APPLE ROAD: RIP EHBO EEE

"Exposure my ass!" FBI section chief Thomas Gra hung up the phone politely enough but swore out loud afterwards. It was obvious to him that the young man did not die from exposure. Gra was furious. He liked the gentle kid who had managed to survive against all odds with absolutely everything going against him. Everything except Cherie Solange. She had damn near killed herself trying not to run over Ehbo. 

"Sir?" Agent Joy Pruitt had been sent to Gra's make shift field office. The door was open. Agents Fletcher Sarras, Dill Murphy, Scotty Uzer, Mavis Taylor and Frank Lagery stumbled in after her nursing steaming paper cups of coffee. None of them had gotten any sleep. All they knew at this point was that there had been another murder.

"Twenty minutes ago Ehbo Eee was murdered in his bed. Pruitt, I want you to interview Cherie Solange again. She knows something," Gra tapped the photo of Cherie that was tacked to his bulletin board next to a photo of Ehbo, the new Jane Doe's head and everyone else who was on the scene at the rest stop the night before.

"Yes, sir," Pruitt nodded and began studying the photos on the board.

"I want the rest of you to get the hell on out of here and take that hospital apart. Interview everyone who was in that hospital or anywhere in the vicinity of that hospital last night. Detective Dorsey is with Ehbo's body now. Secure and transfer the body immediately. Agent Dill Murphy, you are to stay with said body until the transport is completed. Someone murdered that young man. I want to know how that happened. I do not want to hear that he's been cremated or misplaced." Chief Gra stood back and waited for one of them to say something.

"That coat," Agent Taylor's jaw dropped.

"Damn straight that God-awful coat!" Gra knew Taylor would be the first to see it. Ehbo was taken in wearing a coat that was evidence in a case that had gone cold.

"Wait a minute. That torso with the coat belongs to the cold case head? Where was I when this happened?" Agent Dill Murphy fired in disbelief.

"If we had the coat, how in the hell did that kid get a hold of it?" Agent Fletcher Sarras asked at the same time as Murphy and Uzer.

"When did we get the torso?" Uzer blurted.

"When did we get these photos!" Taylor pointed at the blow ups of the Polaroids that Cherie Solange had anonymously mailed to the authorities.

"We don't have the cold case torso. The torso we have is fresh. We do have confirmation that the same weapon was used in both decapitations, so our cold case is hot again. We've had the coat since last night. The photos were given to us by Homicide Detective Dennis Dorsey who received them from an anonymous source via the US Postal Service. Agents Brown, Le Teil and Braisse are in the field now with flashlights searching for the torso. They are using the rest stop as a temporary command post. The head we found in the San Andres Forest north of Los Angeles goes with the torso we are looking for here today east of the Mississippi. That my friends is too much space. Find out who sent those photos but first secure Ehbo's body. The person who wanted him dead no doubt wants him gone and that's not going to happen. Ehbo knows who killed both Jane Does and he's going to tell us because we are going to protect him a hell of a lot better than whoever was supposed to be protecting him last night."

~ To Be Continued ~

APPLE ROAD: THE DEATH OF DAVID BRAMLEY

The public was advised that the man in custody was not the serial killer and the public should still exercise reasonable caution. They called him Ehbo because that is what he called himself and it didn't take long to figure out "Eee" meant "Eat". Ehbo wanted to eat and that was pretty much all he cared about. He was docile. He was no longer a suspect. 

Ehbo was a victim of long term abuse and neglect, yet his demeanor suggested someone had loved him, fed him, led him by the arm and kept him from running to traffic. There was no way he could survive on his own. The head he was keeping in the newspaper stand probably belonged to a fellow victim, probably the one who had looked after him. Ehbo was probably hoping the head would magically come back to life and start taking care of him again.

The forest ranger had another name for the picnic raiding pair, "Yogi Bear and Boo-Boo". Ranger John Reznik had not actually seen them but had received multiple complaints from hikers and tourists about their food being stolen. They knew it wasn't an animal. The footprints were human. Sandwiches disappeared but the picnic baskets where left where they found them. 

The reports of stolen food dwindled. That was probably when the woman was murdered and Ehbo was left on his own. The coat Ehbo was wearing did not belong to the woman he was traveling with.

Dr. Walter Bramley walked down the empty hospital hallway. He came and went unnoticed because of his status at the facility. The next time when he reminded his wife that their son was dead, he would be telling the truth. It was a pity he had to do what he just did. 

