8 comments/ 18273 views/ 9 favorites The End of the Road By: Cromagnonman Have you ever rolled into a town that you have no recollection of ever have been in, and discover that it somehow looks familiar. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, but there was something very familiar about Mt. Vernon. Some of the older buildings had a familiar architecture about them, the Courthouse caused me to pause for a while. In the recesses of my mind there was something about that building that I didn't like, but again I couldn't put my finger on it. Had something happened to me in that building? If it had I couldn't remember it. The Mt. Vernon Inn was another building that was familiar and when I checked in the Receptionist looked at me like he'd seen me before. "I would like a room for a week." "Yes sir. If you'd just like to sign the register here for me, please." He pushed the book towards me with his finger on the next blank line, and handed me a pen. I filled out my details and pushed it back to him. He looked at it and his eyebrows were raised when he read my name. He dinged the bell and when the Bellhop appeared at my side. "Would you take Mr. Roberts to room 303." "If you'd like to follow me sir." The Bellhop's shiny brass name tag told me that his name was Jeffrey. He led me to the elevator and we rose to the second floor and I followed him down the hall to my room. He placed my bag on the bed and showed me where everything was. "Jeffrey," I handed him a two spot. "If I were to require certain things, personal things, who would be the best person for me to speak to?" "I can get you just about anything, if you want a blond, I can get you a blond, the same goes for a brunette or redhead. If you want information then I'm your man." "I'll be sure to remember that." I told him as he left. I freshened up and changed from the clothes that I'd worn all day as I followed the course of what was once a major river, but was now a fast moving mountain stream. There was something about this place that told me that what I was looking for was here in this valley at the foot of Mt. Vernon, for which this town was named. High up in the steep slopes of the mountain range, at the headwaters of the stream and in amongst the scree slopes was what I was looking for, traces of gold. A hundred years ago there was a minor gold rush in Mt. Vernon that saw it grow into a large town but when the alluvial gold petered out most of the population left to seek gold elsewhere. Mt. Vernon was now a quiet rural town living on summer pasture fed cattle and sheep and trout fishermen. I went down to the street and began to walk along looking at the shops. Most of them were relics of past glory with their faded facades and old world interiors. There were a couple of stores that had moved with the times, like the electrical goods store with a couple of those new fangled TV sets in the window and a couple of kids staring goggle eyed at the flickering images on the screen. I wondered to myself if this was such a good idea letting kids stare at this contraption. I found a bar that served meals and ordered myself a steak and beer. The beer arrived cold and the steak hot and juicy. I would have enjoyed my meal but I couldn't help but notice that several of the men at the bar were looking at me as if they knew me and were tossing up whether to approach. I finished my meal and left with the stares of the men following my back through the door. I didn't know what to make of this but decided that it didn't bother me none so I let it slide. I had work to do, but that would wait until tomorrow, tonight I had some sleep to catch up on, but first. As I walked through the foyer I caught Jeffrey's eye. "I think tonight I might try a blond." "Certainly sir, she'll be in your room momentarily." I had only just stowed my jacket in the closet and stretched out on my bed when there was a knock on the door and it opened to admit Jeffrey and a vision of pharmaceutical perfection. "This is Trixie, she will ensure that your stay in Mt Vernon is memorable." With that promise still in the air and money in hand he left. "Good evening Mr. Roberts, do you have any requests?" "I'm sorry Trixie, much as I'm sure that you are capable of making my time with you memorable, I'm afraid that I'll have to ask for a rain-check, you see I'm much tireder than I thought, and I need to sleep." The look that she gave me was one of amazement. I was probably the first man to have ever failed to take advantage of her services. She came over and sat beside me on the bed and began to massage my shoulders and neck. "You'll never get to sleep if you're tense." She was right, as her fingers worked their magic on my shoulders I could feel the tension draining from me. She climbed onto the bed and knelt behind me and continued to work on me and I felt myself slump back against her. "That's it relax, relax, relax." She moved back and I found myself lying on the bed. She kissed me. "Let's get your clothes off." She helped me out of my clothes and pulled back the sheets and helped me into the bed. "If you pay me for the night I'll join you and make sure that you have a pleasant night." She didn't wait for my reply and just before I succumbed to my tiredness I felt her climb, naked, into the bed beside me. She made no attempt to restore my vigor with her caresses, at least not then. I was woken by the silky touch of her hand urging me into action. I didn't know what time it was but the sun was shining through the curtains and there was a tray of room service breakfast on the table. It got cold before we got to it. She earned her money and a sizable tip as well as a promise that I would avail myself of her services when I was more able to take full advantage of them. This brought about a passionate kiss as she departed. I poured myself another cup of tepid coffee and dressed for the day ahead in heavy denims, a drill shirt and jacket. On my feet I wore combat boots that would protect my feet and ankles from the hazards of the terrain that I would be working on. I grabbed a cup of hot coffee and a fried egg in a diner down the road before fuelling up my jeep at the town's only gas station. "Where are you heading?" The pump jockey asked. "Just up the valley a ways." "It's pretty rough country up there and there might be a few grizzlies prowling around. I wouldn't go up there without a good rifle." "I've got one thank you." I pointed to the scabbard hanging across the back of the eats. I paid and left, turning off the main road just by the bridge and heading up the hill. The road followed the stream for about five miles before they both petered out, the road became a track just wide enough for one person to walk along, and the stream became a narrow creek that was sometimes lost among the rocks. This was the place to start, the run of water at the moment wasn't strong enough to carry any traces downstream and I reckoned on finding traces that would lead me to the seam in the cliffs above. I got my gold pan from the back of the jeep and began panning in the stream. After about an hour I had several small flecks of gold, not enough to get too excited about, in a sample jar in my pocket. I was so intent on what I was doing that I didn't hear anyone come up behind me. "Just what do you think you're doing?" "I believe that I'm prospecting." I was going to sarcastically tell her that any fool could see that was what I was doing, but there was something familiar about her as well. This was getting really weird. "I can see that, do