meet you, Chuck,” Bruce says as the waitress returns to take his order.
“What are ya going to have handsome?” the mid-aged redheaded waitress asks.
“Let’s see, I’ll have the prime rib cooked medium, a baked potato, carrots, a chef’s salad and half a roast chicken too,” Bruce order quicker than the waitress can write it down. “With a large Root Beer.” “We never had soda at home but I tried it once and loved it.”
“You sure are a hungry one,” the waitress comments as she finishes writing his order on her pad.
“I just finished a forty mile hike, I’m starving!” Bruce grins. “Better bring me some chocolate ice cream for dessert too.”
“Sounds like you could use a ride to St. Louis tomorrow after the storm,” Chuck tells him. “I could get you there on time!”
“I’m in no hurry, but thanks,” Bruce replied turning back to a commercial on the TV.
“Destiny waits for no man,” Chuck says drawing Bruce’s attention back to him instantly.
“Why did you say that?” Bruce asks.
“Just something I hear a young man like you say once,” Chuck replies with a grin and a raised eyebrow.
“My father often said that,” Bruce tells Chuck. “He always said I had a special destiny, never said what it was though.”
The waitress brings Bruce’s food and lines it up on the counter in front of him. “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asks laying a drinking straw down. He simply shakes his head as he glares at Chuck.
“It would seem that your father was a wise man.” Chuck replies grinning again. “You should look to embrace your destiny not waste your time walking forty miles.” “We all have gifts that contribute to making the world a better place no matter how big or how small.” “Your gifts have been hidden away for too long, why hide them any longer.”
There is something about this stranger’s words that ring true with Bruce. Of all the things this man could have said on their first meeting, it is like he has been practicing to find just the right ones.
“A tornado is coming through here tonight,” Chuck says as he gets up to leave a tip for the waitress. “It will do a lot of damage, many of these people who have come here for safety will die.” Bruce looks around the crowded diner at all of the smiling faces. Even the anger children who don’t want to eat their vegetables touch his heart. “I’ll be seeing you, Bruce.” Chuck pats Bruce on the back to head out of the diner. “I’ll be in the Mikulski Trucking cab if you need a ride in the morning.”
The Armstrong household
2924 Sutton Blvd.
Maplewood, MO
Derrick Armstrong sits at desk in his bedroom huddled over text books studying for another final. Studying has never been his strong suit. He is only two weeks from graduation and hates the idea of leaving High School behind him. He is Captain of the Basketball team, voted most popular by his classmates! What will he be without that?
His mother dreams of him going to college and getting a degree, but that is not his plan. Derrick has a full Basketball scholarship to Missouri State University that he intends to ride to the NBA. That is the only dream that he has for his life. He closes his books, he has had enough for tonight.
Getting up to look out his window he watches the clouds move in. The storm that is coming looks much worse than the weathermen are reporting on the News. Once when Derrick was a boy, he and his mother were vacationing near Mark Twain National Forest he could see all the way to the Taum Sauk Mountains. On a day like this he watched a tornado move across the mountains from a safe distance. It was an amazing sight to behold. The strangest thing he remembers is how it ended. The funnel cloud lifted from the treetops, still intact up into the sky. It continued to whirl high in the atmosphere in place for a few hours, something that the weathermen would later report as unprecedented.
One of the benefits to having the entire third floor of a house to himself and a single mother who works long hours during the week is can do whatever he wants weeknights. Snatching up his basketball he dribbles across the open wood floor to take a shot at a rim mounted at the top of the wall of the high pitched roof. “He shoots!” Derrick announces for himself. “It’s good and Armstrong takes the championship for the Bulls!” “The crowd goes wild as hot girls flood the boards!”
Derrick’s fantasy is cut short by the ring of the phone. He lunges across his bed to grab the receiver on his night stand. “Hey Deke, ya want to go storm chasing?” It is his teammate Stan. Storm chasing is the code words for when some of the guys from the team go out during a bad storms to drive around in Stan’s car to drink beer. Most of the time they find an empty parking lot to do donuts to see who gets sick first.
“Sure, where are we meeting?” Derrick asks.
