The Exciting Conclusion!

[Trent DeWhite]

The Visitor

Cloaked in a brown overcoat, the young man walked along the side of the road. As the rain fell on his wide-brimmed hat, the man glanced up at the dark sky. Clouds filled the expanse as rain continued to steadily fall onto the welcoming countryside. Although he knew his visit would be unexpected, the young man also understood the signifiance of his visit. He desperately needed to see Mr. Riley. To do otherwise would be to deny the farmer of something he deserved to know.

"I hope I'm doing the right thing," the young man said to himself.

As he approached the farm, he noticed a sign with the words, "The Timothy Center," inscribed into the wooden post. The young man raised a furrowed brow at the sign. He turned his face away and noticed the a tall building standing yonder, to the east of a small, quaint edifice, presumably Tom Riley's house. The young man headed toward the house.

With each step the young man took, he felt his pulse quicken. He stepped onto the porch and studied the door briefly before taking a deep breath. The visitor removed his hat and gave a sturdy knock on the door . . .

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Just over two months ago, I began an AIO writing contest in the hopes of luring out the closet writers of the Town of Odyssey. Four individuals* decided to undertake the challenge of writing the conclusion to the story written above. No doubt, many hard hours were spent on the story’s completion, as these four writers sweated it out in order to get their entry completed for today. Now, the time has come to present you with the conclusions to the above introduction. But wait! There’s more! You—yes, you—have the opportunity to vote for your favorite story and change the life of one of these individuals ...for the better, we hope!

Read the following stories and vote for the one which you enjoyed the most. This poll will run for five days, after which time the winner shall be proclaimed. In the event there is a tie, I shall make the deciding vote. The reward shall be named at shortly afterwards. For story discussion and comments, please direct your attention to the AIO Story Contest Discussion thread. Enjoy, and let the voting begin!

* Unfortunately, one individual had to drop out... thus, you won't see this person's entry.

[Trent DeWhite]

ENTRY 1

"Hold your horses!" The friendly old farmer called. A few seconds later, the door was thrown open and the newcomer found himself face to face with Mr. Riley.

"Excuse me, are you Tom Riley?"

"Well, yeah." He looked confused. "Say, do I know you from somewhere?"

"No, we've never met." The young man wiped sweat off his brow. "I know it's kind of unexpected, but do you think I could come in for a moment? It's important."

"I reckon that would be alright. As long as you keep your hands where I can see them at all times," Mr. Riley joked.

Once they were comfortably seated inside the house, the visitor cleared his throat. "Thank you for having me."

"Sure. You said it was important."

"It is. Vitally important." Seeing the blank look on Tom's face, the stranger sighed. "I suppose I'd better start at the beginning. My name is Gregory. Gregory... Maxwell."

"Maxwell?!" Understanding dawned on Mr. Riley's face. "You don't know a Richard Maxwell by any chance, do you?"

"He's my father."

"So that's who you remind me of. I can sure see the resemblance." Mr. Riley shook his head. "I didn't even realize Richard was married."

"He wasn't. My mother was only fifteen when she had me; my biological father, Richard Maxwell was only a couple of years older than her. He was in Juvenile Detention by the time she found out she was pregnant with me."

"That's too bad."

"Yes, it was. We didn't meet until I was eleven. My grandparents wouldn't let my mom have anything to do with my dad when they found out he was in Juvenile Hall. By the time my mom was able to start looking for him, he had gotten out and left Odyssey. We had more or less given up hope of ever finding him when we saw his name on the news."

"On the news?" Tom Riley stroked his chin, as if trying to figure out Gregory's current age. "I guess that was during the Blackgaard mess?"

Gregory nodded. "We went to visit him in the hospital and hit it off pretty well. His only regret was that he hadn't been able to see me grow up. We've been doing stuff together since then."

"Well that's great!" Mr. Riley looked genuinely happy.

Gregory put his hand up to stop him. "It was great. Until three days ago." Mr. Riley sat expectantly, waiting for him to continue. "My father disappeared on Wednesday. We haven't seen or heard from him since then."

"I sure am sorry to hear that." Mr. Riley frowned in consternation. "But why are you telling me?"

"Because my father was supposed contact you on Wednesday."

"What?!"

"I'm afraid it's true. He was coming here to talk to you about something, and the last time anyone saw him he was on your property."

Tom Riley shook his head, amazed. "He never made it to my house, then. I haven't seen him in years!"

"Do you have any idea why he might have wanted to see you?"

"No. I have no idea."

Gregory sighed. "Well, thank you anyway, Mr. Riley. Here's my phone number; call me if you think of anything."

Mr. Riley pocketed the slip of paper. "Don't you want to search my land? You might find some kind of clue."

"Could I?" Gregory asked eagerly. "It might help."

"Sure. You're welcome on my land any time you want."

***

"Well, Richard," The sinister figure crossed his arms. "You've withstood all of my tortures so far. Congratulations."

"I told you... I wouldn't break... under torture," Richard Maxwell's breath came in short gasps. At least two of his ribs were broken, and his system was still recovering from the electrical shocks it had received.

"Yes, I can see I'm going to need a different method to extract information from you."

"You might as well... give up, Blackgaard." Richard grinned, ignoring the pain in his jaw.

"Oh, not at all," Dr. Blackgaard replied. "No one is impervious to torture. I just have to try a different tactic."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just rest for now." Dr. Blackgaard picked up the kitten that had been sleeping on his desk. "You'll need your strength."


"Howdy," Gregory looked up at the farmer's call. Tom Riley was walking his way and waving.

"Hi, Mr. Riley," Gregory waved back.

