Copyrighted 2006 - All rights reserved.
Lilacs
Richard Clay pulled the pick-up truck into the driveway and killed the engine. It was good to see the old house again. Lilac blossoms filled the air with their scent. Gentle ripples from the lake lapped at the shore. It seemed like he had never left.
"Home sweet home," Clay said to himself.
Clay was both happy and sad about being back. He remembered spending summers here growing up. Endless days playing in the water and going to the firehouse where his dad volunteered. He had loved the place as a kid, and he knew Nell would make her own memories here as well.
It had been a long year. It was a great place to rebuild a life.
The cell phone chirped for attention and brought Clay out of his reverie.
"Hello?" he answered. "Hi, Mom. Yeah, I just got here. It was a good conference. Picked up a lot of things I can use in class." A flash of white went across the sky. "What? Sorry. Looks like a thunderstorm is moving in. Is Nell awake?"
The distant rumble of thunder rolled down the valley. The air smelled of approaching rain.
"Hey, Dad. My little girl is sound asleep?" Clay laughed gently into the phone. "Give her a big hug and kiss from Daddy. Yup, I've already stopped over at the firehouse, so they know we're living here now. Everyone says hi and wants to know when you are coming back to visit. I'll call in the morning. G'night."
Clay plugged the cell phone into the charger and left it in the truck. He took another deep breath of country air and slowly let it out. It was good to be home.
Another rumble of thunder followed Clay as he grabbed his bags and quickly walked to the door. The key slid easily into the lock and the door opened silently. There was a faint whiff of ... something as he stepped in. It wasn't quite the scent of the lilacs, but close. Definitely familiar, but the scent didn't last long enough to be recognized.
A lab accident had robbed Clay of his sense of smell years ago. He had become accustomed to having only a fleeting sensation of aromas that everyone else took for granted. Sometimes it was a blessing, such as when he was changing diapers.
Nevertheless, there was something about the scent that bothered him.
However, whatever it was, the aroma was now gone. Detected and now discarded. The first drops of rain cleansed the last bit of scent from the air. All that remained was its memory.
Clay flipped on the light switch, but the house stayed dark. This didn't surprise him. His parents usually opened most of the circuit breakers before they left for their regular home. It was no matter. He would reset the breakers once the truck was emptied.
Clay put down his bags, and went to grab the groceries out of the truck. The lightning was getting closer and the air felt thick and heavy with impending deluge. The whoosh of heavy rain was close by.
He made it back to the house just as the sprinkle became a downpour. Clay pulled his penlight out of his shirt pocket and used it to find his way into the kitchen. He placed the bags on the counter with only a mild thud. The breaker box was in the back hallway by the pantry. One by one he closed the switches until the house was ready to return to life.
The scent was suddenly back. Familiar. Stronger than before. Then gone.
Clay turned and placed his back against the wall. He did his best to become one with the shadows and listened. He watched and waited. There was nothing to hear but the building storm. Flashes of lightning did little but rob him of his night vision.
He pulled out his penlight and carefully scanned the room. No one was there. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. In fact, everything looked neat and tidy, as if his parents had left only the day before.
Clay carefully stepped out of the pantry-way and started turning lights on all over the house. Room after room came alive as the shadows retreated. He inspected every room to look for roof leaks and field mice. Also, he wanted to make sure he was alone. Once satisfied, Clay returned to the kitchen and started putting the groceries away.
By nature, Clay was a very easy-going man. He didn't startle easily. Tonight, however, he jumped with every ruble of thunder and flash of lightning. He tried telling himself that there was nothing wrong and that he was alone. It didn't help.
Finally, Clay placed a frozen dinner he had brought with him into the microwave and turned on the television. He sat down on the couch and flipped on the news. It was about a quarter after eleven and the weather was on. The weathercaster was talking about a line of storms that would be passing though the area like a train, one storm following another. This wasn't news to Clay. He could already hear the next storm coming down the valley.
He went to the kitchen to clean up from his Hungry Man dinner while the television talked about how the White Sox won in the tenth inning. Clay was only partially listening. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Usually this calmed him. Tonight, he wasn't relaxing. Something was gnawing away in the back of his mind.
"... again, our lead story. Two of three patients who escaped from the Del Mar psychiatric hospital have been captured..."