“I’ll pick you up in thirty!” Stan replies before hanging up.
TJ’s Truck Stop Diner
Showplace Dr
Farmington, MO 63640
The rain has begun to pour down hard as Bruce Stacey steps from inside the Truck Stop diner. He has spent hours getting to know many of the people inside, most of whom are travelers. So many families and stories to be told and heard. He asked around about a Motel room for the night but everything is full up. The parking lot is filled with tractor trailer trucks, most of them have sleeping compartments. Everyone of those truck drivers takes a risk staying in them tonight with the impending storm.
Bruce steps out from under the roof into the rain storm. The drops are both cold and refreshing on his body. He is soaked to the skin in seconds. It is a good thing he stowed his deerskin bag in one of the depot lockers. He walks out into the parking lot wondering what he should do tonight. Bruce thinks back to the first time he did what he contemplates doing. His father was as furious as the lightning that flashes overhead. But his father is gone now, Bruce can do what he wants. Looking to the Motel adjacent to the Diner. Bruce watches as a family of four hurries to their room trying not to get too wet.
Not far away in the Mikulski Trucking cab Chuck Hart watches the young man standing in the rain. Chuck knows this is his last chance. If the boy doesn’t act the tornado will kill close to a hundred people here and in St. Louis. Chuck digs through the junk in the back of the sleeping compartment of the truck cab. He finds a set of night vision binoculars and looks back out at the horizon to see the funnel cloud forming. Then back to the drenched young man now standing in the center of the parking lot. The rain and hale pound down on the young man like marbles.
Then suddenly there is a shimmer around young Bruce Stacey, it forms a pocket that prevents any of the precipitation from touching his skin. Chuck watches as the young man begins a sprint across the parking lot toward the heart of the storm as the tornado touches down to the ground. Losing sight of Bruce, Chuck scrambles to get out of his truck. The funnel cloud tears down the north bound highway rt. 67 ripping up the blacktop. The rain has calmed now as Chuck spies Bruce through his binoculars running straight for the tornado.
The brave young man is pulled up into the violent swirling cloud from a hundred yards away. Bruce has done this before, but there was never so much at stake like time. Through the force of his will Bruce makes his way to the heart of the storm. Floating there he reaches out his arms to attempt the impossible. To take hold of the very wind itself as it rushes around him. The cyclone is huge, much bigger than the last time he did this trick. Air and wind have no mass but the force of the wind has picked up so much debris that he can use it to his advantage to take hold of the tornado. His body tenses as he reaches every inch of the twister. The winds whips and tears his loose clothing. Only what is tight to his body remains protected by the Null-force that surrounds him. He sends that Null-force outward in all directions to bend the Earth’s gravity to his will. Bruce can feel the strain all over himself as he raises up higher into the sky. He growls deep in his throat as he pulls the tornado up from the ground.
Back at the Truck stop parking lot Chuck stands in the humid night watching as the cyclone pulls away from the road. The denseness of the debris makes it impossible for Chuck to see anything through his binoculars. The tornado lifts higher in the sky until it is swirling above the thick thunder clouds that again rain down heavily on the truck stop. Chuck smiles knowing everything is going to be alright in the morning.
Rt. 67 south
outside St. Louis, MO
Stan Fennimore’s red 1980 Camaro speeds down the highway south away from the city. Inside five teenage boys laugh as they swill beer from cans they toss out the windows once emptied. Derrick Armstrong leans forward from the back seat where he sits behind the driver to touch his shoulder. “Stan where are we going?”
“Storm chasing, of course!” Stan replies laughing.
“For real?” Derrick questions sitting back in the seat to pop open another beer. “We never really go storm chasing.”
“Tonight is different, this is a REAL storm!” Stan replies. “This one I’ve got to see!” Stan holds up a leather case from the front seat.
“Yeah, Stan swiped his old man’s spy glasses,” Brian Purcell laughs from the shotgun seat.
Bill Norse, the boy on the other side of the back seat from Derrick climbs out the window to sit on the door screaming, “Storm ho, Captain!” They all laugh as the car speeds down the empty road toward the swirling clouds high in the night sky. No weather forecaster predicted the tornado so none of the boys in the car have any idea into what they are truly driving.