"I thought you might be thirsty," Tom Riley handed him a glass of lemonade. "Have you found anything yet?"

"Some threads that look like they came from the clothes my dad was wearing the day he disappeared." Gregory held up two plastic bags. "And a footprint."

Mr. Riley knelt and to examine the footprint. "I'm no expert, but that looks like one of those fancy shoes. You know, those loafer things they make in Europe?"

"You're right." Gregory said in surprise. "This might be important. Thanks, Mr. Riley."

***

"I'm not finding anything," Gregory tossed his folder into the trunk of his rental car. "Maybe that footprint didn't have anything to do with my dad."

"You know better than that, Gregory," His girlfriend's voice came across the cell phone. "That foot print would have been washed away if it hadn't been made recently."

"Yeah, you're right."

"Did those threads bring any leads?" Gregory slipped into his car and buckled his seatbelt.

"One of the threads was from an Armani suit, and another looks like it came from a T-shirt."

"Very deductive, Mr. Maxwell." A soft voice sneered from the back seat of the car. "Why don't you hang up the cell phone?"

The pressure of a gun barrel in his back was most convincing. "I'll call you back, Sharon."

***

Richard Maxwell awoke with a groan. His ribs felt like an elephant had sat on them, and his head wasn't faring much better.

"Awake, are we?" Dr. Blackgaard loomed over him. "I've brought you a visitor."

"Dad!" Gregory started to rush forward, but two of Dr. Blackgaard's muscle men held him back.

"Not so fast." Dr. Blackgaard turned to Richard, and sinister smile touched his lips. "I wonder if you can be persuaded to talk now."

"No. I... I won't talk." Richard faltered. Was the meager secret he was holding back worth the life of his son?

"I once killed someone named Gregory," Dr. Blackgaard said nonchalantly, settling into his office chair. "I believe he was a friend of yours."

"No..."

"I'll do it again, if necessary." He gestured, and one of the bodyguards punched Gregory in the stomach.

"Alright, Blackgaard! You win. Let Gregory go home, and I'll tell you everything."

"I'm afraid you're not in much of a position to bargain."

"If you kill Gregory, I won't tell you anything."

"I wouldn't kill him at first; I would just make his life a painful, living nightmare." Gregory exhaled sharply as the other henchman socked him.

Richard sighed. "Fine. As you know, I've been working for the CIA the past couple of years. Mostly helping out in their computer department, but I was happy to serve wherever they needed me."

"Dad?" Gregory asked in surprise.

"Go on," Blackgaard ignored him.

"About two weeks ago, I decrypted an incredibly difficult email sent to an account in Switzerland. The subject line said, 'Applesauce lives', and the message contained all the 'ingredients' for making Applesauce-- including the level two password you were so intent on getting about fifteen years ago."

"Well, what did you do with it?"

"I showed it to my supervisor, and he told me to delete it. So I did."

"What?!" Blackgaard's eyes narrowed. "That's it? I tortured you for all this time to find out you deleted it?"

"I"m afraid so."

Dr. Blackgaard leaned back in his chair. "Well, at least this meeting hasn't been a total waste of time. You and Gregory will meet with unfortunate accidents, and I will be none the worse for your deaths."

"Don't bet on it, Blackgaard!" The door flew open, and Tom Riley appeared. Richard wasn't as surprised by the farmer's sudden appearance as he was by what he held in his hands. "I don't wanna have to use this, but I will if you make me."

"A shot gun?" Dr. Blackgaard laughed. "How very quaint and Odyssean."

"Enough chit-chat, Blackgaard. Are you gonna let Richard and Gregory go or not?"

"I'm thinking... not!" Dr. Blackgaard tossed a canister into the middle of the room and ducked out of sight. "So long, Richard Maxwell!"

***

"Gregory?" Someone was shaking him. "Come on, Greg, wake up!"

Gregory opened his eyes and saw Sharon standing over him. He smiled weakly. "Hey, Sharon." Her face was wrinkled with concern. "What's wrong? Is my face mutated or something?"

"You've been unconscious for three hours," Sharon smoothed his hair. "I'd better get your mom. She's with your dad, but she'll want to see you now that you're awake."

"What happened? Why am I in the hospital?"

"Don't you remember anything?"

"No, fill me in."

"You were talking to me, and all of a sudden you just hung up. We found you, your dad, and that farmer lying next to a road!"

"You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding, Gregory? You scared me half to death. Don't you remember anything?"

"No, I'm drawing a blank."

"I'd better get the doctor and your mom," Sharon disappeared into the hallway. A few minutes later, she returned with the intended party.

"Hello, Gregory," The doctor reviewed his chart. "I'm Dr. Morton. Do you remember anything about what happened to you?"

"Nope."

"Hmm. This is the strangest case I've ever seen."

"What do you mean, Dr. Morton?" Gregory's mom took his hand.

Dr. Morton shook her head. "I just don't understand it. All three of them seem to have some sort of amnesia."

"I remember being kidnapped," Richard was wheeled into Gregory's hospital room by a nurse. "And I can remember being tortured, but I don't remember who did either or what they wanted."

"All I know is that we're safe." Tom Riley leaned against the door post. "And I thank God for it."

"Well, hopefully whoever did this will leave you alone," Gregory's mother stroked his face. "All of you."

"I'm not worried," Richard leaned back in his temporary wheelchair. "They won't be back any time soon."

It was dark by the time Dr. Blackgaard reached the secret passageway into the Harlequin Theatre. "You may have gotten away with your lives," He said out loud, unlocking the trap door. "But I had the last laugh. You won't be so lucky the next time you meet Dr. Regis Blackgaard."