This grabbed Clay's full attention. He sat down and listened. A train had derailed yesterday afternoon. Three patients had escaped when the security-fence was ripped open by the wreckage. Two of the patients had been caught. One was still at large.
Neat and tidy! Clay thought to himself. It dawned on him that none of the furniture was covered. He reached down and ran his finger over the coffee table in front of him. It was spotless. There should have been over a month's worth of dust.
He didn't need to see the image on the television screen to know whom it was. His mind finally put the pieces together. Jane was here.
The house phone wasn't working yet and the cell phone was in the truck. Clay didn't remember if he had locked the truck door. Out here in the country, people seldom did.
Clay quietly made his way to the front entrance. He turned the knob but it wouldn't open. He reached for the dead bolt and noticed that it was keyed on the inside as well as out. The house key didn't fit the lock.
There was a side door down the pantry-way. That hall would dead end if that doorway also locked as he suspected. Even so, Clay had to try it. He grabbed the first thing he could find as weapon – a cast iron frying pan. He smiled ironically as he held the pan. It was the same sort of thing Jane had used to break his leg.
Clay listened carefully for the sound of movement. It was hard to hear with the rumble of thunder in the background. He carefully went down the hallway and found the door locked. Jane was quite thorough.
Without hesitation, Clay returned to the kitchen. He was not going to be trapped that easily. He took a moment to assess his options.
Clay reached behind him and was able to slide open the small windows over the kitchen sink. He might be able to squeeze through, but it would take time and leave him vulnerable for a few moments. It was an option, but not a good one.
The ground sloped quickly away from the front of the house. Surely the basement doors that opened onto the beach were also locked tight. The first floor windows that opened towards the lake were a story above ground level. The chances of crashing through the windows, landing on the rocks and getting away without a broken leg were not good. The same was true for the bedrooms upstairs
No, one bedroom overlooked the front porch. With luck, he might be able to break through that window and have a more survivable jump. That was where he had to go. It was also where Jane would most likely be.
Clay made his way towards the fireplace, keeping his back to the wall. He reached down and discovered that the axe was kept there was missing. At least now he knew what weapon Jane had.
A bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree. The sap turned into team an exploded with a roar. With that, the lights failed.
Clay dropped to floor and traded the frying pan for the fireplace poker. With the next flash, he dove for cover in the shadows.
"Richard..." said a silky voice. "You don't have to hide from me..."
Clay didn't know what was louder, the beating of his heart or the thunder outside. He quietly slid down a few more feet, studying the silhouettes made by the lightning.
Flash! Flash! CRASH!
Clay saw the axe blade sink deep into the wood floor where he had been just seconds earlier. While Jane struggled to free the axe, he didn't wait. Clay swung the poker hard and felt it connected with something. Jane screamed in rage. She freed the axe and swung again.
He jumped back, tripped over the furniture and rolled away into the shadows once more. The thunder continued to rumble, but not a sound could be heard in the house.
The situation was becoming surreal to Clay. It was a chess game. A struggling King battling and enraged Queen. He now felt quite sure that Jane had booby-traps laid out for him. He just didn't know where.
There it was! Lilacs! He rolled next to the wall and pulled out what he hoped was his penlight. He pressed the button and light blasted into her eyes. Jane screamed.
The beam of collimated light could only have come from his laser pointer. At this distance, she would be blinded for a while in one eye. With luck, she might be permanently blind.
Jane lunged at him, screaming and swinging the axe. It buried itself deep into the wall.
It was Clay's turn to attack. He lunged at Jane, sending both of them to the floor. Clay landed wrong and could feel the tendons in his leg almost giving way. At the same time, something was tearing into his flesh and he screamed in agony. A flash of lightning showed Jane sinking her teeth deep into his arm.
Clay lashed out with his free hand, still screaming from the intense pain. It was an awkward blow, but it was enough to set him free. He hobbled away into the shadows and headed for the stairs.
"Richard, you don't have to be afraid," said the silky voice. There was an evil pleasantness to the sound. "I'm just returning the favor you did for me."
The axe swung into something solid, but it was nowhere near Clay.
"Do you know what your position as senior vice-president let me do?" she asked. There was a growing edge in her voice. "It let me do almost anything I want! We were among the elite. Power. Prestige."
The axe stuck again even farther from the stairs.