you take me for a fool? What I mean is what are you doing prospecting on this property?" "I have a permit to prospect along this creek to the headwaters." I took the permit from my pocket and handed it to her. There was a puzzled look on her face that had nothing to do with the permit. "That looks to be okay. Do I know you?" "I shouldn't think so, I've never been here before, at least I don't think so." She looked at the permit again. "Peter Roberts, no I don't recognize the name, but you look familiar. Have you found any gold?" "A few flecks, but then I didn't expect to find any more than that. It is the indicator that there may be more up the slope, maybe there's a vein in that cliff up there. That's where I'll be looking next." "Why look up there? I would have thought that further upstream would be the logical place." "No, you see the way that this valley and the slopes and cliffs are formed is the clue. The broken rock at the base of the cliff is caused by cliff retreat, that's the process where water seeps into cracks and crevasses behind the cliff face and in the winter it freezes. Because it can't expand upwards because of the ice in the crack it has to go somewhere else and the line of least resistance is to push outwards. This is the major cause of landslides and rock-falls. As the rock crashes to the ground it breaks up into smaller pieces. The cliffs here are formed from igneous rock, granite and basalt, which are of volcanic origin, and while they are hard they are also quite brittle, something like toffee, when it's broken it tends to shatter." "If you look closely at the rocks on that slope you will notice that the jagged edges mean that they don't pack closely together and that there is a lot of air space between them. This allows the gold to work its way down to the creek and because the rocks in the creek are not worn smooth the gold gets trapped in the gravel. Now I have to work my way up the slope to see what I can find." "How come you know so much about this?" "I'm a geologist. After I was shipped back from Europe when the war ended I used my GI loan to go to university and study Geology. I've just completed my degree and this is my first job. I work for a mining company and I'm prospecting around here with a view to establishing the viability of mining the area." "Didn't the war finish in '45? It's '53 now and it doesn't take that long to complete a degree course unless you're not that bright and you don't strike me as stupid." "For most people it did, but not for me. I was in a German prison hospital for over a year until the armistice and then I was shipped back to England and spent another two years in hospital before the doctors considered it safe to ship me home to Boston." "You don't sound like you come from Boston." "Part of my problem was that I lost my memory totally, I couldn't remember anything about myself or where I came from but my dog tags told them that I was Flight Sergeant Peter Roberts of Boston Massachusetts, so that's who I am. Apparently I was on a bombing raid and my plane was shot down over Germany. I had to learn to speak, read and write all over again and because much of that took place in England I speak with a sort of English accent and use English words that can sometimes be different and have different meanings to words here." "I still think that you look familiar." "I suppose that somewhere in the world there will be someone that looks like me. Who do you think I look like?" "You look a lot like a friend of mine that I knew from school. We were in high school and there was a bit of trouble and he left town suddenly and that's the last that I saw of him." I loaded a pack with provisions, enough for a couple of hours at least, and grabbed my prospecting pick. "I'd better make a start, I don't want to be caught up there late in the afternoon, especially if the weather changes." I waded across the creek and began to clamber over the rocks on the other side. She was next to me and easily keeping pace with me. "Do you mind if I join you, I've never seen a real life prospector before?" "You're not really dressed for clambering over these rocks, those shoes won't give you much protection if a rock slips onto your foot." "I've been clambering around these rocks since I was a little girl, I can take care of myself." "Suit yourself. If you're going to join me I should at least know what to call you, you do have a name I assume." "You assume correctly, my name is Patricia, not Pat or Patty. I will answer to Trish from my friends but for now it's Patricia." "I guess that I'll have to earn the right to call you Trish. Well Patricia, let's get going." I led the way up the slope, trying not to dislodge too many rocks, until an exhausting hour later we had reached the base of the cliff. I began a minute search of the rock-face and several minutes later found what I was looking for. I chipped at the rock with my pick until a flake of rock peeled from it. "What are you looking for?" "Quartz, that's this white stone, if there is gold here it will be in the quartz." I took a jewelers glass from my pocket and looked closely at the rock. There were minute traces of gold in the sample, but not enough to be commercially viable. "Can I have a look?" I handed the sample and the glass to her and she looked at it for several minutes. "I wouldn't go out and order a new fur coat on the strength of that sample." She handed them back to me. I put the glass back in my pocket and placed the sample into a labeled sample jar and placed it in my pack before returning to the rock face. The search was slow, it was painstaking, and I fully expected Patricia to start complaining of boredom. She surprised me by carrying on a non-boredom conversation for the whole time I was searching. She wanted to examine every sample that I took from the cliff and I got the impression that she was actually interested in what I was doing. At around two o'clock I decided that it was time to go back down the slope. Clambering down the slope is more dangerous than going up, the chances of dislodging a rock is that much greater. We were about half way down when it happened, the rock she stood on was balanced in such a way that when she stood on what should have been the safest part it tipped back and her foot disappeared into the gap. We both heard the crack as the bone snapped. "Shit and damnation, that hurt!" "Stay still while I have a look at it." I gently moved the rocks away from her leg and lifted it out of the hole. It was a clean break but she was not going to be able to walk down the slope and I didn't want to leave her here while I went for help. I took my pick and some bandages from my first aid kit and splinted her leg to ease the pain. With the head of the pick beside the sole of her foot she would probably, on flat ground at least, be able to walk on it, but up here there was no way. "We are somehow going to have to get you down from here without doing any more damage. What I want you to do is to climb onto my back and I'll carry you down, do you think you can do that?" "More to the point can you do it? I'm no lightweight you know." "We'll see." I got into a position where she could put her arms around my neck and on the second attempt I managed to get to my feet. She wrapped her legs as far as she could around me and I grabbed them just above her knees and set off, gingerly stepping from stone to stone until an hour later I was wading across the creek to my jeep. She slipped from my back and propped herself against the side