Something furry rubbed against his ankle, and he picked up his cat. "Come along, Sasha. Daddy needs to pack. We're going back to Switzerland to come up with a better plan for next time. You want Daddy to rule the world, don't you?"

The End... or is it?

[Trent DeWhite]

ENTRY 2

Tom Riley sat wearily in his favorite rocker. Work at the Timothy Center was getting too much for his old bones to bear. What with taking care of Leah and Rachael, coordinating summer camps for the kids, and making sure the farm was still running, it was enough to tire even a body younger than his own.
It’s a good thing I have Connie to help me, he thought. He peered out the window at the thickening clouds. She better get on home before the storm bursts.
With a sigh he picked up the evening edition of the Odyssey Times and adjusted his wire-framed glasses so he could read the small print. He had just begun reading the first article when a knock sounded at the door. Tom sighed. Wouldn’t you know it? Connie came to say goodbye before she left. He pushed himself from the comfortable rocking chair and went to the door. “Connie, you didn’t have to…” His voice trailed off as he opened the door and saw not Connie, but a tall, handsome young man. “Oh, I am—er—sorry,” apologized Tom. “I was expecting someone else.”
The young man frowned slightly and blinked, seeming to ignore Tom’s words.
“Um—can I help you?” asked Tom. The stranger fixed his piercing grey eyes on Tom and said with a curious half-smile, “I wonder if you can. You are Tom Riley, are you not?”
“Yes, that’s me; why don’t you come inside? It’s about to storm.”
“I thank you.” The younger man stepped over the threshold and into the light. Tom studied him. He had lank, black hair once neatly brushed, but now tousled by the wind. He had strong forceful eyes that seemed to gaze into Tom’s very soul; their cloudy grey hue accented his pale—almost white—complexion.
He was dressed neatly—and expensively. The only thing that appeared to be out of place was the worn brown fedora he held in his hands.
“Howdy!” said Tom, offering a handshake. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“Oh, we’ve never met,” the stranger assured him. “My name is Austin; Austin Murphy.”
“Good to meet you, Austin,” said Tom. “Now, what can I do for you? Sure must be important for you to come out on a night like this.”
Austin shuffled his feet nervously. “Well, I hear you’re one of those Christians, right? I mean, this whole place—what’s it called?”
“The Timothy Center.”
“Yeah, that’s it. This whole place I’ve heard is tied in with religion.”
Tom gave a short laugh. “Religion? Naw, we just believe in Jesus, and that the Bible is the Word of God.”
Austin waved his hand dismissingly. “I find that one and the same. Believing the Bible is religion, is it not?”
“It depends on how you look at it. For some people, the Bible is a set of rules and regulations. For me, the Bible may have rules, yes, but it’s more about how I can have a relationship with God. It’s a warm and personal thing—like having a friend.”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean, all that Christian stuff,” said Austin.
“And what does that have to do with your visit?” asked Tom. “Did you come to debate religion?”
Austin shook his head and swallowed. “No, I—I thought you might be able to help me.”
Tom raised his eyebrows. “Help you? We’ve got plenty of empty cabins if you need a place to stay for the night.”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Money?”
Again, Austin shook his head. “Do you believe in fate?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like somebody having his life already planned out by destiny. He doesn’t have any control over it.”
“That’s a tough question, Austin. On the one hand, I believe God is sovereign over everyone’s lives and He directs events. On the other, I also believe in a human being’s free will. We have a choice in our lives.”
“Then you’ve given me a glimmer of hope,” said Austin quietly.
“Austin, if you want me to help you, you’ve got to come clean and tell me what’s on your mind,” said Tom. Austin was doing nothing but beating around the bush.
For awhile, all that could be heard was the soft tock of the mahogany grandfather clock in the hall. Austin’s head was bowed as he watched himself fidget.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Finally, Austin spoke. His voice was weary, as if he was laden with a heavy burden. “I am destined to…”
“Yes?”
“To kill somebody tonight.”

***

Connie Kendall closed the old rattling stable door; it was the end of a long day at the Timothy Center. “Good night, Rachael!” she called to Mr. Riley’s faithful mare. Rachael nickered sleepily in return. Connie started to walk down the gravel trail that connected the stable to Tom’s house. She glanced up at the grey sky. “Looks like it’s about to pour any second,” she muttered under her breath. “Hopefully, I’ll make it to my car in time.” She thought of Tom. Maybe she should say goodbye before she left. His kitchen light was still on…no, she decided. I’ll see him tomorrow anyway.
Connie fished her keys from her pocket. She was about to unlock her car when she stopped short. There was a strange car parked at the beginning of Tom’s driveway; it was pulled over into the deep shadows of the old oak tree. Odd. She glanced back toward Tom’s house; someone was moving inside—but it wasn’t Tom.
Her heart beating a little faster, she left her car and went up to Tom’s front door. Peering through the window drapes, she gasped inwardly. Connie barely managed to suppress the scream that nearly escaped her throat. A stranger was sitting in the kitchen facing Mr. Riley—a gun in his hand.

***

The board was set, sitting lightly on a tasseled tablecloth. Cards lined the six edges of the hexagonal board—six cards were given to each person in the room. They were hooded, cloaked in strange clothing like monks’ habits.
“Ready, o acolytes,” intoned one of the members.
At the command, each of them placed both of their hands on the table, taking care not to touch the board. The air reeked with the smell of incense mingled with human sweat.
Silence.
“O Great Rah, come to us,” intoned the Master, giving a deep sigh. “Come to us, your servants.”

