Death Day - 1. Chapter 1

The day started out like any other Saturday in Gerald's life when his eyes abruptly opened. There was no alarm, no radio, and no television making an obnoxious noise. Gerald didn't need anything to wake him up except the memory of his mother's hand slapping his left cheek, even though she hadn't been in his life for over twenty years.

"Gerald! Wake up!" Her voice could have been trained for the opera. She had the talent and the dedication, but she also had a boyfriend and an insatiable desire to have his baby. Seventeen year old girls walking down the center aisle of a church with a barely disguised pregnancy are not likely to turn into opera stars.

Gerald heard the words and felt the sting on the side of his face. He looked around his empty bedroom and remembered this was a special day. The second day of December was always a special day, a holiday of sorts, an anniversary.

"Mom, Dad, I need to tell you something," Gerald said as he sat down at the kitchen table that seemed to be the center of their lives in that little house on North Meridian Avenue. He was a freshman in college, home for a short weekend to watch his alma mater lose in the city championship for the eighth time in a row. North Park High losing an important football game wasn't the only loss that weekend.

His mother started weeping. He looked at her suspecting she already knew what he was about to say. He looked into his father's stern, unemotional eyes then down at the black leather bound Bible that always seemed to be close to his father's right hand. Deep down in his heart he knew this wasn't going to go as easy as he wished.

"I'm gay."

Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the soft sound of a woman's tears smearing mascara down her cheeks. Gerald looked back into his father's eyes and saw the hatred he expected.

"I just thought you should know."

He stood up and walked out the door. He paused for a moment on the back porch looking at his old swing set rusting in the backyard. He had a lot of happy memories over there. He could almost hear the high-pitched, raucous sounds of children playing. He smiled, then walked over to his boyfriend's van and got in.

"Well, how did it go?" Tom asked, smiling. Tom always smiled. He even smiled the day they broke up three years later.

"I don't think they were happy," Gerald said.

He received a letter from his father the following Thursday. He was not to come home ever again. As far as they were concerned, he was dead. Margaret and Arthur Chambers' son had died in a horrible accident and would be mourned for years to come.

Twelve years later, Gerald didn't go to their funeral. He heard about the big pile up on I-5 on the news, but thought nothing of it until a high school friend called and wished him his condolences. He'd called his younger brother, but was informed he was not welcome at the funeral. The family had accepted his earlier death and his unexpected return would be unsettling to friends and distant relatives who didn't know the truth.

Since this was in a sense his death day, it always required something ingenious. Of any day in the year, this day was when Gerald needed to do something for himself, something he rarely did or something new, something unexpected, something daring. In previous years he'd gone skydiving, took a ride in a sailplane, flew to London too see a play, climbed Mount Rainier, swam with dolphins in Hawaii, but today Gerald wanted something extra special. Something he hadn't done in years.

He sat up and put his feet on the floor. Mrs. Langtry, Gerald's five year old grey tabby, rubbed a shoulder against his bare shin before bounding off for the kitchen where she knew breakfast was to be served in a few minutes; except, Gerald didn't get up. He remained sitting at the side of his bed trying to figure out what he needed to do to celebrate his coming out, his death day.

He could call Roger, but Roger would want to watch a football game before agreeing to do anything else and anything else usually meant an unimaginative session in Roger's bed culminating in Gerald's semen being deposited in a condom and Roger's dribbling onto the sheets from a half-hard cock that only seemed to get fully erect during televised swimming meets.

No, this day had to be celebrated without Roger. This day needed something unexpected, something like exploring. He was in Wyoming and what better use for his Land Rover than taking it down some dirt road leading to whatever was at the end. He hadn't gone exploring since when? High school when he got his driver's license and no longer used his bicycle? Had it been that long?