of the jeep with her broken leg off the ground. "Do you think that you can slide your arse onto the seat and I'll lift your legs in? I hope that you have a doctor in town that can set this leg for you." "I'll show you where the Doctor is. And I think that you've earned the right to call me Trish." "Thank you Trish." I drove as gently as I could, I could almost feel the pain every time we hit a bump in the road. We got back to town and she directed me to a house just back from the main street. I carried her inside to a surprising reception. "For God's sake Trish, what have you done to yourself now?" The receptionist asked. "Oh nothing much, just a slight fracture of the leg." "And where did you find Brian?" "It's not Brian. I thought that it was but he says his name is Peter, Peter Roberts." "I could have sworn that it was Brian. You go into the surgery while, I get your father." I helped Trish hobble into the surgery and up onto the exam table and a couple of minutes later a white coated man walked in. "One of these days young lady you are going to learn that you can't go gallivanting around the countryside without breaking something. I see that it's the leg this time, so I suppose I'll have you clumping around the house for months while it mends. Hello Brian, where have you been hiding for the last thousand years?" "Why does everyone keep calling me Brian, the name's Peter." "I think not, you were born Brian, you grew up Brian, and as far as I'm concerned you'll stay Brian. Now let me have a close look at the damage that you've done yourself this time. Where were you when it happened?" "We'd been prospecting up by the cliff-face below Mt Vernon. We were on our way down and I got my foot jammed in between a couple of rocks and the leg just sort of broke." "And I suppose Peter/Brian here applied this splint and got you down and brought you here. I hope that you found lots of gold because this ain't gunna come cheap young lady." "I'll cover the expenses." I volunteered. "He doesn't know when I'm joking, you've never had to pay for repairs before, it's kept me poor for as long as I can remember mind you, but I'm not about to start charging now." All the time he was talking he was working on her leg, he carefully took off her shoe, followed by her sock and then he slit the side seam of her jeans, "Hey I've only just worn these in enough for them to be comfortable, and a new pair will cause me considerable pain and suffering until they reached the comfort status of the pair you've just ruined", and folded it back above her knee. "Don't worry I'll buy you a new pair and I won't even put it on your bill." He had manipulated the leg so that the broken bones had lined up and he began mixing plaster for the cast. He looked at me, "I don't know what she's worried about, I've slit the stitches on the seam and she can get out her sewing machine and restitch them as good as new, that's if she can remember how to use it." This brought a light punch to his upper arm. "Watch it, you almost made me drop your leg and that would have hurt." Working swiftly he had the cast on, it encased her foot, just leaving the toes free, and ended just below her knee. He put this metal stirrup thing just in front of her heel so that she will be able to walk on the foot just as soon as the pain eased. When the repairs were completed we sat around with a glass of whisky. "What brings you to these parts?" "I'm carrying out some preliminary work for a mining company that is interested in the gold prospects in this area. The gold rush some time ago only mined the alluvium, it didn't explore to see if there were any veins in the cliffs. I think that the thought of hard rock mining was all a little too hard, especially when alluvial gold was found not far away. The claims were abandoned and the company has bought them up hoping that I can find where the gold originated and that it will be economically viable to mine it." "You do realize that you'll have opposition to any mining proposals? Trish will move heaven and earth to prevent it, although I'll probably be happy if it goes ahead because it'll mean that she won't be wandering around in that rough country and falling over cliffs and half drowning herself in the streams. I'll rest easier without the worry of repairing the damage she causes to herself." "Listen to him. Where do you think that I got the urge to wander around the hills? You were much worse that I'll ever be, and don't try to tell me that you were born with one leg shorter than the other." She turned to me. "He walks with a limp after one of his adventures, he was miles from anywhere when he tripped over his feet and ended up with a compound fracture of his leg. He managed to make a splint out of a couple of tree branches that he cut with his faithful Bowie knife, and some vines. He made a crutch out of another branch that had a fork in it and hobbled out of the bush. The leg wasn't set properly and is now shorter than the other." The End of the Road "She's joking of course." "No I'm not. Your parents weren't even worried about you, they reasoned that if you weren't out of the forest in two days you were dead so they hadn't begun to be worried." I was invited to stay for dinner but declined, which, as it turned out, wasn't one of my brightest decisions. As I walked into the hotel Jeffrey signaled me over. "You should be warned, the Sherriff and his stupid son the deputy are waiting for you upstairs, if you have any reason not to see them I'd suggest that you find somewhere else to stay and I'll send your stuff on." "Thanks but I've no reason to be scared of him." Famous last words as it happened. I was confronted by the Sherriff, a middle aged man whose uniform had almost given up on confining his gut. I'd smelt his cigar as I left the elevator and it pleased me not at all. He was chewing on it as I walked towards him. At least he took it out of his mouth to speak. "Brian Saunders." No preliminary chit chat to put me at ease. "I'm placing you under arrest for the attempted murder of Hiram Billings." I noticed that his name badge read Homer Billings and His deputy's Hiram Billings so I assumed that I was supposed to have tried to murder his son. "Cuff him boy." "Sure Paw." He unclipped the cuffs from his belt on the third attempt and moved towards me. "Hands behind your back and stand against the wall." I could just tell that he was going to shove me face first into the wall and, as he moved to push me, I side-stepped and sweeping my leg around, I kicked him on the side of his knee. "Dang Paw he hurt me again!" I turned to face the Sherriff and the muzzle of his impressively large .45 Colt. "We'll call that resisting arrest." Resistance was useless and I was marched through the foyer of the hotel by the gun wielding upholder of the law and soon found myself a reluctant guest in his luxurious one star rat hole of a jail. I told him a dozen times that he was mistaken and that I was not Brian Saunders, but he either didn't care or was too thick to understand. Half an hour later I had a visitor. Doc Wellington came in with a smile on his face, at least someone was happy. "You did a good job on Hiram's knee my boy, he'll be on crutches for months this time. You aggravated an old football injury. His weight and lack of exercise helped you of course, but there was no real strength there and it didn't take much to tear the medial ligaments again. I've posted bail so you're free, just as soon as he's finished the paperwork, although I wouldn't hold my breath, form