As Bill climbs back inside the car Derrick gaze over at the northbound lane. The black top is torn up in chunks that are missing. “Look at that shit!” Derrick says as the two other boys in the back seat, who try to climb over him to see out his window.
Sam Gleason, the boy in the middle of the back seat says, “Stan we should turn back the storm is worse than we thought.”
“Stop being a pussy, Sam!” Brian replies. “I say we drive right into the bitch!”
“Yeah, let’s pound into this bitch!” Bill shouts from the back seat to make three of the boys laugh more.
“Yeah, let’s see if this bitch can handle five star Basketballers!” Stan adds as he puts the pedal to the metal.
The sport’s car roars headlong down the highway under the storm as high above Bruce struggles to hold the cyclone up as it strains against him. Bruce fears he will tire long before this storm as he focuses on holding it aloft. Unfortunately, directly below the eye of the storm a twenty-five foot wide vortex tunnel of air still exists reaching down to touch the ground. Believing no one is on the road Bruce does not concern himself with it. His only concern is keeping the storm from descending downward again.
“What the hell is that in the road?” Sam shouts pointing over the front seat.
“Looks like a dust storm?” Brian replies.
“Dude, in the rain?” Derrick argues.
“I’m gonna run it!” Stan says gripping the steering wheel tighter.
“NO!” “DON’T!” Sam shouts but it is too late as the car enters the vortex. Once inside the car is sucked straight up into the mile high eye of the storm. The car spins with the turn of the twister as the high school boys inside scream in terror.
“Stan you fucking asshole!” Derrick shouts at the driver.
“We’re going to die!” Sam cries out.
“I’m too young and beautiful to die!” the vain Brian Purcell exclaims.
“What do we do, what do we do?” Bill shouts over the roar of the wind outside his open window.
“Just calm down!” Derrick shouts trying to be the level headed one of the group. “Everybody put your seatbelts on, the storm will drop us eventually!”
Four of the boys move to do as Derrick instructed but Bill has another idea. “You idiots if this storm drops the car we’ll be crushed!” Bill chastises the others. “We need to get out of the car ride the wind.”
“Are you that drunk?” “We’ll be torn apart by the wind!” Sam shouts.
Bill sits back in his seat to stare out the window. “No we won’t, look there is another guy out there already!” Bill announces. The other boys move to look out the side of the car to see what Bill is talking about.
“It does kinda look like a guy out there,” Brian comments softly.
“Don’t be an idiot, it is just a store manikin or something,” Sam justifies. “We need to stay in the car, Derrick is right!”
“Fuck you guys, I’m going!” Bill says reaching his head and shoulders out the open window.
“Shit Bill!” Derrick shouts. “Stop him, grab his legs!” Sam and Derrick try to save their friend but the pull of the wind is too great forcing them to let go or be pulled out with him.
High above in the tornado Bruce spots the car sailing around below in the eye of the storm. He barely has time to comprehend the situation when the teenager comes out the window. Bruce is helpless as the boy is whipped around the edge of the winds. Bill Norse quickly loses consciousness in the absence of oxygen in the eye of the storm. His limp body tossed around like a rag doll.
There is nothing Bruce can do without releasing his control on the storm. He can only watch as the boy’s body and the car rise up in the swirl of the storm. If Bruce does not act the boy will surely meet his death. Bruce has no choice, he has to act fast. Dropping his arms to release the cyclone Bruce dives down through the eye of the storm toward the boy’s limp body twisting in the wind.
Bruce takes hold of the victim, he is alive but badly injured by the winds of the storm. There is nothing he can do for the teen now, there is no time. Holding his place in the storm Bruce can feel it descending back to the ground. He knows there is little time to act before it hits the ground again. Looking to the car he can see movement inside, through the debris.
Bruce forces his way through the eye of the storm again to the car’s open window. The tornado is descending fast now back down toward the Truck stop. Bruce shoves the unconscious boy back into the car startling the frightened boys inside. “Close this window, I’m going to get you out of this storm!” Bruce shouts into the car.