***

Austin opened his eyes. His breath was coming in short ragged gasps. His sweaty palms shook as he held the revolver pointed directly at Tom.
“I’m going to kill somebody tonight,” he repeated shakily.
Tom swallowed. Dear Lord, be with me, he prayed. Keep me calm. Out loud he said, “Austin, why don’t you put the gun away? Give us some time to think it over and talk it out.”
“No!” shouted Austin. “I must fulfill my destiny!”
“Destiny? You think that you are fated to murder someone?”
“Y-yes! It was commanded!”
Tom’s eyebrows bunched together. “Commanded? Who told you to kill me?”
“No, not you; anybody!”
“Anybody? It doesn’t matter who you kill?”
“No, all I have to do is obey and, and—“ he broke off suddenly. “Shut up! Quit asking me questions, old man!”
“Austin, why don’t we just calm down a little?” said Tom quietly. “I reckon I don’t understand why someone would have actually commanded you to kill somebody.”
“It’s my fate,” said Austin sullenly. “I am destined to do it. Rah said I am.”
Tom stared at Austin. “Rah? Who on earth is Rah?”
Austin’s eyes suddenly blazed again. “Who cares? Who cares?” he yelled bitterly. “What is it to you?”
“You were the one who came to me for help,” replied Tom. “And that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”
Austin lifted dull eyes to meet Tom’s gaze. “You can’t help.”

***

Chief Quinn of the Odyssey Police Department saw the blinking red light on his telephone receiver. He sighed; another urgent phone call. “Quinn here,” he said into the receiver.
“Sir, this is Officer Sedgewick.”
“Yeah, what is it, Sedgewick?”
“A distress call came in five minutes ago. I thought you might want personal notification—the call came from Connie Kendall.”
Immediately, every trace of apathy was drained from Quinn. “Connie? What did she say?”
“She’s at the Timothy Center. Apparently, some guy is holding Tom Riley at gunpoint!”
“Sedgewick, get my personal cruiser ready. I’m going there myself,” Quinn ordered tersely. “Alert Evans and have him head over there too.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Oh, and Sedgewick? Get moving—every second counts.” Quinn slammed the phone back in its cradle, grabbed his revolver from the desk, and jammed it into his holster. His night had just gotten a little more complicated.

***

The pungent smell of the incense still hung over the dark room like a thick blanket. It was choking, constricting.
The Master lifted his hands from the table and waved them in the air menacingly. “You have heard the great Rah speak. He demands a sacrifice. Who is the one who will be our master’s tool?”
As if on cue, the five other members slowly, methodically turned their cards over one by one.
One of the hooded ones drew back startled.
“Ah, ha!” the Master chuckled. “You, Austin Murphy will do this deed tonight. Rah has decreed your fate.”

***

“So, so—this “Rah” told you?” Tom asked, his eyebrows bunched together.
“Yes,” said Austin simply. His hand still gripped the gun, but now it was pointed downward.
Tom sighed. “I don’t know about Rah, Austin; but I do know that you don’t have to obey him or any of those Satanic rituals. See, Jesus Christ has died for you; if you accept Jesus—not Rah—Satan has no power over you. Don’t be tricked into thinking that you are forced into murdering someone. It’s a choice; you can choose Jesus, or you can choose this demonic Rah.”
Please help me, Lord, Tom prayed again silently. Be with us now.
“I’ve already chosen,” grunted Austin morosely. “The Master has told me that I am Rah’s forever.”
Tom sagged inwardly. He could see the incredible Satanic bondage the young man was under. “But Jesus Christ is more powerful than Rah,” he said, “He can remove this burden!”
“He wouldn’t accept me; I’m not fit to live,” Austin spat out. He looked at the gun he held. He was silent for a minute, as if pondering. “What do I have to lose?” he muttered. “What would it matter if I killed myself?”
“Now, Austin, just put the gun down and we can talk this out,” said Tom firmly. There’s no reason to think like that.”
Austin just smirked. “My life is a wreck—no job, no family, drugs, alcohol…I have nothing to lose.”
“Except your soul,” interrupted Tom, “and that’s what is most important.”
Austin sprang to his feet, fire in his piercing eyes. “I belong to Rah!”
“Stop!” commanded Tom, also rising. “Don’t mention that name again!”
Austin started shaking uncontrollably. “He’s mine!” shouted Austin—except it wasn’t his normal voice. He was shuddering violently and speaking in a guttural tone. “Stay away or I’ll destroy both him and you!” And Austin clapped the pistol to his own temple.

***

Sedgewick and Evans screeched into the entrance to the Timothy Center. Chief Quinn roared in right behind them in his personal cruiser. The three policemen got out and met Connie, who was running to them nearly hysterical with fear.
“You’ve got to do something,” she panted. “That guy is yelling at Tom. I’m afraid he’s going to pull the trigger any time now!”
Quinn placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Connie, calm down. I want you to sit tight in the squad car. You’ll be safe there. This is work for professionals.”
Connie broke down into sobs. “Just get Tom out alive,” she whispered.
Quinn looked into her teary eyes and set his grizzled jaw firmly. “Don’t worry—we will.”
He beckoned to Sedgewick and Evans. “Move in carefully. Whatever you do, don’t alert this guy that we’re here.”
Both officers drew their police revolvers and crept toward Tom’s house. The only light that was on was the one in the kitchen. They could see shadows moving inside. Sedgewick flattened himself against the wall and inched his way to the window frame. Then, taking a deep breath, he peered inside for an instant.
“Quinn!” he hissed. The burly chief was at his side.
“What did you see?”
“Bad news—not only is he a murderous burglar, but he’s a suicidal murderous burglar.”
“What!”
“See for yourself,” whispered Sedgewick. Quinn peered into the window; Tom was sitting facing the kitchen window. The stranger was standing with his back to the window, but he was pressing the gun to his own temple.
“Now we’re really in a jam,” muttered Quinn. “What do we do now?”
“Is the door unlocked?” asked Evans.
Quinn quickly tested the doorknob. “Yes, we’re in luck.”
“But we would never be able to disarm him in time,” objected Sedgewick. “As soon as we open the door, he would shoot himself or Tom.”
“Or both,” added Quinn grimly.