filling isn't one of his strongest points. In fact I don't think that he has any strong points, he owes his exalted status to the fact that no-one is brave enough to oppose him." The Sherriff came in with the necessary paperwork and I was released and told that I was to appear in court in two days. It didn't give me a lot of time to figure out this mess. If I could prove that I was Peter Roberts I could not have beaten Hiram, if however, I couldn't and it was established that I was in fact Brian Saunders, then I was in a lot of trouble. "Do I get the impression that you and the Sherriff aren't poker buddies?" "Was I that obvious? Let me put it this way, I speak to him only when my official capacity necessitates it, this being one such case." "So what do I do now?" "I'm going to invite you to come home with me and you can stay with Trish and me for the time being, at least until we can make head or tail of this. Those are Trish's orders by the way. " "I suppose that we'd better obey her then. I need to clear up why everyone keeps calling me Brian." "More to the point we have to get you off that ridiculous charge of attempting to murder poor defenseless little Hiram. I know something of the case and I believe that the only reason that you've been charged with trying to kill him was to hide the fact that you beat the crap out of him in a fair fight and he lost face, the kids weren't afraid of him anymore." "Do you know what that was all about?" "Trish. You and Trish had been going together for about a year and Hiram tried to muscle in on the act. He spread the word that she was his girl, and that they were going to get married when she came back from college. She, naturally enough, wanted nothing to do with him but he wouldn't take no for an answer, so you and him had a fight, if you could call it that. You hit him a couple of times and kneed him in the balls and he went down in a crying heap. He crawled home with his tail between his legs and told Homer that you'd snuck up behind him and beat him with a baseball bat. Homer went a little overboard with his reaction to Hiram's allegations and told your parents that you would end up in juvenile detention. That was when you disappeared, not even your parents knew where you were. We figured that, because there was a war on that you'd signed up and that when it was over you'd come home. Then your parents got notification from the military that you were missing in action and some time later that you'd died trying to escape and were buried in Germany." "I can understand why Hiram lied about what happened but what were Homer's motives for his action?" "The very same. He ruled by fear and intimidation, and no-one dared to oppose that rule. He had it figured that your beating Hiram might encourage others to try it on with him. He couldn't afford for that to happen because he'd burned his bridges with the folks around here, without the job of Sherriff he'd never have a job." "I remember nothing of this. My first memory is of a hospital in Germany and the nurses looking after me really well and telling me to tell the liberation army how well they looked after us prisoners. I think that they thought that they might be treated better. Then I was hipped to a hospital in England that was full of servicemen like me that had either lost their memory or their mind. The doctors kept telling me over and over again that I was Peter Roberts from Boston, probably hoping that it would trigger something in my brain that would lead to me regaining my memory. It didn't work and I'm now wondering if I really am this Peter Roberts." We'd arrived back at the surgery. Doc and Trish lived behind it in an attached house. Trish was stretched out on the sofa when Doc let us in. "I've rescued our hero for the time being, but this isn't over just yet, he has to be in court in two days and we either have to prove that he isn't Brian, or somehow get him off that ridiculous charge of attempted murder." "The proving he isn't Brian isn't going to be easy, have a look at this." She had the high school year book in her hand and was pointing at the photo of Brian Saunders. On close inspection I had to admit that if he wasn't me he had to be my twin brother. We talked for an hour or so after a pleasant dinner with Doc doing all the work in deference to the incapacity of the usual cook and bottle washer, when he decided that it was time for bed. "I think that you will need assistance to get into bed. Under normal circumstances this task would fall to me being both your father and doctor, but I don't think that I have the strength to do it and I don't want to call out a nurse just to put you to bed, so I'm going to have to trust the two of you not to get up to any mischief getting you into bed." The smile on his face said that he had no faith in us obeying his trust. I helped Trish to her room and out of her jeans, the sight of her white underwear with her bush creating a mound at the junction of her legs sent my pulse racing. "Now I'm convinced that you're Brian, your cock always did have an autonomic reaction to my proximity." Her hand reached for my already hard cock. "I remember him from Biology class when we were learning about human reproduction, I only had to look at him to know that he was interested in taking learning to an entirely new level. He didn't disappoint me." Her hand had deftly opened my fly and released him from the prison of my shorts. "Ah yes, I recognize this cock, we had such good times together him and I." She kissed his head and then opened her mouth wide and engulfed him, her cheeks hollowed as she applied suction to him as her tongue was working its own particular magic. If I wasn't this Brian guy I was sure as hell jealous of him. It was a tight fit getting her underwear over her cast but we eventually made it and she lay on her back and spread her legs to receive me. Her cast hindered her movement somewhat but she still managed to move her hips in an entirely satisfactory manner for both of us, and it was not very long before we both came. "Oh I forgot to tell you that you can leave him in and come inside me this time, not like the last time when you came anyway." "What? I came inside you? I suppose that the next thing that you're going to tell me is that I hadn't worn a condom the last time." "No you didn't but don't worry I haven't got your kid hidden away somewhere, we were lucky I guess." "But you let me this time." "I've got a diaphragm in. As soon as I knew that you were going to be staying here I inserted it, not that I'd mind if I fell pregnant to you, but I want to be sure that you're not going to be in jail before I let that happen. Now do you want to go to the spare room that we've given you, or would you rather stay here with me?" The fact that she had her hand on my cock and was applying a slight but threatening pressure to it made my decision easy for me. We slept together and it felt so good that I was disappointed in the morning when it was time for us both to get out of bed. "I noticed that you didn't sleep in the bed that we so generously provided for you." Doc was seated at the kitchen table munching on a piece of toast that he held in one hand and sipping from a cup of coffee in the other, and reading the newspaper that was spread out next to his plate, as we walked into the kitchen. "It seems that I had a better offer." Trish took my hand. "Now I'm totally sure that he's Brian, his cock is as I remember it." He seemed not to be concerned by her revelation. "So, now that we've sorted