“Holy shit Bill!” Derrick shouts as the boy falls across Sam and his lap.
“Who the hell is that?” Sam shouts as he rolls up the window.
“Never mind that!” Stan shouts. “Is he on my roof?” “He better not be scratching the paint!”
“Stan, Shut the fuck up!” Brian yells as they hear the feet touch the roof of the car. “Start caring about our lives!”
“Whoever he is, he’s doing it,” Derrick says trying to see out the t-top roof. “We’re going down in the storm without falling.” “Stan when the tires hit the road, they better be turning!”
The banged up Camaro falls twenty feet from the bottom of the tornado, its wheels spinning as it hits the road. The car full of teenage boys speeds off down rt. 67 as Bruce rips away the rest of his torn shirt as he ascends back up into the center of the storm’s eye. Only a few feet from the ground the cyclone pulls back up.
Tuesday, May 26, 1987
TJ’s Truck Stop Diner
Showplace Dr
Farmington, MO 63640
Chuck Hart walks around the end of the overturned dumpster. Bruce sits huddled on the ground wearing only his underpants. “Thought you might need some clothes,” Chuck says kicking the curled up sleeping young man gently and dropping a pair of jeans and a T-shirt on him.
“Thanks, bro,” Bruce replies sitting up to pull the shirt over his head.
“You did a good thing last night, you saved all of these people.” Chuck tells him glancing around the lot.
“What do you know about what I did last night?” Bruce asks standing up to pull on the jeans.
“More than you think,” Chuck grins. “My ride offer still stands, you must be pretty tired after what you did.”
Bruce glares at the man who is still little more than a stranger to him. His father always warned him that people would try to take advantage of him if they knew what he could do. “Why would you want me to ride with you?”
“I figured it would give us time to talk, time for me to explain it all,” Chuck says.
Bruce knows this man has given no reason to fear him so he shrugs his shoulders. “Okay let’s get on the road to St. Louis.” “I just have to get my bag first.”
The two men ride in the big rig for a mile or so in silence. “What I said to you yesterday was true, there are others with talents,” Chuck says breaking the ice. “I know you don’t know much about the world beyond the mountain but you are not alone. Bruce leans against the door in silence, his cheek touching the window. “I for example have what generations of my family have called a curse, I think of it as a gift.”
Bruce looks at Chuck for the first time giving him the once over. In his shabby jeans and t-shirt this man looks like nothing special. “What is this thing you consider a gift?” he asks.
“I have dreams,” Chuck says simply. “Dreams of horrific events that have not yet to happen.” “In my family it has always been called the Curse.” “It is passed from generation to generation each of us learning to deal with it in a different way.” “I spent many years wallowing in the terrible things the dreams showed me until I discovered I could do something to affect those events.”
Bruce listens to Chuck’s tale making him remember a dream he once had that haunts him to this day. “I had a dream some years back about being in a haunted house with four other people my age.” “We were trapped, but one of the girls had magic powers that she used to free us.” “I woke up in my bed like it never happened.”
“I believe that was a dream of youth,” Chuck grins over at Bruce. “My dreams are different.” “I dreamt of last night many times over the past months.” “At first I arrived too late, after a tornado ripped through Farmington and St, Louis.” “Then I arrived to be the only survivor of the storm.” “After each dream I sought a solution to prevent the disaster.” “Then I had a dream where you survived the storm.” “In dreams to follow, we met many times, each time I learned more about you.” “That is how I knew you were the one to prevent this disaster.”
“So what will you dream about tonight?” Bruce asks leaning back against the door window again.
“Nothing at last,” Chuck replies. “After a disaster passes one way or another it will be weeks before I dream again.” “I must admit you have been the most amazing young man I have ever met.” “Your father would be very proud of you.”
“Dad often spoke of some great destiny I had,” Bruce says. “I wonder if this was it?”
“Not likely, you will be doing a lot more things in your life than just stopping a tornado, I am sure,” Chuck tells the young man.
“Did you see that in a dream too?” Bruce asks.
“No I’ve never seen something so hopeful in a dream, I just feel it,” Chuck replies. “I can’t imagine you will have many regrets in the years ahead of you.”