When Marina escaped with David in tow, Dr. Bramley couldn't very well call the police. He would not be able to explain away the older scars. He'd done things to them that would cost him his medical license. No one needed to know that Ebho Eee was David Bramley. Marina certainly would never be identified. 

Dr. Bramley spent a reasonable amount of time looking for them and then gave up before he attracted suspicion. He avoided panic and compartmentalized the little breach by fantasizing that perhaps Marina found her way to some sleepy village in Mexico where she and David could live out their ridiculous little lives. She would be satisfied with escape. She wouldn't dare go to the authorities. Marina knew what he was capable of, but as it was now, he wished that whoever had killed Marina had bothered to kill Davy as well so he didn't have to get his hands dirty. 

The medication caused heart failure and it would be assumed Ehbo's death was due to long term exposure to the elements.

Bramley regreted that plucky Cherie Solange was staying at a different hospital where he didn't have rights to practice. Boy would he like to pay that young lady a visit.

~ To Be Continued ~

APPLE ROAD: THE REST STOP

Several months after Lewis left, the decomposed torso of a young woman was found near Fat Rock Creek by hikers.

Cherie found solace from all the stress by following a strict routine. When the snow melted she began jogging the three miles to work and back every day. Running was the national craze, so no one thought anything of it. Cherie's reason for running was the desire to feel safe. If it was her fate to be chased by a serial killer, she damn sure would have the stamina to out run the bastard.

On her days off, after her morning run, she drove down to the big city and spent the day doing research at the main library. There was only one way to prove Lewis was not the killer and that was to prove who the killer was.  

Once a week she attended a course at the community college. She told Skipper she was taking creative writing courses but he and Craig found out by accident that she was actually taking advance martial arts classes. They stopped by the college to surprise her one night and no one in the creative writing department ever heard of her. Her car was in the parking lot so they waited for break time. She got a coffee, had a smoke and they followed her back to her next class. 

She bowed and the proceeded to beat the crap out of some poor guy. No one wanted to be her partner after that. No one wanted it as bad as she did. She even copied the way Bruce Lee quaked at times and made terrifying sounds. Craig swore that the noises she made were cracking his ribs.

"She must be afraid of getting mugged or something," Craig guessed.

"A lot of girls take self-defense classes because of that serial killer never being caught," Skipper shrugged.

"They don't go for black belts. She's a black belt. There aren't any other girls in that class. She's the only girl," Craig's jaw dropped. "Let's get out of here before she sees us and kicks our asses for spying on her."

The next day when Craig and Skipper returned from their routes they found Tina massaging Cherie's shoulders.

"Your shoulders are like steel! Man, you are tense!" Tina exclaimed and then explained to Craig and Skipper that Cherie had come back from her route early, looking like she'd seen a ghost.

"I don't like that rest stop. I think somebody lives there!" Cherie frowned.

"Then make a report at the Ranger's Station when you make your delivery tomorrow. They'll check it out." Tina assured her.

"I think we should stop delivering to the rest stop," Cherie said.

"The box is always empty. Somebody is taking the paper every day," Craig said.

"Yeah, but we don't know what they are doing with it. I don't think we have a bunch of avid readers out there," Cherie said ominously. The Apple Press was a free paper. The paper stand was never locked. The money came from ads. For all they knew somebody was using it for toilet paper or kindling.

"They say that area is haunted!" Skipper laughed.

"Very funny, Skipper. There's one more detail. Whoever it was stole the sourdough bread the monks asked me to bring down to Ray Moon's Market. I was shaking so bad I could hardly start the truck. I didn't finish the route. I came straight back here." Cherie wasn't laughing.

"O.K." Tina picked up the phone, "I'm calling the sheriff."

It turned out that someone was piling up the papers and making a nest in the men's room. The sheriff also found pieces of sourdough bread in the newspaper nest. They padlocked the rest stop and The Apple Press canceled the paper delivery there until further notice.

The next morning on her route she drove slowly past the padlocked rest stop and noticed something odd about the Apple Press paper box. She was squinting to try to make out what it was and by the time she noticed someone was standing in the middle of the road it was almost too late. She almost hit him but swerved off the road just in time. She almost maneuvered her way back onto the road but hit a patch that was too narrow and went over the edge down into the ravine. She was alright but the truck was going to have to be towed.

Horror shook her as it sank in what the man had been wearing. He was naked except for the woman's burgundy coat with the fur trimmed hood. The coat was much too small for him and it was badly stained and torn but unmistakable. It was definitely the coat she had seen in the Polaroid prints she'd found in the roll-top desk.