Mrs. Langtry yowled at the bedroom door causing Gerald to look over at her. He could've sworn her right front paw was impatiently tapping the floor like his mother used to do when he was scrubbing the kitchen floor and she wanted some water in her whiskey. He still remembered that faint tapping sound of his mother's navy blue pumps. She always wore navy blue, even when black was more appropriate, like at her father's funeral. When he looked back at Mrs. Langtry he could've sworn the cat was glaring at him.

"Okay! I'll get your damned breakfast," he said.

Mrs. Langtry sat down in the doorway. She put her left front paw in her mouth and started biting her claws. Gerald gave her a carpeted post to sharpen her claws, but she chewed them instead. He bent down to pat her head as he walked by. She moved it at the last moment, avoiding his fingers.

Although Gerald needed to stop at the toilet, he went directly to the kitchen. The last thing he wanted to put up with this morning was a pissed off cat who didn't get her breakfast when she expected it. He wondered if male cats were as demanding.

He packed a lunch, couple jugs of water, a box of energy bars, and his digital camera. The water and bars were in case of something unthinkable happening out in the middle of nowhere, since that was where the unthinkable usually happened; nothing like two flat tires with the nearest tow truck a hundred miles away and not have any cell service. Mrs. Langtry was off somewhere, but she had plenty of food and water, so he locked the door and got in the Rover. He sat for a moment wondering if there was something else he should be doing, instead of heading off to who knows where.

He knew he was supposed to let someone know what he was going to do, but he didn't know that many people. He'd only been in Laramie six months and Roger was the only person he was close to. There were the Palmers next door, but they rarely spoke. So, he left a message on his voice mail saying about where he was going and he'd be back before dark. Of course, he wouldn't be missed until Monday morning when he didn't show up at his first class and he couldn't count of any of the students to report him as missing. Could he?

He wasn't certain exactly where he was going, but the Snowy Range to the west looking inviting. He headed west on State Route 230 watching for side roads that might take him to unknown places. As the mountains neared and the side roads became fewer, Gerald began to question his intent to go back to a childhood endeavor. Then, rounding a tight bend, he saw a Forest Service road sign, "Lake Serene 15 mi," with an arrow pointing to his right.

Gerald slowed and turned onto the side road. There was another sign:

Lake Serene 15 mi.
High Meadow 17 mi.
Franklin Ranch 20 mi.
Lake Valhalla 22 mi.

Gerald headed up the road toward the mountains. Junipers were sparse on the hillsides, but he could see them closing ranks a few miles ahead. The road was graded gravel and looked well traveled. He came to a Y, but there wasn't a sign indicating which direction led where. He got out and saw a hole where there might have been a sign, but the sign wasn't anywhere around. The road to the right was more used, so he decided to go that way.

The road wound around hills and went up aspen filled draws only to angle back along the hillside when the slope became to steep. Gerald got out to take pictures at nearly every wide spot. He'd never before come close to filling the 512 MB card in his camera, but thought maybe today he'd get that chance.

He came to another Y and this one, too, had no sign indicating the correct direction. The road to the right seemed a little less used, but seemed to go more up, while the other one looked as if it was headed back toward the state highway. Gerald headed out onto the right road.

After what seemed to be two hours, Gerald came to a sign, "Franklin Ranch." The road led right into an open area between a big red barn, a smaller shed that might have been used to keep vehicles, and a two-story, green shuttered, white house with a broad covered porch along the front. The ranch house looked like something out of the late 1800's. A faint wisp of smoke wafted out of the stone chimney at the west end. Gerald looked up behind the house and saw a mountain sloping up toward a snow covered peak. Three large maples were positioned around the house to provide shade in the summer. Now, their leaves were scattered about the dusty yard.

It was quite obvious the road dead ended here. Gerald was going to have to backtrack to one of the other turnings and hope he'd get up to one of the lakes while there was still light. He decided to ask for directions. That was sort of against the rules, but it would soon be time to head back down and he did want to see at least one of the lakes.