“I spent most of yesterday thinking about it, I already have one big regret,” Bruce says sadly. “My only regret is that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to my Dad,” Bruce mummers as he props his bag on his shoulder as a pillow against the glass. “He died chopping wood for the stove while I was on a hunt in the woods.” “When I found him he had been dead for a while.” Bruce tells Chuck as he drifts off to sleep.
Alameda International LTD.
The offices of Howard Publishing
1221 W Lockwood Ave
St. Louis, MO
“Rise and shine,” Chuck Hart says shaking Bruce Stacey awake. “Here you are Howard Publishing.”
“Wow I was really out,” Bruce says still groggy. He lets his deer skin bag slide down from his shoulder to his lap. “Thanks for everything, Bro” Bruce says reaching out to shake Chuck’s hand.
“Good Luck with your sci-fi book son,” Chuck tells him.
“How did you know my book was science fiction?” Bruce asks curiously looking at the truck driver.
“I told you I had many dreams and we spent a lot of time talking, you told me all about your book in one dream,” Chuck explains as Bruce climbs down from the truck cab. Watching the young man walk away to start his new life, Chuck feels sad for him but he does not regret what he did to get the lad to the Truck stop on time. Although he told Bruce about his many dreams of the night of the tornado and how he learned from each one. What Chuck did not tell Bruce was of his other power, the ability to alter one event to prevent the dream from coming true. It took many weeks and dreams for him to decide the best way to use that power. In the end it to cause Bruce’s father to pass twelve hours earlier than he was meant. That was the only way to get Bruce to the Truck stop on time.
The men dressed in uniforms at the front desk don’t seem to notice Bruce as he walks past them to the elevator. Riding to the eighth floor where the offices of Howard publishing are located he follows the directory to find the suite. It is still early and very few people are in the office allowing Bruce to continue inside unnoticed by anyone. He walks down the clean brightly lit corridor feeling out of place in the big city. He wonders if he should have gone to the bank first or found a place to stay the night?
Finding Cloris Armstrong’s office he lets himself in taking a seat in the reception area. He looks around the room at the very modern art works that hangs on the walls. There is a fish tank in the corner that truly fascinated him. Bruce gets up from his seat to have a closer look at the fish tank. The fish are so many different colors like he has never seen. He never considered keeping such a thing in a city office like this, do they eat them? he wonders. Noticing his reflection in the tank, Bruce uses his hands to straighten his hair that is still ruffled from the truck ride.
“Excuse me sir, what are you doing in here?” A well dressed woman with a large beaded necklace asks walking into the office behind him.
“I’m here to see Cloris Armstrong,” Bruce responds turning to stand up quickly. “I have a book for her to publish.”
The personal assistant moves to the desk to take an appointment book from the drawer. Flipping through the book’s pages she tells him, “There are no new author meetings scheduled for today.”
“I don’t have an appointment, my father sent me,” Bruce responses knowing it sounds pathetic.
“Then your father was mistaken, you will have to leave or I will call security!” the receptionist tells him reaching for her phone.
“That will no be necessary Ms. Perkins,” Cloris Armstrong says entering the office with her cup of coffee in hand. “Please come right in young man, I have been expecting you.”
Confused Bruce follows Cloris into her office shrugging his shoulders at the receptionist who grimaces. Inside the large office Bruce tries not to be distracted by the decor to ask, “How is it you were expecting me?”
“Mr. Alameda called me yesterday to tell me you were coming,” Cloris responds putting her bags and coffee down on her desk. “How is it Mr. Alameda finds your writing so special?”
“I don’t know who that is,” Bruce replies taking a second to look around the office. “My father sent me to see you, not a Mr. Allymeta.” Bruce take a small piece of paper from his bag and passes it across the desk to her. On it is written her name and the address of the office at Howard Publishing. The handwriting is familiar but she still tries to push the thought out of her mind.
“Well then let’s get down to business then,” Cloris says coldly. “Let me see this book of yours.”
Bruce sits his large bag down on a chair at the front of the publisher’s desk and digs in it for his manuscript. He retrieves a handmade wooden box about the size of a large shirt gift box. Placing it on the desk he opens it to reveal several hundred hand typed pages, the top title page reading “Lost Boy Found.”