The moment had been surreal. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion and yet at the same time happening very fast.

She could hear the water of Fat Rock Creek gurgling at the bottom of the ravine. The truck was pinned from falling further by two very large pine trees. She crawled out of the truck window with her purse of coins for the pay phone. She was sore but apparently nothing was broken. Her plan was to get to the phone booth at the rest stop and call the sheriff. So far the man was not in sight. 

When she reached the road she was shocked to find he was still standing in the same place. The young man just stood there in the middle of Apple Road like a lawn flamingo. She staggered across the road, never breaking eye contact with the him. She made it to the phone booth and he was still just standing there in the middle of the road. She didn't dare yell at him to get out of the road before he got hit by a car because that would probably break his trance and make him attack her. She was relieved when the man began to inch towards where the truck had vanished. He was interested in the truck, not her. Cherie lost sight of him as he scooted down to the truck.

Ehbo rummaged around until he found Cherie's brown bag lunch. He sat on top of the sideways truck and enjoyed her egg salad sandwich. There was nothing else to eat, so he climbed back up to Apple Road. 

The Sheriff was on the way. The half-naked man in the dead girl's coat started walking towards Cherie. She bolted without looking where she was going and ran right into the Apple Press paper box. She hit it hard enough to bruise her hip and jar the door open and out fell a woman's head that had been nestled in newspaper. The young man rushed across the road to pick it up and placed it back in the paper stand.

"Ehbo eee! Ehbo eee!" the young man in the dead woman's coat tried very hard to tell Cherie something.

Four sheriff cars, four ambulances and two fire trucks arrived. The young man was handcuffed and put in the first ambulance and started on an IV. He wasn't combative. He just kept saying, "Ehbo eee!"

"The suspect is incoherent, suffering from hypothermia, dehydration, multiple cuts, contusions, possible concussion," a paramedic began reel off the laundry list of things that were wrong with this man.

Cherie couldn't talk anymore. She suddenly lost her hearing and felt very sleepy. She pointed towards the paper stand.

"Christ!" the officer who opened the box exclaimed.

"What did he hit you with? Young lady, can you tell me what he hit you with?" a paramedic was suddenly hovering and working to revive her. She had no memory of being put on the stretcher.

"He didn't hit me," Cherie came to for a moment and managed to say.

"What's your name?" the paramedic asked.

"Cherie."

"Cherie, you need to tell us what he hit you with. We need to know what you were hit with," the paramedic kept at her.

"Skipper rabbit," she said. She didn't know her head was bleeding. It felt very warm and wet.

"He hit you with a rabbit?" The paramedic repeated her words and looked up at his partner. They couldn't see the truck across the road in the ravine from where they were standing. They would eventually get the story straight, but not from Cherie.

"Skipper rabbit. That head does not go with that coat," Cherie said and blacked out again.

"Deep scalp laceration. She's got a concussion. She's incoherent," the paramedic rattled off her statistics while loading her into the ambulance.

"What the fuck happened out here? 'Ehbo eee.' 'Skipper Rabbit.' Nobody is making any sense," the officer in charge threw up his hands and started talking to himself, "A lot of damn good it did to padlock this rest stop!"

"There's a truck down here!" a distant voice announced.

Within hours rumors were flying that the serial killer had been captured and that Cherie Solange had kicked his ass like Bruce Lee and knocked him back to the stone age.

Sam Masterson, Craig, Tina and Skipper sat in the waiting room until they were allowed to visit Cherie in her hospital room.

"What did the FBI ask you?" Craig ask her.

"They wanted to know what 'Skipper Rabbit' meant so I explained to them that it is a code word from my driving instructor for 'drive safely and don't run off the road'," Cherie tried to sit up but couldn't.

"Let me help you," Sam Masterson cranked the handle on her bed so she was sitting up right. 

"You ran the truck off the road, Cherie. You totaled it." Skipper reminded her.

"I know that, Skipper. That was a human being in the middle of the road, not one of your 'Skipper Squirrels'. I remembered everything you taught me and did the opposite of what you said," she managed a smile.

Cherie didn't tell the FBI what she meant about the burgundy coat that the paramedics reported she had been babbling about. They would make the connection without her help. She didn't want to get in any deeper than she was. She claimed she didn't remember rambling on about the coat, that she must have been dreaming about the terrifying ordeal and just talking out of her head about how the coat didn't fit him and certainly didn't cover the essentials.