that out we'll need to find a way to get him off the charge." "Surely if I can't remember a thing about it I can't be found guilty of the crime, can I?" Doc looked at me with a pitying expression on his face. "I'm sure that you would have realized by now that Homer Billings is the law around here and he controls the evidence and the witnesses, if you have any thoughts of getting off the charge you'd better dismiss them. You don't stand a chance, not without our help and the odd miracle or two that is." "Weren't there any witnesses that haven't been bought?" I asked hopefully. "There were several, but they've been bribed or otherwise induced to have a sudden attack of the forgetories, unless. . . ." "Unless what, or who?" Trish asked. "Do you remember Bambi Jones? She told me that she had seen the whole thing and that Hiram had started the fight, he pushed you around and told you to leave Trish alone because she was his girl. You refused and he rushed at you and you ducked. When he was on top of you, you used his momentum and stood up, he went flying over your head and smashed into one of the uprights of the stand next to the football field. The whole team saw it and they were laughing at him and he slunk off with his tail between his legs. She was prepared to tell your side of the story until a week later when her father had a few too many and got caught for drunk driving. Homer offered to drop the charges if he could convince Bambi to change her story. She changed but I think she might be willing to change it back." "Why now?" I asked. "Her father was obviously under the impression that when Homer dropped the charge against him he'd be prepared to drop future charges. Homer was never that generous and he got caught a couple of months later. You'd done your disappearing act so Bambi's father had no leverage and did time. He died a couple of years ago and there is no reason why Bambi couldn't be convinced to change her mind." "I'll go and talk to her." Trish offered. "You'll do no such thing young lady. She's coming in this afternoon, she doesn't know it yet, but I'll call her and tell her I need to discuss her test results with her." "What test results?" "Her regular pregnancy test, she's not by the way, something that will please her, it means she doesn't have to break the news to either her husband or the potential father.' "You're a devious old man." Trish told him. "I suppose that you're going to drag out the announcement for ages and when you tell her that she's not pregnant she'll be so overcome with relief that she'll agree to anything." "Something like that." "In the mean time I'll try and find out how it is that I've become Peter Roberts. I'll speak to someone in the Army Air Force, I might be able to lay my hands on a photograph of the crew of that Mitchell bomber. I was told that the reason that I survived was that I was the gunner in the dorsal turret and I was thrown clear. I have no recollection of that at all. All that I do remember was that the plane was extremely noisy and my ears used to ring for hours after a raid." I had work to do, the first item on my full agenda was to go to the hotel and pick up my gear and take it Doc's house. Blind Freddie would have spotted Homer sitting in his car watching for me as I entered the foyer. "You seem to be attracting attention." Jeffrey said as I stopped to say 'Hi'. "He's been hanging around since around seven and for him to be up and about that early must have a special reason. Could it have something to do with Hiram being carried out of here on a stretcher yesterday?" "That's part of the story. If what I now believe is true, then yesterday wasn't the first time that I'd beaten up on Hiram." "Then the rumors are true?" "If you mean the rumors about me trying to kill Hiram, then they aren't true. He attacked me because I wasn't going to stop seeing Trish Wellington. It wasn't much as fights go, he charged at me and ended up banging his thick skull on a steel pole. He told Homer that I'd snuck up behind him and hit him with a baseball bat and Homer believed him. Homer made threats to me and my parents and rather than see them hurt I took off. As there was a war on I joined up. That's the information that I've been told and I've been assured that it's true because I've lost several years of my life because of injuries I sustained during the war." I grabbed my gear from my room and paid my bill. "Is there a back way out of here?" I asked Jeffrey. "Sure, I'll show you the way." "I've a mind to confuse Homer, don't be surprised if you see me walking into the hotel several times in the next hour or so." "Would it help if I were to greet you as if you'd not been in before?" "It would, thanks." "Don't mention it, as you may have guessed I'm not a fan of Homer or his idiot son Hiram." I left by the service entrance and took my gear over to Doc's place. "I'm going to be busy confusing Homer, I'll see you in about an hour." I kissed her, it was then that I noticed that she had been applying her artistic touches to her cast. What appeared to be a staircase started at her ankle and spiraled up her for as far as she could reach before it disappeared behind her leg. It returned from the other side, still spiraling upwards. She noticed me looking at it. "You're going to have to do the back of my leg where I can't reach. This is for you, it's your stairway to Paradise." She chuckled. "I'll even put your name on it." "And you intend to appear in public wearing that are you?" "Of course, I have to tell everyone, including the lovely Trixie, that you're my man and to back off or my wrath will be savage and final." "Are there no secrets in this town?" I left her to carry out my plan. Homer's expression the first time he saw me walk back into the hotel from the same direction as before, when he hadn't seen me leave, wasn't much different from normal. The second time, after going out the service entrance and around the block, he looked a little confused, but by the fourth time he had to get out of his car and grab me. "What are you playing at Saunders?" "Saunders? My name is Roberts, John Roberts, I'm here to meet my brother Peter and my three other brothers in that hotel. Now if you've quite finished, I'm running late and he hates it if I'm late." I shook free of him and walked into the hotel. "You've really screwed with him, it's going to take days for him to figure that one out. I hear that he's got you in court tomorrow on that trumped up old charge. How would you like it if I can arrange a surprise for him?" "What kind of surprise?" "Can't tell you otherwise it won't be a surprise." I managed to get through to the military records office and request a copy of both Brian Saunders' and Peter Robert's records. I was told that it would take two to three weeks for them to get to me. My real identity would be held in limbo for a while yet. The rest of the day I spent completing Trish's staircase and then climbing it to Paradise. We were in the kitchen getting ready to cook dinner when Doc came in. "I've spoken to Bambi and she has promised to think about helping us out tomorrow, she'll let me know in the morning before court. Keep your fingers crossed boy, and hope for the best. And you young lady, it would seem that you've been opening your legs to this young man. I hope that you know what you're doing." "I know only too well what I'm doing, making up for lost time is what I'm doing." She clumped around the table and kissed my lips before giving Doc a peck on the cheek and returning to the meal