***

He’s possessed, thought Tom frantically. That Rah has him. What do I do?
One word echoed in his brain. Pray.
Tom instantly slipped down his chair and knelt on the tile floor.
“What are you doing? Get up!” screamed the voice coming out of Murphy’s mouth.
Tom didn’t answer. Calmly and clearly, he began to pray. “Lord Jesus, help us now—“
“Stop it!” shouted Murphy. His arm moved forward and directed the barrel of the gun at Tom’s head. “Stop it!”
Tom went right on praying. “Break Satan’s power here tonight. You have power over demons, Jesus. Show yourself mighty now!”
Austin let out a strangled groan. His finger tightened against the trigger.
Tom lifted his face upward. “In the name of Jesus Christ—“
Murphy screamed again and leapt forward. But instead of landing on Tom, he fell past him. To Tom’s bewilderment, he began slamming his head viciously against the wall.
“I will destroy you, Murphy! You are mine!” shouted the voice again. “Miiiiiinnne!”

***

Quinn’s eyes bugged. “This guy is a nut! We’re going in now!”
Wham! Quinn, Sedgewick, and Evans burst through the kitchen door.

***

“In the name of Jesus Christ—begone!” cried Tom again. “Begone!”
Murphy gave one final wail.
Suddenly, there were two blasts that thundered in Tom’s ear. He was blown backward onto the table, stunned and deafened. Then, three uniformed men crashed into the room. He recognized one of them. “Captain Quinn!” he coughed weakly.
“Tom! Are you all right!” shouted Quinn.
“Murphy! Is Murphy—?”
Quinn pointed to the floor. Austin Murphy’s form lay in a crumpled heap.
Blackness closed in on Tom and he knew no more.

***

“There’s a good girl, Rachael,” laughed Connie as the gentle mare nibbled a carrot from her hand.
Tom stood beside her, smiling at his favorite horse. “She’s taken a liking to you, Connie!” he said.
“Well, maybe, but I don’t think she’ll like anyone more than she does you.”
Tom laughed. “I reckon.”
“So did you just get back from visiting Austin?” asked Connie.
“Yes, he’s still in pretty rough shape. The doctors are still treating him for the concussion he got from slamming his head on the wall. They also want to keep him until they’re sure he didn’t sustain any brain damage from the self-inflicted gunshots. They say the bullets grazed his brain.”
“Was he—you know—normal?”
Tom shrugged. “He seemed just like you and me, in his right mind again. There wasn’t any trace of his demonic possession. In fact, he was quite interested when I read the Bible with him.”
“I’m just glad that you’re safe,” said Connie.
“The Lord protected both me and Austin,” Tom replied. “He is more powerful than any spirit. More importantly, He’s beginning to work in Austin. Austin said he’s given up on the occult and wants to start learning about the true God.”
“I can’t understand how anyone could do such a horrible thing,” shuddered Connie.
“Satan is a great deceiver, Connie. He tricks men into thinking he is god. When people start dabbling in the occult, they are opening themselves up to great spiritual harm whether they know it or not. But it takes incidents like this for us to realize that God is always in control.”
Rachael nickered softly. “You want another carrot, don’t you?” said Connie. “Well, you’ve had two already.”
“I’m ready for lunch myself,” said Tom, patting his rumbling stomach. “It’s nearly noon.”
“Why don’t we go inside, and I’ll make us some sandwiches,” suggested Connie.
“Sounds good to me!”
The two friends shut the stable door and started walking back to the house under the rays of a warm sunshine.

[Trent DeWhite]

ENTRY 3

…sucking in another lungful of fresh air, bracing himself for the meeting to come. He waited for ten seconds, then twenty, then thirty, mentally ticking away the time while trying not to fidget nervously. He was just about to knock again when the door began to open. The young man tried to smile, not wanting Mr. Riley to get a bad first impression of him. However, as the door fully opened to reveal the person there, the smile wavered, and he started coughing, trying to cover up his reaction.

“Hi! Sorry I didn’t make it to the door right away, but my cookies had to come out of the oven right away. I already burnt the first batch, and I didn’t want to ruin another one,” a young woman informed the man standing at Tom Riley’s door. The young man still didn’t answer; he had been expecting an elderly man, not this pretty girl! He did quickly remove his hat, however, not wanting to appear impolite as the girl let him into the entranceway of the house and out of the rain.

“Umm…hi,” he finally managed to spit out. “Is…is Mr. Riley here right now?”

The girl shook her head, indicating that he had come at the wrong time. “Sorry, Tom’s not here right now. Was he expecting you?” she asked curiously.

He sighed inwardly. “No, Mr. Riley didn’t know that I would be coming. Is there a better time when I could come?”

A hesitant expression appeared on the girl’s face. “Well, Tom has a lot of stuff going on right now. Is it really important?”

The young man nodded, and wondered is he should try to explain or not. He decided that the full story was too complicated, and sharing any details would definitely be much more than this girl probably needed to know. “Maybe I could leave a message asking him to call me,” the man said.