"Who's Lewis?" the FBI agent threw in. 

"A guy I dated once. We broke up," Cherie was completely caught off guard. Apparently she had been asking for Lewis in her sleep. Truth be told, she did wish Lewis was around. No one knew where he was.

~ To Be Continued ~

APPLE ROAD: THE APPLE PRESS

After dinner and slow dancing for hours, Lewis took Cherie home. He drove his green Triumph sports car uncharacteristically slow. He was disarmed by how comfortable the silences were between them. They were like an old married couple in their eighties. It was like they had already said everything. He glanced over at her soft wool skirt that fell two inches below her knees. Modest yet deadly. He thought of something that made him laugh softly to himself.

"What?" Cherie realized that she couldn't read his mind after all. 

"Your skirt. The famous plaid skirt. You wore it with platform sandals the day Skipper hired you and you delivered the paper to the monks that same afternoon," Lewis shook his head. 

"Who told you that?" Cherie wondered out loud.

"I arrived just as you were leaving. It became a topic of conversation around the water cooler the day you were hired," Lewis made light of the explosions.

If it wasn't for his crazy nephew, Skipper, it was likely Lewis never would have met Cherie. And she was the reason he'd stayed this long after Christmas. Usually he was gone the day after Christmas and didn't show up again until the next Christmas. He had been keeping Tina company during her coffee break when Skipper burst into the front office of The Apple Press with Samuel Masterson hot on his heals.

Samuel Masterson was the owner of the only daily newspaper in the township of Appleblossom. He had adopted Skipper when his sister Eve Momoday died. No one knew where Skipper's father ran off to and no one was eager to find out. 

Sam saved Skipper from foster care and big city life and put him to work at the paper with the rest of his boys. Lewis started roaming about that time and got a taste for travel. His little brother Craig had the Apple Road route and at first Lewis split his Appleblossom Highway route with Skipper, which was about 35 miles and studded with stops all the way down to the city in the valley below. Eventually have gave Skipper more and more of the route until finally Skipper was handling it all on his own. It had the stops that were too dangerous for a girl, honky-tonks, rest stops, liquor stores and even the churches and the public library were dangerous later on in the day when it was getting dark and fewer people were around.

The Apple Road route was a pain in the ass but it was necessary. The Appleblossom route was how the township attracted tourists to the Apple Road treasures when tourists got off the interstate for gas and discovered the charms of Appleblossom via the paper. The Apple Road route had just a handful of stops but they were where the news of many of the coming attractions generated. 

The monks at the priory would get a bundle of the paper and give the driver copy for the next day's paper. New batches of apple cider and apple jelly, festivals and other happenings were announced in The Apple Press. The Ranger's Station took a bundle and gave reports for the next issue as well. It was a 58 mile route with only a few stops. It took up too much time for Craig and Skipper and made the days longer than they had to be.

"Who is that girl driving off in my truck? Why is that girl driving off in my truck?" Sam shouted.

"She's taking the Apple Road route. Craig and I split the Appleblossom route. It's too much for one person," Skipper mumbled.

"You hired someone without asking me? We didn't advertise an opening or did we?" Sam raised both eyebrows.

"There was no help wanted ad. She was a walk in. He hired her on the spot," Tina chimed in.

"Who asked you!" Skipper barked at her.

"I'm going to the break room to get a doughnut. Let's get out of here, Lewis! Lewis?" Tina realized Lewis was no longer paying attention to her. He was the most handsome bachelor in the township and she had him all to herself until these two bozos came bashing up the moment.

"I did a good thing. We needed help. I hired help. You said I was your right hand man!" Skipper's cheeks turned bright red.

"He's your right hand LEG man. He hired her legs. I saw it with my own eyes!" Tina was starting to get angry too.

"Shut up!" Sam and Skipper shouted at Tina at the same time.

"The only reason you are mad at me is because you are still holding out hope that Lewis is going to stay this time and everything will go back the way it used to be. But you aren't going to stay, are you, Lewis?!" Skipper tried to spread the humiliation around.

"Let's go get a doughnut, Tina, my blood sugar just dropped," Lewis took Tina's arm and they disappeared.

"Run, Lewis, run! That's all you do! You should be an Olympic runner by now! Bring home the gold next time, why don't you..." Skipper was losing his mind.

"Simmer down, Skippy! This isn't about Lewis. This is about you hiring that girl without even talking to me. What if she is a truck thief and..."