"And you threw it all away to become a school teacher." All pretense of sweetness was gone. The words were now angry and bitter. "We lost everything! The membership in the country club. The BMWs. I went from a somebody to a nobody! All over a little bit of stress."
Clay ignored the taunts. He had these arguments with Jane after the heart attack and deciding to leave the industrial world. There was no finding a compromise with Jane. Too much of her self-worth was tied up in what she could do because of his job.
Jane released her anger by taking an axe to their home and destroying the interior. Clay used their savings to restore the house so it could be sold. The court found Jane incompetent to stand trial, and had her remanded to a psychiatric facility. Clay, and their daughter Nell, moved on with their lives.
Now that she was free, Jane wasn't going to let Clay escape her grip again.
Clay slowly moved up the stairs on all fours. His hand bumped a string stretched across the staircase. He dropped onto the steps just as something swung by close overhead.
"Now where did that come from?" Jane asked innocently. The voice was getting closer. "You would almost think that someone is trying to hurt you..."
It was very clear that Jane had this quite well planned. All thoughts of being a gentleman had vanished from Clay's mind. This was a battle for survival. The winner lived to see the sunrise. The loser would see only night.
Clay thought about crashing through the window and taking his chances with the rocks below, but it would do no good. It would simply delay the inevitable. The next time they met, Nell might be involved. He could not allow that. This would end here.
The rest of the upstairs was certainly booby-trapped. Clay had no doubts about that. The kitchen windows were out of the question as long as Jane was free. That left the basement. He reached up and grabbed the object swinging back and forth over his head. It felt like the nine-pound hammer from the shed. Clay gave it a pull and what ever it was attached to came thundering down after him.
Clay leapt down the steps and met Jane at the base of the stairs. She started to swing the axe again but Clay's weight and momentum gave him the advantage. The hammer came down on her shoulder, shattering it.
Jane shrieked in pain, but was still able to lash out at Clay. Fortunately, it was with the blunt end of the axe. His arm hurt like hell, but it was still attached.
A distant flash of lightning did little to illuminate the house. It was Jane's turn to disappear into the shadows. A plan was forming in Clay's mind. It was time for the King to go on the offensive.
He quietly made his way to the first floor bathroom and locked the door behind him. This was where the coal chute used to be before the bathroom had been added. The chute opening was still there beneath the floor tiles.
Clay pulled out his penlight and pocketknife. He had only a moment to uncover the chute. He could hear Jane's voice in the background. It wouldn't take long before she checked the bathroom.
A tile came loose in his hands, and then another. A few seconds more and he had uncovered the trapdoor over the chute. He stood and pulled on the latch. Clay and the rusty hinges groaned as the door finally moved.
There was the thump of an axe striking the door, and then another. Clay was out of time.
He threw the hammer into the basement, sat on the edge of the opening and slid into the darkness below.
She had been ready for this. Broken glass littered the floor. He had slid onto a small table near the opening, and that had saved his feet from being slit open. Clay reached up and pulled the trapdoor shut. Footsteps came racing across the floor above him as the dead bolt slid into place. A loud thunk said that Jane was using the axe on the door. One. Two. Three strikes and then all was quiet above.
Clay carefully slid of the table and used his penlight to walk around the worst of the glass shards. His body desperately wanted to rest. His arm ached and probably needed to be bandaged, but there was no time. Clay had seconds. If he was lucky, he might have a whole minute. He quickly found what he was looking for..
In the utility room sat the root cellar, the furnace and the hot water tank. The first step was to reset the temperature on the water tank. Next, Clay pulled out his pocketknife and jammed the leather awl into the gas line. A gentle hiss told him that he was successful. Lastly, he grabbed a jug of cooking oil and undid the top. All that he needed was time.
Clay discarded his light colored shirt and moved into the deep shadows of the basement. There was still an old pile of coal in the corner. He wiped his body with the coal dust to help stay invisible in the shadows. The ache in his arm would prevent him from using the trapdoor again. He had to get past her to get out.
The cellar door squeaked open. Clay hid in the shadows and waited. The lightning did nothing to illuminate the cellar, but he did catch a glimpse of her. There was a dichotomy of images. Jane looked disheveled from the hunt. Yet, there was a neatness to her that spoke volumes.
Jane never could stand for anything being out of place or dirty. She obsessive about being clean and went so far as to wash her hands almost every hour. That was her weakness. That was how the King would attack.