The seasoned editor appears shocked by the title on the page as she steadies herself to sit down. “Who did you say your father was?”
“I didn’t,” Bruce answers. “He always said you and he were old friends and you could get this published for me.” “His name was Lawrence Stacey, I’m Bruce by the way.” It is clearly shock on the publisher’s face now as she stares at Bruce’s handsome naive face. “Ma’am are you alright?”
She lifts the title page from the stack in the box skimming the first page then flipping through the rest. The words are different but the title is the same. How is any of this possible she thinks not speaking a word to the young man standing over her desk. “How old are you?” she asks dropping the pages to look up at Bruce.
“Twenty,” Bruce replies proudly. “Does that have an impact on publishing my book?”
Cloris ignores his question, continuing her own line of inquiry. “What was your mother’s name?”
“Leslie,” Bruce replies. “Are you going to publish my book or not?”
“Of course, we are,” A man says from behind Bruce as he enters the office carrying some contracts. “Hello Mr. Stacey, Howard Alameda, nice to finally meet you.” The large imposing man in an expensive suit shakes Bruce’s hand. He has an unusually strong grip even by Bruce’s standards.
“It is nice to meet you sir, Miss Armstrong has mentioned you to me,” Bruce says.
“I was friends with your father for a time before he retreated,” Alameda says. “All I need for you to do is sign these contracts and we’ll get you set up with your advance on the book.” Alameda lays the papers on Cloris’ desk. “Do you have a pen dear?” he asks.
“Mr. Alameda, in general practice we do not sign a contract with a first time author before reading his work,” Cloris reminds her boss.
“Ahhh, Cloris always a stickler for general practices, this is the exception to that practice,” Alameda replies taking a pen from his pocket. “Okay if you will just sign here, and here,” he says pointing with the pen. “Good, very good.” “Now we can get you on your way.”
“Way were, sir?” Bruce asks.
Turning back to the door Alameda calls out, “Phil!” A young man dressed in a suit not unlike the one Mr. Alameda wears steps into the office. “I’ve arranged for Phil here to show you around the city and take you to the condo I’ve arranged for you to stay, until you are on your feet.”
“That is very kind of you sir, but I figured I would find a place on my own,” Bruce tells the mysterious man.
“Don’t be silly, I will not take no for an answer,” Alameda tells him. “Now you two run along, you’ve got a full day ahead.” Phil leads Bruce out of the office to the elevator and they are gone.
“Do you realize who that kid says he is?” Cloris launches as soon as she closes the office door.
“Of course I do, I hoped this wouldn’t be a problem for you,” Mr. Alameda replies in a calm tone.
“There is no way he is Larry’s son!” Cloris shouts. “He told me his mother’s name was Leslie, that is my middle name!”
“Surely you do not believe you are the only woman in the world with that name?” Alameda says smiling.
“What is this about you knowing his father?” Cloris charges. “You didn’t even hire me here until Larry had already left!” Looking back at the pages in the wooden box she announces, “Lost Boy Found!” “That was the title of Larry’s thesis that got him drummed out of Academia!” “Leading him to run off and hide in the mountains.”
“Did you read his thesis?” Alameda asks already knowing the answer to his question. Cloris doesn’t reply, the whole memory of what happened to Lawrence Stacey is something she has tried to forget for nearly twenty years. “It was about an alien boy who came to Earth.”
“Something Larry insisted was a true story!” “It got him nothing but ridicule!” She glances at the scrap of paper on her desk with her name and this address written on it. “It was you, it was you who gave him this address and my name,” she shouts picking up the paper.
“You know full well whose handwriting that is, plus you saw the boy, he never met me before today,” Alameda reminds. “Now if you would please sign these contracts you can get started reading his book, I think it will make things clear to you.”