"She's not a truck thief, Uncle Sam. She's renting old lady Belle's place by the railroad. She really needed a job. I called Miss Belle and she likes her. Everybody likes her and we need the help," Skipper defended his actions.

"Don't call me 'Uncle Sam'," Sam winced.

"Don't call me 'Skippy'," Skipper fired back.

"Ok, Skipper. I'm going to talk to you like you were my own son, ok?" Sam calmed down.

"Ok." Skipper let down his guard.

"You're and IDIOT!" Sam bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"That's how you talk to me? After what you just said? You wouldn't say that to Craig or, God forbid, your precious Lewis!" Skipper was deeply wounded.

"I damn well would too if either one of them was harebrained enough to hire a girl they had the hots for! If you fall in love with a girl who just happens to work where you work, that is fate. If you hire a girl BECAUSE you want her, that is tempting fate and it's not going to have a happy ending. She's off limits now, you do know that, don't you?" Sam lectured.

"Well, she really needed work and she can handle the route," Skipper lost a lot of steam.

"Then you could have helped her find a job some where else, you understand?" Sam softened.

"Yeah. I get it," Skipper humbly realized his mistake.

* * *

Lewis walked Cherie to her door.

"Thank you," she said with a sigh.

"Thank you. It was my pleasure," both his lips disappeared. It was like he was putting them away so they wouldn't try to kiss her or he was trying not to say something.

"What?" Cherie laughed.

"Old lady Belle said you came up here for the solitude, that you wanted to be alone," he said.

"So?"

"You messed up, didn't you? I mean, everybody in town is talking about you," he smiled.

"They'll forget about me tomorrow," she smiled back.

"I won't. Well, Good night, My Dear," he imitated Dr. Walter Bramley.

"Oh God! I was going to kiss you good night until you sounded like him!" she stepped inside and closed the door.

"I'll never do it again," he promised and knocked softly until she opened the door.

The kiss lasted until dawn. She kept telling herself it was just one night. He told himself the same thing.

~ To Be Continued ~

APPLE ROAD: FAT ROCK AND TENDERFOOT

"She's going to love this. She's a lucky girl. You have good taste," Alice assured Lewis Masterson that he had made an excellent choice. Lewis could have told her that it was a replacement for a blood soaked sweater, so "lucky" was hardly applicable.

"I hope so," Lewis was agreeable. He watched the clerk lovingly fold the blush pink sweater, nestle it in tissue paper and then place it in a foil gift box stamped: "Marmee's Fashion Boutique". Marmee's was the only shop within 30 miles that sold delicate clothing. The clothing available at Ray Moon's Market was heavy and rugged, denim, fur, wool and leather.

Lewis showed up on Cherie's porch without calling her first. He was wearing a white cowboy hat that was comical because it was too small for his head. It was 9:00 pm. Cherie answered in her robe and flannel pajamas.

"I know you had a rough day. I just wanted to check in on you and take you to the hospital if you haven't regained your strength.  If I called, you'd just say you were ok. I had to see your face and I wanted to give you something to cheer you up. Can I put these in water for you?" Lewis showed her a bouquet of roses and the package from Marmee's.

"Come in. I can finally say I've 'single-handedly' done things," Cherie nervously laughed at her own joke.

"Have you single-handedly eaten dinner yet?" Lewis smiled and answered for her, "I didn't think so. How about a thick, juicy, steak? Get dressed. I'm taking you to Fat Rock for the best steak you ever had in your life. It's just three miles from here on North Apple Road. They also have the best country western music in the area."

Cherie emerged from her bedroom wearing a white fringe cowgirl shirt with pearl snap buttons, a baby-blue plaid a-line skirt and tan leather cowgirl boots. It occurred to her that she might never be able to remove her boots single-handedly.

"Nice hat," she said frowning at him. "Are you going to wear that hat all night?"

"It's yours, silly. Mine is in the car. It's black, of course. Yours is from Marmee's. This is from Marmee's too. Open it." Lewis put the hat on her head. It fit.

"This is very nice. Thank you, Lewis," Cherie admired the sweater.

"I didn't want you to have to slave single-handedly trying to get the blood stains out of the one you wore today, seeing as how blood makes you faint. You should just throw it away, you big sissy," Lewis helped her with her coat and locked her front door for her, since the hand she had injured was her left hand and from his observations, she was left-handed.

Cherie enjoyed her meal at the Fat Rock Steakhouse very much. Lewis got up to buy her a pack of her brand of cigarettes from the machine at the entrance to the Tenderfoot Saloon where most patrons went for cocktails before and after dinner. The manager of the establishment grabbed Lewis by the arm to find out what was up.