“Sure, no problem. Tom should be able to call you within a day or two. Would that work?”

That was much longer than what he would have preferred, but he really had no other options. “Sure, that would be fine,” he reluctantly responded. He pulled out a card from an inside pocket of his jacket, scribbled a quick note on the back, and handed it to the girl, who looked at the card curiously.

“Andrew Spencer, Private Investigator,” she read off the front, also glancing at his cell phone number and e-mail address, as well as the other assorted data that the card presented. “Cool! Hey, wait a minute,” she exclaimed. “Tom isn’t in any trouble, is he? There’s no way that he would ever do anything wrong. Is somebody trying to hurt him? Have you told the police yet?” she demanded frantically.

The young man chuckled, then raised his hands in front of him in self-defence as the girl glared at him. “Mr. Riley isn’t in trouble – I was hired by a person who very much wanted to have Mr. Riley found, and I have been given a message that he is supposed to hear as soon as possible. You don’t need to worry about your friend, and calling the police shouldn’t be necessary. And now that you know my name and who I am, perhaps I could have the pleasure of making your acquaintance?” The last part of the sentence was said with a bit of hesitation – the girl still looked like she didn’t really trust him.

“Well, I’m Connie Kendall,” the girl said after looking at him for a moment longer. “I work at the Timothy Centre, and I had some free time, so I decided to make some of Tom’s favourite peanut butter cookies. Unfortunately,” Connie continued ruefully, “I got distracted, and I burnt the first batch so badly that if Tom had a dog, I’m sure that he wouldn’t have eaten them! He would have sniffed at them, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and then refuse to come near enough to them to even bury the evidence of my bad baking!”

The two shared a laugh at the scene that Connie’s description brought to mind. Andrew was relieved that she didn’t seem to want to call the cops on him anymore, and she probably didn’t mind his company too much, if she felt comfortable enough to share culinary horror stories with him. He quickly glanced at his watch, and noticed that it was already almost five p.m. Would Mr. Riley be in for supper? Andrew pondered. Maybe if I just wait a bit longer, he’ll come home, and I won’t have to come back here later. With this in mind, Andrew decided to risk asking if he could stay for a while.

As he presented his request, he could tell that Connie Kendall was not entirely thrilled with the idea, but that she also had too kind of a heart to turn him out into the cold and rainy weather when he had something important to tell her friend.

Connie sighed, then cheerfully said, “Sure, you can wait here for Tom! He shouldn’t be too much longer, and I’m sure that he’ll want to hear whatever you have to tell him.”

With that settled, Connie led the way to the kitchen, where she still had to put another pan of cookies in the oven, as well as place the cookies that just came out onto the cooling rack, though they were already almost cool by the time that Connie returned to her baking.

“Did you want a cookie?” Connie asked Andrew, wondering if her story about the burnt ones had scared him off.

To Connie’s surprise, he eagerly accepted the proffered cookie, and bit into it immediately, then proceeded to briefly close his eyes and revel in the bite of peanut butter cookie that he was chewing. “This is great!” Andrew exclaimed, and took another bite. As he finished the cookie, he looked sheepishly at Connie.

“I apologize, Miss Kendall. When you offered me the cookie, I remembered that I hadn’t eaten lunch today – the cookie was just what I needed to get me through until supper!”

Connie giggled. “I don’t get many compliments on my cooking and baking – I’m glad that you liked it!” She paused, and then continued as another thought occurred to her. “And please, call me Connie. When people call me ‘Miss Kendall’ I feel like Eugene must be around, and as much as I like to see him now that he’s back here in Odyssey, I still don’t need everyone calling me that!” Seeing the brief look of confusion on Andrew’s face, she clarified. “Eugene is a friend who was gone for a while. If I say stuff that doesn’t make sense, just ignore me! Bernard thinks I’m crazy!” Realizing that she had just mentioned another unknown name, she laughed. “See? There I go again. Maybe I should just be quiet – I might get in less trouble that way!” With that, Connie turned to check on her cookies.

Andrew smiled benignly, hiding his whirling thoughts. Of course, as part of his investigation, he had briefly researched Tom Riley’s close friends in Odyssey, and he had spent some time in the town earlier on official business, though he had been undercover at the time, and focused on a specific target, not meeting the townspeople. While Connie had been easy to mentally identify, she did look much nicer up close than from a distance, or through a pair of ridiculous sunglasses that apparently looked “cool,” according to the kid that he talked to. The “Eugene” that she had referred to would, of course, be Eugene Meltsner, formerly her fellow co-worker at Whit’s End (some ice cream place/kid’s hang out, as far as he could tell), and a long-time friend of Mr. Riley’s. “Bernard” would refer to Bernard Walton, one of Mr. Riley’s friends who was closer to him in age, though somewhat crustier in temperament.

Andrew and Connie talked for a while, sharing superficial personal information about themselves and their jobs. Finally, after an enjoyable hour of discussion, in which Andrew had asked for and received Connie’s e-mail address, and Connie had asked for and received one of Andrew’s business cards, Andrew reluctantly stood up, deciding that he had spent enough time waiting for Mr. Riley. He could try again in the morning, or just wait for a phone call. As Connie was showing Andrew to the door, a truck pulled up.

“That’s Tom now!” Connie said, glad that he had returned before Andrew left. The two of them stood on the front porch, waiting for Tom, while enjoying the site of the rain clouds shifting to reveal a pale streak of sunlight that continued to expand as the clouds rolled away. Tom meandered up towards the house after he had parked his truck, then moved a bit faster when he realized that there was an unfamiliar person waiting for him.