Cloris stares at her boss, he has always been an enigma to her. He hired her when no one else would. Larry’s breakdown drug her right down into the mud with him. He was so insistent that life existed beyond Earth that he was pushed into the category of crackpot UFO chaser. Alameda had faith in her when no one else did, like a sixth sense that can’t be explained. She sits down behind her desk pulling the paperwork to her. It is the standard author contract, what extras Alameda added he did out of his own deep pockets. Cloris signs the contracts making the deal official. “There you are sir, signed and ready to go,” she said handing him the contracts.
“Those are yours, my dear, After all you are the Publisher,” Alameda replies. “Now if you will excuse me I have a plane to New York to catch, there is a news reporter there I have to check up on.”
As Alameda turns to leave Cloris asks, “Do you even remember when you hired me?”
Howard Alameda turns to look her in the eye for the first time. “Of course I remember that day, I remember that one and everyone, even some that will never happen.” “I built this publishing company for you to run, long before you were old enough to read.” “With the Bruce Stacey’s arrive all is as it should be, your life is about to blossom into what it was meant to be as is his.”
Alameda’s words wash over Cloris Armstrong like a cool summer breeze that gives her comfort. Unfortunately for her his words go in one ear and out the other, because as he turns back to leave she has no memory of the exchange only the way it made her feel.
Weber’s Front Row
8169 Big Bend Blvd
Webster Groves, MO
Bruce Stacey sits at a table with Phil Kinkaid, his yes pinned on the large screen TV mounted at the front of the room. “You sure do like Tennis don’t you?” Phil comments as they wait for their lunch order to arrive.
“Tennis, is that want this is called, I’ve never seen it before,” Bruce replies. “I’ve read about it but never actually seen it played.”
“Mr. Alameda said that you grew up in the mountains, but I assumed you had modern conveniences,” Phil says.
“My father was what you would call a naturalist, we lived off the land, we had very little of what you would call modern conveniences,” Bruce explains. “We only came down to the General Store about once or twice a year.” “Mostly to buy batteries and kerosene.” “On those trips I would get to see a Television in the store, I could have spent days watching it but I never got the chance.”
“So your mother was okay with living out there like that?” Phil asks.
“My mother died when I was born,” Bruce explains.
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Phil says sympathetically. “If you don’t mind me asking, wouldn’t it have been better if she had been in a hospital?”
“No, my father told me she fell off a ravine, there was nothing he could do for her except help me be born,” Bruce tells Phil clearly unmoved by the statement.
“Well, your condo has several televisions, so I guess we should do some shopping before I take you there,” Phil suggests trying to change the subject.
“What kind of shopping?” Bruce asks with his eyes still glued on the TV.
“You’re going to need some clothes and food to start,” Phil tells him.
“Oh I have this to buy those things,” Bruce says pulling an ATM card from his back pants pocket.
“That is good, but Mr. Alameda wants to pay for getting you settled in,” Phil explains.
Bruce finally turns his attention away from the TV to give it fully to Phil. “Who is Mr. Alameda and why is he doing all these things for me?”
“That is a question reporters have been asking for years,” Phil tells Bruce. “He is a very successful business man who likes to give back, help others he sees potential in.” “He told me he was close with your father, wanted to do what he could to help you.”
“Strange, My father and I were very close.” “He never mentioned Mr. Alameda, ever!” Bruce says confused. These last few years we spent preparing for my trip to St. Louis, surely he would have told me about his friendship with Mr. Alameda.”
“When you say preparing to come here, what do you mean?” Phil asks.
“Putting his bank accounts in my name, teaching me how to use an ATM with his secret code.” “He told me how I should treat people, judge them, know who I can trust and who I can’t.”
The waitress brings their food and Bruce smiles broadly saying, “Thank you very much.”
“You really do need help,” Phil mumbles.
“What do you mean?” Bruce questions.
“You have no game whatsoever, have you ever even been with a woman?” Phil asks taking a drink of his soda.
“I met some women at the Truckstop on the way to St. Louis and then Ms. Armstrong,” Bruce answers naively taking a bite of his burger.
“That is not what I mean.” “I mean you’ve never been intimate with a woman,” Phil clarifies dipping his fries in catsup.
“You mean sexually?” Bruce quizzes. “I am not interested in that, there are many other things I need to experience first.”
“Wow, you have so much to learn about the real world, don’t you!” Phil grins.