"Something wrong with your steak tonight? I usually have to wrestle you for the bone so you don't wolf it down and injure yourself," the manager studied Lewis' face for clues.

"I think I'm in love," Lewis shocked the manager with his honesty.

"Not you!" the manager was astonished.

"I'm gonna die. I don't want to be in love. She doesn't want to be in love. It's not our style. We're gonna die." Lewis shook his head and walked back to their table.

"They have a good band tonight. Let's grab a brandy. I promise to get you home before midnight," Lewis took her arm and guided her to the dance floor. They sipped brandy and the band kept playing slow songs. The manager sent the band a note instructing them to finish out the night with slow songs. The Masterson family were good customers and Fat Rock took good care of them.

Cherie knew she couldn't stop what was happening. It was like the day they went tube riding in the snow, only the heat was rising from his chest and sending a constant stream of warm air under her chin this time. She might faint again, but for a different reason. This was dangerous. She shouldn't be doing this. Her throat hurt. Her lungs felt like they were collapsing. It was the worst thing that could happen to a fugitive, chancing upon the love of your life like this.

~ To Be Continued ~

APPLE ROAD: THE BLEEDING HAND

Benjamin Baker couldn't believe his eyes. She popped her front tire on the curb turning in to the station too fast and too soon. Cherie got out of her car and was walking towards him with an uneven gait. She was covered in blood. Her hand was wrapped in a rag.

"I need to buy a first aid kit. Cut myself shaving," Cherie made an attempt to chuckle but when she raised her hand to indicate to Ben where she was hurt, the rag slipped down enough for her to see the cut. The sight of her bleeding hand made her woozy. Ben caught her before she hit the asphalt.

"Jesus! She fainted! Mike! I'm gonna run her over to Alpendorf's. Dr. Bramley's limo is there!"

"Dr. Bramley is a shrink. What's he gonna do? Ben? You aren't actually going to RUN her over there?" Mike scratched his head at the odd sight of Benjamin running down Appleblossom Highway with the girl in his arms.  It looked nutty but it probably was faster than getting her around back to his car. He was half way there already. Ben didn't spare the energy to yell back to Mike that Dr. Bramley had a pharmacy in his trunk, that he'd seen it when he was checking the spare tire. There was enough medication in there to knock out everybody on the mountain, not that Cherie needed knocking out.

"Jesus Cherie, what happened to you?" Ben wondered if she was as light as she felt in his arms. She was like cotton candy. Maybe he was in shock and that made her feel weightless. Ben hated himself for noticing how great she looked in her Jordache jeans. God she was beautiful. He wanted to kiss her.

"Dr. Bramley is getting his bag from his car. Put her on the sofa in the lobby. What have you done to this girl, Benjamin, you oaf!" Edda met them at the door. Mike called her.

Bramley checked her vitals. He disinfected the wound, injected around it to deaden it and stitched it together. He was a medical doctor before he became a psychiatrist. He didn't feel the need to explain to anyone why he carried the amount of medical supplies that he did.

"Glass or metal, my dear?" Bramley asked Cherie when she came around.

"What?" she wasn't sure what he meant.

"Did you cut yourself on glass or metal?"

"Metal," Cherie answered.

"I'm going to give you a tetanus shot so you don't get lock jaw, my dear," Dr. Bramley prepared the needle.

"Why type of metal cut you?" Dr. Bramley asked as he injected her in the upper arm.

"I was opening a can of chili," Cherie lied. 

"Well, I think we should get you to the hospital just to be on the safe side.  You probably need an IV or two," Dr. Bramley began putting his equipment back in his medical bag. He knew she wasn't telling the truth and the look on his face made it clear to her that he didn't believe her for a minute.

"Thank you doctor but that won't be necessary.  How much do I owe you?" she suddenly realized her purse was back at the house. She'd taken off without it.

"Nonsense, my dear. You were out cold. You must have lost a lot of blood," Bramley insisted.

"Dr. Bramley, I can assure you it wasn't the amount of blood. I fainted because I simply cannot stand the sight of blood. A drop is enough to drop me. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a sissy that way," she tried to be charming but she simply could not stand Bramley. There was something oppressive about him.

"Well then, if you won't go to the hospital, I insist upon your having dinner with me. I'm assuming you didn't eat any of that chili that attacked you. We'll get some food and fluids into you and if your color comes back, you're free to go," Dr. Bramley pressed the matter.