“Howdy,” Tom greeted Connie and Andrew as he reached the house. Jokingly he added, “Connie, I leave you alone for one afternoon and you’ve already found yourself a boyfriend, or what?”

Connie blushed slightly as she responded, “No, Tom, he came to see you, not me! This is Andrew, and guess what? He’s a private investigator! Isn’t that cool?!”

Laughing at Connie’s obvious enthusiasm over his visitor, Tom responded, “Well, as long as he makes more sense than Harlow Doyle, I’d be more than happy to talk to him.”

The threesome headed inside Tom’s house, where Andrew fully introduced himself and handed Tom one of his cards. Tom looked closely at the card, then exclaimed, “Woo-eee, you sure came a long way to talk to me! Wouldn’t a phone call have been easier than comin’ all the way from Alberta to see me? That’s way up north in Canada!”

Smiling, Andrew replied, “Yes, I’m from a province just north of Montana. It probably isn’t as far north as you think that it is! And I had to see you in person. I was hired by a lawyer’s firm that needed me to find you and deliver an important message t you. Apparently one of their clients wanted somebody like me to deliver a message to you. They were given very specific instructions as to what type of person should bring you the news – I was never told why. Actually, my friend Corey almost was the one to come and tell you, but he’s awfully busy with work and school and his website and stuff, so I came instead.” Andrew glanced at Connie, then turned back to Tom.

“Mr. Riley, would it be possible to speak with you privately? This is information that you may later want to share with your friends, but you’ll probably want some time to digest it first.”

Tom looked at Connie, who threw her hands up in the air, conceding defeat. “Fine, I’ll go,” she said, not sounding very happy about it. “Mom is probably expecting me home by now anyway. There are peanut butter cookies in the container on the counter, Tom,” Connie called over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “And make sure that I find out more before I die of curiosity!” Connie concluded right before the door slammed behind her.

Tom smiled fondly. “That’s Connie for you!” His face then transformed from a smile to a near-frown. “Now, what’s so important and secret that we need to be alone for you to tell me?”

“Mr. Riley,” Andrew said seriously, “You have been given a great deal of money to aid the work that your Timothy Centre is trying to do. Somebody out there saw the potential that your place had, and wanted to support it. There is a bank account currently open in your name that contains funds that have been designated by the donor as money that should be used to further the work that the Timothy Centre does. I have been instructed to give the following letter to you:

Dear Mr. Riley –

While I have not seen you in a long time, I have thought about you and Odyssey often. While I do not think that I should return there myself, I have had various people informing me as to the whereabouts and general actions of some of the people that I used to know, including you. Especially you. Mr. Riley, you had a strong impact on my life. I can never thank you enough for what you have done for me, and when I heard about the Timothy Centre, I wanted to be involved in some way. I can’t help personally, but I can provide some funds, so that you can give the kids out there with what I never got as a kid. The Timothy Centre, or something like it, could have made all the difference for me as a child, and I want others to be able to have that. Your capacity for love and generosity and Christ-like selflessness never ceases to amaze me; you have been a wonderful example of a Christian man to me. While I know better than many how hard you’ve had to struggle with some issues of pain and forgiveness in your life, you have always persevered, and for that, I thank you. This is the only way that I could come close to trying to thank you. The sum of five million dollars is yours – use it however you best see fit. I am sorry that it cannot be more, but due to so many wasted years in my life, even an inheritance can’t make money multiply to the extent that it could have otherwise. Once again, I am truly grateful. Thanks for all that you have done for me, Mr. Riley. I will never forget it, and neither will the kids who come to the Timothy Centre.

Love in Christ,

Richard Maxwell.

By the time that Tom finished reading the letter, he was crying, big droplets of salt water coursing down his cheeks as he tried to see well enough to read the signature again and see if it really said what he thought it had.

“Richard Maxwell,” Tom whispered after he had regained control. “I just can’t believe that he would do that! Where did he get the money? He mentioned an inheritance, but still, why would he want me to have it? He makes me sound so much better than I am. After the terrible way that I treated him for so many years, and the way that I refused to forgive him for so long, I can’t believe that he would do this for me.”

Tom looked up at Andrew. “Are you sure that this letter is true? It seems almost too good to believe! And that’s a lot of money to give away!”

Andrew smiled sympathetically at the older man. “While I have not actually read the letter myself, of course, I am sure that it is accurate. I was instructed to give you the letter, and then arrange the banking details with you. The local bank was more than happy to open an account for this deposit, and they’re looking forward to doing business with you!”

Tom shook his head back and forth. “This money is an answer to prayer! You see, just before this I was at a meeting to see if we could raise the funds to start a new program at the Timothy Centre, but we just couldn’t come up with the funds. I thought that we might be able to eventually, and I do have a friend that would help us if we asked him, but I really didn’t want to have to do that.”

The well-to-do friend must be John Avery Whittaker, Andrew thought to himself.

Tom continued, unaware of Andrew’s thoughts. “This money would not only allow an increase in outreach, and allow us to lower our prices even more for church retreats and conferences, but it would also allow us to start some of the other programs that we’ve thought of, but never expected that we could actually do! But it bothers me to just take the money,” Tom said, hesitation clear in his voice. “I’d like to talk to Richard before I take the money. Maybe he would agree to donate just some of that money – this seems like too much for him to give away! And,” Tom considered thoughtfully, “I haven’t talked to Richard in a long time. This is a good opportunity to find out what’s happening in his life. I should have tried to contact him years ago, but the time just kept slipping away from me.” Tom looked down at his hands, and then up again at Andrew. “I need to talk to Richard before I do anything. Do you have his phone number or some other way that I could contact him?”