In Jane's hands was the axe.
She stood at the head of the stairs, listening. He held his breath and waited for the right time to make his move. The chess match had advanced into the endgame.
Jane walked as quiet as a cat downstairs and moved towards the utility room door. With infinite patience, she scanned the darkness looking for some sign of her prey. Clay narrowed his eyes to slits to hide the whites of his eyes.
"Richard," she said is a soft, silky voice. The sound sent a shiver down Clay's back.
Jane turned just as Clay swung the hammer at her. He missed, but knocked the axe out of her hands.
She screamed in anger and swung at him with her fist. Jane struck him in the injured arm. Clay ignored the pain as best he could, then squirted the bottle of cooking oil over her.
The howl that escaped Jane's lips was that of a wild animal. She tried to pick up the axe, but the oil didn't let her get a hold of it. She slipped on the oil and fell. Clay kicked the axe out of the way and locked her in the utility room. There was a simple bolt lock that wouldn't stand up long under her rage. Clay threw the lock closed and ran, hammer in hand, upstairs as fast as he could.
Jane would force her way through the utility room door in no time.
He hobbled to the breaker box and found that all of the switches had been opened. Clay closed the breakers and ran for the window. He shattered the glass with the hammer and climbed through the tiny opening. Clay reached back in and turned the hot water on full, then ran for the truck.
Footprints surrounded the truck, but there was no sign of forced entry. Clay had remembered to lock the door, for there under the seat lay the recharging cell phone. He quickly unlocked the cab and climbed in. He started the vehicle, jammed it into reverse. Once Clay was at a safe distance he dialed 911.
Jane stumbled into the kitchen. She absolutely had to get the oil off her hands. There was nothing Jane hated more than dirty hands, save maybe Clay.
The water was already running hot. She suddenly realized what was about to happen. Jane screamed in anger and horror.
As hot water drained from the tank, cold water started to refill it. The thermostat detected the change in the water. Without thought to the atmosphere surrounding it, the gas burner started.
The explosion was immense. Burning chunks of debris fell for hundreds of yards around the foundation.
The police arrived just after the call to 911. They had been on the trail of Jane and were already heading his direction. Since there was no house left to save, the fire department concentrated on keeping the smoldering debris from starting a brush fire.
Paramedics bandaged his arm. Even though it was summer, Clay was shivering. Every emotion was drained from him, save for relief. It was over.
The police and fire marshals questioned him about what had happened. He told them about their struggle in the house. They had some trouble believing that Jane had caused the gas explosion. During the questioning, a firefighter brought up a piece of gas line. There was indeed a slice that could have been caused by an ax.
It was enough, and they let him go.
The same firefighter examined the bandage and then took a seat next to Clay. Clay just sat there, staring off at the burning wreckage of the house. It took him a minute to realize who it was.
"Hey, Jack," was all Clay could say. Jack Grey was an old timer at the firehouse. Grey and Clay's father went back a long ways.
"Helluva explosion" he said.
"Yeah," Clay replied quietly. "Jane was in there. She was out to kill me."
"I heard," the firefighter replied. "You did what you had to do."
Clay looked at him questioningly, and then realized that Grey knew what had really happened. Clay shook his head in resignation, ready for the police to arrest him.
Grey held up a hand and shook his head.
"Don't worry," he said. "Just stick with your story and you'll be fine. By the way, this is for you."
Grey slipped something into Clay's hand. It was the section of pipe where Clay had pierced it with his knife.
"You might want to hide this," Grey said. "I'd hate to see you get into trouble over someone like Jane."
Grey stood to leave. He took a few steps before turning back to Clay. "You know, your dad would never admit this to your face, but he never really cared for her."
Grey turned away and left before Clay could say thanks.
Clay had to call his parents saying that the old home no longer existed. The hard part was explaining to Nell that they needed to find another place to live again. None of that mattered.
Jane was gone.
----
Clay and Nell were busy painting bedrooms in their new home when the phone rang.
"Hello, Nelly Clay speaking. Yes, he is right here." She turned and called out, "Dad, it's for you!"
Clay took the phone, thanking Nell for using good phone manners. The little girl smiled and ran off to play.
"Richard Clay, here."
"Hello, Richard," said a silky voice.
He suddenly noticed the scent of lilacs...