"Cherie! Everybody is waiting for you. We knew something happened when you didn't show up. Dad sent me out to fetch you. Mike said Ben brought you here. Thanks for patching her up doc. Come on Cherie, let's go! Everybody is starving! Dinner's getting cold and we're not going to cut the cake without you," Lewis appeared out of nowhere and whisked Ben and Cherie away. Dr. Bramley didn't ask Cherie why she was bothering to open a can of chili if she was on her way to a party. There was no time to ask her. Lewis had Cherie in one arm and Ben in the other. He was a fast talker and a fast walker.

Cherie sat between Lewis and Ben in Ben's car. Once they were on the road they all burst out laughing. There was no cake. No party. Lewis just jumped in and made it all up. He'd seen Cherie's car up on the grease rack at Ray Moon's. Mark patched the tire, checked the steering and even cleaned the blood from the door and steering wheel. He told Lewis what had happened.

"I know what kind of fluids Bramley wanted to get into you," Ben groaned.

"That is so disgusting!" Cherie winced.

"Ben, you drive Cherie's car to her house and I'll drive you back to the station." Lewis suggested.

"Thanks for rescuing me, both of you," Cherie sighed. If she had to chose between rescues, she'd rather bleed to death than have dinner with the overbearing doctor. Ben could sense that Cherie was more grateful to Lewis that she was to him. He felt low as he drove her car to her house and even lower when he rode back to Ray Moon's with Lewis. He was going to lose her to Lewis and Lewis didn't even really want her. 

When Ben's shift was over he didn't throw his work shirt in the laundry hamper. He changed into his street clothes and stole the shirt with Cherie's blood on it. If anybody noticed one of his uniforms was missing, he'd just say he threw it away because the blood had ruined it. Nobody would find fault with that.

~ To Be Continued~

APPLE ROAD: BEFORE THE FIRE AND SNOW

Two weeks before the first snow of the season, before the fire that destroyed George and Marilyn's second hand furniture store, Cherie Solange appeared with everything she owned packed in her VW Bug.

She bought a cute green and red apple-shaped salt and pepper set and a copy of the local paper at the Alpendorf Gift Shop and had pancakes and scrambled eggs at the Alpendorf Cafe And Bakery. She was on her second cup of coffee when she found an affordable rental listed in the real estate section. Sixty dollars a month for a house, furniture and utilities included.

She had to stop and buy a local map at Ray Moon's gas station and market because she couldn't find Margaret Fayette Belle's place on any of her road maps.

"Do you know where Margaret Fayette Belle's place is?" Cherie asked the young gas station attendant who was checking her oil and filling her tank.

"Huh?" The attendant had to think a minute. "Oh, you mean Old Lady Belle. She owns more property up here than anyone else, except God. The main way people get lost is mixing up Apple Road with Appleblossom Highway. Once you're on Apple Road you take it on up this way till it ends. If you take Apple Road the other way till it ends, you'll end up at the monastery. There's a chain gate you don't need a key for but close it anyway because it irks her if you don't. Then follow the dirt road till it runs out right in front of her place. She'll be there. She don't go out much anymore. She sends her driver Willy Weeks out for everything she needs. That's him over there loading her groceries in that goddamn limousine. Just wait and follow him up to her place. He won't mind."

"Thank you. You've been very helpful," Cherie felt like this was her lucky day.

"Anytime. My name is Ben. Next time you come in you're gonna need a quart of oil. You're good to go now though," Ben smiled at her. She was the prettiest girl he'd seen in a long while.

Cherie followed Willy Weeks to the end of Apple Road. They spoke when he got out to open the chain gate.

"You up here to see Miss Belle about the rental?" Willy nodded politely to acknowledge Cherie's presence. 

"Yes. Yes I am." Cherie answered.

"Drive on up ahead of me. I'll close the gate for you. It's heavy as hell. I don't know why she won't let me put up a new one. It's just her way. It's how she is."

"Thank you, Sir," Cherie nodded back.

"Oh, no need to "Sir" me. Just call me Will," he knew she'd end up calling him Willy because that's what Belle called him, but it was worth a try.

"Thank you, Will," She got back in her car and drove up the winding dirt road.

Cherie rented the little wooden railroad house sight unseen. She told Miss Belle that she was interested in the solitude the area provided because she dreamed of becoming a writer.

"Well, then you're going to need a desk. The house comes furnished with a kitchen table but you need a proper desk if you're going to be a writer." Miss Belle opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a ream of paper and plopped in on her desktop. "Here is my contribution to your career, Miss Solange. I'll have Willy help you with the desk."