Andrew paused a moment before answering. He had been hoping that the topic wouldn’t come up until he had already left. “Mr. Riley, I regret to inform you that this donation to the Timothy Centre and the letter that you received were part of the instructions of Richard Maxwell’s last will and testament.”

Tom nodded briefly, then realized what Andrew’s statement implied. “You mean that he’s…he’s dead?” Tom said, hoping that he misunderstood.
Andrew nodded his head slowly.

“Yes, that’s correct. I’m sorry for your loss,” he added softly as Tom’s face took on a pained expression, one of mourning for a man that he knew far too little, and whom he had condemned for far too long.

“All those wasted years,” Tom mumbled to himself. “All those years that I could have forgiven him, and after that there were so many years where I could have contacted him, found out how he was doing. But I didn’t. I didn’t.” Tom sat lost in thought as Andrew waited for the next inevitable question. “How did he die?” Tom asked after a few moments.

“I did not come into contact with Mr. Maxwell myself, and I don’t know all the details, but I believe that it was connected to some internal injuries that occurred earlier in his life. His body never fully recovered from some damage that was done, and eventually a resulting illness took his life. He knew for months ahead of time that it was likely that his life would be shorter than he had hoped for, and that’s when he contacted to law firm that I’ve done some work for. Rest assured, Mr. Riley, that Richard Maxwell felt strongly about the work that you are doing. I was one of the people doing the work of checking up on your organization – in a discreet manner, of course. I was told that Mr. Maxwell was quite pleased with the idea of the Timothy Centre, and also enjoyed hearing reports of kids whose lives were changed as a result. He left you his entire fortune – he had no heirs or close family members, and he wanted you to have the funds to do great things in Odyssey and the surrounding towns. I’m sure that his letter explained a bit more of why he wanted you to have the money, but it is undeniable that Richard Maxwell knew what he was doing when he gave you the money, and that he wanted you to put it to good use.”

Tom looked dazed. “I still have trouble believing it. But it sound like Richard became a Christian during his life away from Odyssey, and I am so glad that I’ll be able to see him in heaven and thank him for all that’s he’s done, even if I lost my chance to do so here on earth.”

Just then, a knock was heard at the door. Tom, still sitting and pondering what he had just heard, barely even noticed as Andrew looked at him, then quietly slipped to the door to see who was there. To his surprise (and delight), it was Connie.

“I think I forgot my watch here,” Connie explained, looking somewhat guilty. “I took it off when I was washing dishes earlier, and never put it back on. Are you and Tom done your secret meeting yet, so I can get my watch?”

Andrew smiled at Connie’s obvious attempt to find out what was happening as soon as possible. That kind of curiosity would be handy in my line of work, he thought. I wonder if she’s ever considered being a private investigator, or maybe a private detective’s secretary?

Andrew let Connie in and she immediately found her watch, and then went to Tom to try and wheedle as many details as possible out of him. When Tom saw Connie, he grinned. He knew that her curious streak wouldn’t keep her away for long – she hated to be left out of anything!

“Hi, Connie. I have some good news for you!”

Connie was thrilled that she wouldn’t have to try too hard to get the details that she wanted. “What?” she responded, barely controlling her excitement.

“You can go to college to get your teacher’s degree any time you want now – we can afford to pay you what you’re worth after your done!”

Connie looked at Tom oddly, wondering if he was feeling all right. “Are you okay, Tom? What are you talking about?”

Tom smiled, but his sorrow still shone through. “Let me tell you a story about generosity, and undeserved forgiveness and grace. I’ve been the recipient of both today.”

[Trent DeWhite]

Want to voice your thoughts or opinions? Visit the discussion thread!

Please do not post here. Thanks.

[Trent DeWhite]

Congratulations to Dr. Watson for winning the AIO Writing Contest with 9 votes! As the grand prize winner, your book will be published and made available at Holstein's Books in the near future.



It was certainly a close race, as Catspaw ended up in second place with 8 votes.

Rachael finished a close third with 7 votes.

Because it was such a close result, I will be sending cash prizes to all three writers. Many thanks for providing us with such entertainment. We all enjoyed your excellent pieces of fan fiction.

For those interested, I will be starting a new AIO writing contest in mid-July. Stay tuned.

In the meanwhile, feel free to post here and congratulate the three authors.

[Chandler]

Congratulations to Dr. Watson!!

[Me]

I second that! Excellent job. Just so turns out that his is the one I voted for, although it was a very hard decision.

[Bmuntz]

What a close vote. Great job Watson! and good job to All!

[AIOfan11]

Which ones were who's? I am really curious to see who I voted for!

Congratulations Dr. Watson, Catspaw, and Racheal!

[Trent DeWhite]

Which ones were who's? I am really curious to see who I voted for!

Entry 1 - Rachael
Entry 2 - Dr. Watson
Entry 3 - Catspaw

[AIOfan11]

Great! Thanks! I voted for 3.

[EK]

Meh 2 was great!

[Dr. Watson]

Thanks all! I enjoyed writing it.


Too bad we didn't get to read Elf's entry.

[Me]

Yeah it is. I love Elf's writing, what little I've seen of it.

[J-man]

Congratulations Dr. Watson!

[Bennett]

Haha. Congradulations; Job Very Well done.

[Catspaw]

Congratulations to Dr. Watson! Your story was very good! I enjoyed Rachael's a lot as well, and if I hadn't written one myself, deciding who to vote for would have been very difficult!

[Ruthie]

I voted for #3.