preparations. The courtroom was packed with people when we walked in. The lawyer that Doc had retained for me leaned over to me as I sat at the defense table. "Don't worry son, Homer is in for a huge shock." He tapped a thick folder on the desk. The judge came in and sat down. We all sat when told by the clerk. "Now Sherriff, what have we here?" "Judge, the defendant is charged with the attempted murder of my son Hiram." "When did this happen?" "It was back a-ways Judge." "Humor me, how far back?" "1942." "And you've only now seen fit to charge this man, why now?" "He only just came back to town Judge." "All right, get on with it." "Judge, the defendant, Brian Saunders, is charged that on the 26th of November 1942 he did willfully attack Hiram Billings with the intent to murder the victim. He is also charged that on the 13th of July 1953 he did assault, causing grievous bodily harm, Hiram Billings and resisting arrest." "How does the defendant plead?" "Not guilty on all charges Judge. In fact Judge, my client has evidence to prove that he is not Brian Saunders, but that he is in fact Peter Roberts of Boston. We submit military records that show that Brian Saunders died attempting to escape from a POW camp in Germany in 1944." I wondered how he'd managed to get hold of my record so quickly. "Judge we have proof that he's who we say he is." "Both of you, up here, now." Homer and my lawyer walked to the bench. "What my ruling is, is that we will proceed with this trial on the evidence presented and work out who the defendant is later. If he's innocent his identity won't matter and if he's guilty he ain't going anywhere so we can take our time establishing the truth about who he is. Now Sherriff, call your first witness." Hiram was called to the stand. He was wheeled into the court in a wheelchair and helped into the witness stand where he was sworn in. "For the record would you state you full name and occupation." "Hiram Billings and I be the Deputy Sherriff." "Now Hiram, I want you to cast your mind back to 1942, November 1942. Can you describe to the court the events that took place on the afternoon of the 26th?" The End of the Road "I was walking with my girl, that's Trish Wellington, across the football field after football practice and I seen him Brian Saunders walking towards us. I wanted to talk to him, polite like, to tell him to stay away from my girl. He got angry and as I walked away from him he up and hit me over the head with a baseball bat. I woked up at Doc Wellington's some time later and told Paw what happened. He went to see Brian and told him that he would be charged with attempted murder and, like the coward that he was, he ran out of town with his tail between his legs." "Now, could you tell me what happened at the Mt Vernon Hotel on the 13th of July this year?" "Well, the receptionist at the hotel rang Paw and told him that a man that he was sure was Brian Saunders had just registered at the hotel using a false name. We went to check up on him and as soon as he saw us he, hoping to make his escape, attacked me, kicking me viscously on the knee, causing me a lot of pain." "Thank you." Hiram stood up to leave the witness stand. "Will you sit down, we haven't finished with you yet." He sat, he was confused, all he ever had to do before was to give his evidence, no-one had ever questioned it. "Tell me Hiram, back then on the 26th of November 1942, you claim that you were walking across the football field with Trish Wellington and the defendant came to you and with provocation attacked you rendering you unconscious, is that what really happened?" "Yeah, that's what happened." "Were there any witnesses to this incident?" "No, no-one saw it." "Not even the young lady who seemed to have been the reason for this attack?" "Yeah, she was there." "Then why isn't she going to give supporting evidence?" "I dunno, she has her reasons I suppose." "Could it be that you don't want her to give evidence because she would tell an entirely different story?" "If she did she would be lying." "We shall see about that later because we will be calling on her to give evidence, along with a whole lot of other people. Judge, I would like at this time, in order to save the court's time, to produce fifty three signed depositions from prospective witnesses, some to this assault, and these have all stated that it was Brian Saunders who was walking, hand in hand, across the football field with his girlfriend Patricia Wellington, when they were set upon by Hiram Billings. These depositions will also state that Brian Saunders struck Hiram Billings after Hiram had attempted to drag Patricia, Trish, away from him. Homer charged at Brian who ducked and Homer went over the top of him and crashed into a steel upright on the stand. He never lost consciousness and on getting to his feet, ran off. The depositions also state that the injuries that he had sustained in this brief encounter were not consistent with those evident when he presented to Doctor Wellington's surgery. We also have depositions from witnesses to a confrontation between Hiram Billings and his father Homer Billings in which, while beating Hiram, Homer was heard to tell the boy that he'd never met anyone so dumb as to actually attack someone face to face. He was heard to say, 'If you want to hit someone come from behind so's he don't see you.' Now Judge we could call on all of these witnesses, all of whom have volunteered to give evidence to support their depositions, or we can just ask the Sherriff to think about his position and decide whether or not to proceed with this matter." It was a slow process, for several minutes Homer sat there with his head in his hands before slowly raising it to look at the Judge. For the first time that he could remember he had lost his power base, the people no longer feared him, they had risen up against him. "Judge, on giving this some thought I've come to realize that I should have gotten other witness statements before charging Brian Saunders with attempted murder. I trusted the evidence given to me by my son and ignored the rumors that were going around at the time that pointed to him lying to me. I also can see that we were a little heavy handed in our attempt to arrest the man that we believed to be Brain Saunders, even after he told us that he was someone else. I am prepared to drop all charges and I will be submitting my resignation as Sherriff." The town of Mt. Vernon was the subject of change over the next few weeks. It seemed to come to life following the departure of Sherriff Billings and his son. For the first time in years the people of this town were not living in fear. They began talking to each other and the main topic of conversation was about this stranger who'd come into town and stood up to Sherriff Billings and his thug of a son, and beaten them, not by a show of physical strength, but by calmly standing up for his rights. The fact that this stranger could possibly be the Brian Saunders of years ago who left town under a cloud of accusations from Homer Billings, added a certain spice to the story. Trish Wellington added further spice to the story by proudly walking around town in her suggestively decorated cast that told them all that he was Brian Saunders and that he was hers. Three weeks after the trial the papers arrived from Military archives. It seems that I am Brian Saunders after all, and that I was a Navigator in the Mitchell bomber based in England. The Navigator's role, as well as making sure that the plane found its target