"Oh, that won't be necessary. You've been too kind already," Cherie held the ream of paper to her heart to express her gratitude.

"Willy! I'll put the groceries up! You help Miss Solange get a good deal on a desk at George and Marilyn's. They don't pay anything for half their inventory, so don't let them charge you more than twenty five dollars." Miss Belle hollered.

"How are you going to see where to put the groceries up, Miss Belle, with them big old cataracts of yours?" Willy hollered back.

"Don't sass me! I'm not blind yet and you know it. Bring the truck around and help Miss Solange or I'll fire you. You're too ugly to get a job anywhere else. You'll starve to death!" Miss Belle winked at Cherie. "At our age bickering is the only exercise we get. We can't go jogging like you young folks. Willy will follow you to your new home. Here are your keys. After you see the place and lock up, he'll take you to George and Marilyn's to pick out a desk. Get something with character, something Ernest Hemingway or Mark Twain would like."

There was barely room to walk in George and Marilyn's APPLE OF YOUR EYE home furnishing shop. There was a narrow winding path that you could not see the ending to. It was like a hedge maze only it was made of furniture stacked on top of furniture all the way to the ceiling.

"Is anybody here!" Willy shouted.

"Out back!" George shouted, "We are unloading the truck!"

Cherie and Willy walked around to the back of the store where George and Marilyn were fretting over their latest load of treasures. Immediately they were struck by the sight of a roll-top desk perched on the edge of the truck, gilded by the golden orange light of the late afternoon sun. They looked at it and then at each other.

"It's too expensive," Cherie whispered.

"No it's not. It's twenty five dollars. There's probably four more just like it buried in that rat's nest. It's fate that this one is just ripe for the picking. George isn't going to bicker with Miss Belle. Half the stuff in his store probably comes from her rentals anyway," Willy whispered back.

Willy had the two wheeler in his truck to easily move the desk into Cherie's house. 

"Well, if anything goes wrong with the plumbing or electric call the house and we'll take care of it. The phone works. Miss Belle pays for all the utilities. Rent is due on the first. Keep the garbage locked in the shed so it don't attract bears. The garbage collector has a key. Good night now, Miss Cherie," Willy closed up his truck.

"Good night, Will. Please thank Miss Belle again for me," Cherie waived from her porch.

"One down and everybody else to go," Willy couldn't help but smile as he drove away. She remembered. She called him Will.

~ To Be Continued ~

APPLE ROAD: THE ALPENDORF ON APPLEBLOSSOM HIGHWAY

"Those two need their heads examined," Dr. Walter Bramley muttered when Edda set down his hot red cabbage salad and another mug of beer.

The widow Edda Heidelbeere ran the Alpendorf Lodge for over twenty years and some of the locals swore she only had one expression on her face the entire time. Her husband Dagoberto used to provide the musical entertainment but passed away fourteen years ago. Their son Jarvis followed in his father's footsteps and was on the small stage warbling out a tune. On the dance floor, George Gude was mopping the floor with his wife Marilyn. Dagoberto's handicapped brother Gottfried, the groundskeeper for the Alpendorf, was standing near the kitchen watching them, waiting for Edda to return from the doctor's table.

"You are the doctor. Examine them," Edda said dryly.

"I don't want my salad to get cold," Dr. Bramley mumbled.

George and Marilyn had made it their New Year's resolution to dance at the Alpendorf Tavern every Sunday night so they would lose weight. The trouble was they could not resist the chocolate cherry cake and had a weakness for the Pilsner as well. As a matter of fact, on many occasions they were in no shape to drive home so Edda would put them up in the main lodge or in one of the six surrounding cabins.

The Gude's lived in an apartment above their business, "The Apple Of Your Eye", which sold used home furnishings that often had a dubious past. They took joy in finding treasures in the garbage.  They would drive thirty miles to the city and troll the alleys the night before the garbage trucks were due. For example, if they found bricks and slabs of gorgeous marble on a side street where a new bank was being built, they convinced themselves that if it was in the alley, it was garbage and they could load it into their truck.

"Should I prepare a room for them or offer to take them somewhere in the limo?" Gottfried asked Edda.

"What are you talking about? They don't look so bad tonight," Edda looked at them harder.

"They will. That siren, it was the fire engine. The chief is on his way over to tell them their place is burnt to the ground," Gottfried limped back into his office.

~ To Be Continued ~