and got back again, was to operate the forward pointing nose mounted machine guns. Peter Roberts was the Gunner in the dorsal turret. His job it was to protect the plane from fighter planes coming in from above. He had other things on his mind that fatal day, the woman that he had been seeing, she was the wife of the owner of the large house where they were billeted, had announced that she was pregnant to him and would leave her husband and accompany him back to the US after the war. He could not have this, he figured that his wife might object, so he was looking for the opportunity to get out of this situation. His lack of attention was enough for the Messerschmitt to attack out of the sun and cripple their plane. There was only myself and another crew member that survived, and I had suffered extensive head injuries. Roberts thought that I wouldn't survive, so he swapped dog tags figuring that I'd become just another combatant killed in action. He would have gotten away with it except for my will to live. At one stage the doctors in the prison hospital gave up hope, but I survived, which is more than I can say for him, he died trying to escape from the prison camp. "When you returned home did your parents and brothers and sisters recognize you?" Trish asked. "Now that's another strange thing, when I went to the address that was on my file, I found that it didn't exist, there was no such place. I thought that it was a clerical error but the Air Force checked my enrollment papers and that was the address that he wrote on it." "So Brian Saunders became dead and Peter Roberts, the man with no friends or relatives got on with his life. The big question now is; do you continue with your current job or do you bow to public pressure and become the new Sherriff of Mt. Vernon? The salary in this job is probably less than as a geologist but the fringe benefits are far greater. You have a lot of friends in this town, you have a family, that's Dad and me by the way, and if I'm not mistaken, within twelve months you will be a father, in fact you'll probably be a father within nine months." "That's a bit quick isn't it?" "Do you remember the first time that we made love this time around that I told you that I had a diaphragm in, well I lied to you, I was so sure that you were the love of my life that I'd thought that I'd never see again, that I didn't care if I fell straight away. What do you say, Sherriff?" The End of the Road "He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking." - Anna Karenina (Leo Tolstoy) The words of Tolstoy whisper in his mind as she steps into the room. He can not bring himself to look upon her, knowing that even now she still forgives him. He keeps his head down looking at the old logging map under flickering candle light. The cabin has been a God send but it won't be safe for long. She stands beside the bed watching him. "They'll have road blocks up here," he says pointing. "And here as well. They think they have us hemmed in now." "Couldn't we just wait it out here," she asks. "No," he says. "They'll move in soon, checking house to house." She waits as he pours over the map. She knows no one can understand why she loves him. He is irrational and wild, his life a series of poorly made choices leading here to this cabin in the woods, trapped and waiting for the FBI to finally take them in. Bank robber was not something she had ever thought she would be called. She was intelligent, well educated and measured in her thinking. At least she had been before she met Tom. He was gentle and loving, even now as there world closed in around them, but he was perilous as well and she had followed him blindly. "Here," he says brightening suddenly but still not raising his head. His finger traces slowly acroos a faint line in the old weathered map. "An old logging track. See." He raises the map and shows her the thin black line running through a green section of the map. It winds sharply left and right like a river as it cuts through the mountains but he was right, it comes out past the checkpoints. "They'll know about it," she says. "Maybe," he says. "But this is an old map and the track isn't used anymore. It's not even on the new map, look." He brings out another map, lying beneath the first. "See it's not there in this one. They might not even know it exists." "Perhaps it no longer does," she says. For this he has no answer but he does not look defeated yet. "Let's go," he said. "It's our only chance." She knows he is scared now and that it is not for himself. She has long known that he does not care if he dies. She has always known that sooner or later they would be caught and when that happened they will Be killed. They will fill him full of holes like Bonnie and Clyde. There will be no trial for them, they have been on the run for too long now and been too much trouble. There end will be swift and violent. "And," she thinks. "It will happen tonight." An understanding that for all his eternal optimism and hope they will never make it to Mexico comes over her and for the first time she is truly afraid herself. In the car she sits beside him on the bench seat, his arm around her shoulder holding her close. They need to look relaxed, like honeymoon lovers but the fifty thousand in the boot of the car burns into her mind as she realises the case it is in sits uncovered. If they pull them over it will be the first things they see. The turn off isn't far. It is a slightly overgrown gap in the trees and they pass it by three times before they find it. In the headlights they can vaguely see the path it takes between a canyon of heavy timber. There is undergrowth sprouting along it's length but not enough to stop them. Not yet anyway. "What do you think?" he asks. "I trust you," she says. He knows it is a lie. She is too smart to trust him, not after the years of disasters that she has been following him through. Her lie makes the knot in his stomach tighten even harder and he considers surrender. "If we just give in maybe they will spare her," he thinks. But he knows better than that. The G men have a target fixed on both their heads and will shoot them down and think of an excuse later. The track, if it could still be called that, sits silent in the headlights. Beyond the beams there is a great blackness, almost as great as the fear in his chest. "This way leads death," she thinks and he moves the car slowly forward, running down a few shrubs standing at the entrance, the car rolling over great lumps of rock. "If they are in the forest," she thinks. "They'll spot us for sure. This is no place for a honeymoon." The black night envelopes there car as it moves down the track, vanishing from the highway. "We'll get to Mexico," he says. "Start a new life down there. 50 g will go a long way in Mexico." In the darkness she smiles at him and lets her head rest on his shoulder, her hand on his chest. She closes her eyes and feels her body sway with the movement of the car, like a lifeboat being tossed around in a storm at sea. She drifts slowly from the world, not quite sleeping but dreaming none the less. Their bodies entwined, no longer in the car but drifting down the road. "I'm flying," she thinks Now his arms held her neck and she knows that if he let go he would fall to the ground a few feet below. It was not far but she would not be able to stop. This flight is beyond her control, there is no stopping and no turning back. She hears a sound of running feet behind her and turns to see the G men are behind them, the bloodhounds have their scent and the gap is closing. It is how she knew it would end. She wakes with a start and realises they have stopped. They are in the middle of the track but it ends here, a thick row of trees blocking their path in every direction but backwards, the space so tight they can't even turn the car around. He is looking at her and she knows he is beaten at last. "This is it then," he whispers. "It's over." She knows he is right and does not try to argue. This last desperate attempt was never going to succeed and they had both known it. She was relieved, a great weight taken from her body. She leans in close and kisses him on the lips then pulls back when he does not respond. He still can't look at her, his guilt and shame too great. "No regrets," she says. "I followed you down this path with open eyes. We came here together you and I." "And we're going to die together," he says. "I know," she says. "We have both always known. So no regrets now." She leans forward again and turns his face toward hers and this time their eyes meet under the dashboard light. They move closer together and kiss again briefly before he turns off the cars engine and switches off the lights. It is pure darkness now. They are cut off from one another, invisible and alone. She moves across to him and sits across his body, their groins rubbing together in the darkness. "If we have to die," she thinks "let it be like this." She fumbles blindly in the dark for his buckle and finds it at last, deftly unclasping it and finding his penis, already hard, she takes it in her hand and rubs it against her moistening pussy. The fear is still tightly gripping her and adds an edge to her desire that has her gasping already. She senses a feeling of reluctance in him as he keeps his hands limp at his side and she knows he feels too guilty to take her in his arms. "Lover," she says. "I have chosen this." She kisses him again and then moves slightly down, kissing his neck and chest, tearing aside his shirt as she descends. His breathing becomes short and she positions herself on all fours beside him on the bench seat, her mouth still kissing around his stomach before she licks the head of his cock then wraps her lips around it, tasting a drop of precum, her fear now replaced by desire and a last lustful embrace of life. She hears him groan as her mouth sucks hard on his growing length, taking him down to the base with the first bob of her head. She wants to show him that she loves him still, that even at the end of the road that they have literally come to she still wants him, still loves him and would do anything for him. Desperate to distract him she sucked tightly on his shaft, her tongue encircling it back and forth as she coated his cock with her salvia. She took him deep into the back of her throat and he cried out as her throat contracted as she gagged on the thick head. His hands began to grip her hair and she knew he was with her again as his hips rose and fell on the seat in time with her bobbing head. She wants him to cum now, to feed her one last load of his sperm, she wants to taste him as if feeding on his life force. Her fear is still tight within her and this time it is for his life that she is afraid. Without him her life is aimless wandering. She needs him to cum, she wants to savour his taste one last time, if she lives and he does not she wants this moment to remember. She takes his cock out of her mouth and pulls his pants down fully, releasing his balls. Knowing the feeling of her tongue on his testicles sends him over the edge she licks it, softly at first but then building faster and faster until she enguls the whole sack, moaning passionately as his scent fills her nostrils. He grips her hair and guides her mouth back onto his cock, bucking his hips rapidly. "I'm cumming," he shouts and she takes him deeper into her mouth as the cum rises then erupts in a torrent inside her mouth, splashing over her tongue and teeth until her mouth is filled ith his seed. She doesn't swallow but leaves it in her mouth, letting it swim inside of her, the scent of him rich within it. At last she has to swallow as her breath runs short and she focuses all her mind on the feeling of it being absorbed into her body through her throat. They lie side by side in the darkness and she feels peaceful at last. They have been running for so long she can barely remember the last time they were able to sit still like this. She listens to him breathe, resting her head on his chest and wishing this night would not end. He rubs her shoulders gently and wishes he could think of something to say to her. She has followed him through years of disaster without question and with no word of criticism. "You should have married that lawyer," he says at last. "I never told you this," she says. "But he hit me. He hit me many times, that's why I left him. That's why I love you, that is why I have stayed with you. You're a fool, but a loving fool." "A fool that has gotten you killed," he says. "Not yet," she says. "Soon," he says. "There's no way out on the highway and no way through the forest. The hounds will close in soon. They'll find us." "I know," she says. He feels her move again, her leg moving over him and knows what she has in mind. He feels her pubic hair tingling against the head of his penis, causing it to harden against the wet lips of her vagina. She leans forward, smothering him with her bare breasts and he moves his head, taking one breast in his hand while the other sucks her nipple. She sighs as she lowers herself on to his hardness, the shaft sliding comfortably inside her body. She rises and falls on him as he suckles her breasts, their soft moans filling the darkness and breaking the silence of the forest. She increases the speed of her bouncing and moves her hands to either side of his head and raises his lips to her own. Their lips part, allowing their tongues to explore one another's mouths. They breathe as one. His cock grows harder inside her but he stifles his climax, moving his thumb to her clit he massages it causing her to whimper as her climax rises then bursts in a short sharp shock which seems to blend with another more slowly building climax growing inside of her. He releases her clit and grips her hips, grinding her up and down on him as her breasts dance before him, slapping together as she bounces. "Cum inside me," she pleads. "It doesn't matter anymore. I want to feel your cum inside of me." He tenses and his climax finally breaks free, his orgasm more intense than anything he has felt in his life. An image from his first wet dream as a teenager passes before his eyes. It is of a bear trap snapping into place. The trap falls around him and as it snaps the orgasm rocks his whole body a feeling that is stronger than himself and cannot be contained. She feels the liquid erupt inside of her and hears him crying out. Suddenly a light flashes into her eyes. She looks up and sees a row of torch lights coming around the corner of the narrow mountain track not fifty feet away. She looks down at him in the torch light but he doesn't look back at her. The lights grow closer but still he stares down. "Will you not let me see your eyes," she says. "Why won't you look at me." "Because you are the sun," he says. "And I see you even when I look away. Your light is too bright and I am too ashamed." "Why?" she asks. "I followed you freely." "And I have extinguished your light," he says as their windows explode, little flashes of gunpowder dancing in the air around them.