When Gerald drove up he hadn't seen the man sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch, but as he walked up to the house, hairs on the back on his neck tickled as his body instinctively tensed as if he was being watched. He looked around, but saw no one. When he looked back at the porch he saw a cowboy who appeared to be in his early sixties. His skin was wind and sun burnished to a golden tan. Morning stubble shadowed his jaw and upper lip, but wasn't evident elsewhere on his face. The eyes were dark, almost black, and Gerald felt them piercing him as if they saw straight into his soul. The hands were strong, muscular, and were used to working outside all their life.

"Can I help you, young fellow?" The cowboy asked.

"Yeah, I was looking for Lake Serene," Gerald said, stopping at the foot of the steps. They were freshly painted and looked as if no one had yet walked on them. "There were a couple turns back there without signs, so obviously I chose incorrectly."

"That you did, young fellow. Name's James, James Franklin. My friends call me Jim. Why don't you come on inside and have a cup of coffee? I'll show you a shortcut around that knob off to south there. Lake Serene sits in a little valley a few miles further on."

Gerald was going to answer, but the man was up on his feet and standing at the open door before he could say anything. Jim was almost as tall as Gerald, but much thinner and broader in the shoulders showing he did a lot of heavy manual labor, just what one might expect of a cowboy.

Gerald had been in Wyoming long enough to know it wasn't proper to turn down an invitation, so he climbed the stairs and walk into the house. He was in a foyer with a closed door on the left and one on the right that opened into a parlor full of well-worn furniture and a fireplace with a low fire warming the room. In front was a staircase heading up to the second floor and a hallway leading to the back of the house. Gerald followed Jim into the hall.

"I don't get many visitors up here," Jim said. "Most people assume we're a working ranch, but with just me running things around here, not much is happening. I'll be selling out in a couple years anyway. The winters are too cold to be up here alone. You like your coffee black? I got a bit of sugar, but milk's kind of scarce. Betsy might give you a cupful, but it's not a sweet as when she was younger."

They were in a kitchen that appeared to be the center of activity, or rather the center of activity when a family lived here. There was a refrigerator, but Gerald could see it wasn't plugged in. An old fashioned iron stove stood against a red brick wall on the interior side of the room. He could feel the warmth it was giving off. A double, porcelain sink sat under a window looking out toward an empty pasture. In the middle of the room, eight dusty, oak chairs were perfectly arranged around an equally dusty oak table. The one at the head, facing the backdoor, was pulled out, as was the one to the right with it's back to the sink, Gerald surmised that was for him.

"Black's okay," Gerald said as Jim set a white ceramic mug at Gerald's place and filled it with steaming coffee.

"Good because I don't rightly remember where I put the sugar," Jim said putting the coffee pot back on the stove and sitting down on his chair. "Have a seat, young fellow. You work for the government? Forestry Service I suspect as you're a bit young for BLM, not that you might be one of them soil scientists from down in Laramie we get up here now and then trying to tell us how to run less cattle on that stubble out there that's supposed to be pasture. We ain't stupid, young fellow, not by a long shot."

"I'm a visiting professor down at the university," Gerald said at the brief pause. He certainly didn't want to be misidentified as one of those soil scientists. He'd already met a few of them at the faculty coffee hour welcoming him to the campus and wasn't much impressed with them either.

"At the university, you say? My son, James Junior, was down there for a time back in the Eighties, but I haven't heard from him in long time. Got too smart for ranching I suspect. Always was a bit of a swishy kid. Didn't like hunting, barely tolerated fishing, and you couldn't get him to do much around here other than slopping the hogs, feeding the chickens, and gathering eggs. Women's work, mostly. He was his Momma's boy. Nice kid, though. We got along, didn't fight too much, but when he was gone, he didn't come back."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Gerald said as he thought he remembered seeing a James Franklin listed in the faculty handbook as some sort of distinguished professor of mathematics. He wondered if it was the swishy son. He wondered if Jim meant swishy and momma's boy in the same sense he was thinking.

As Gerald sat in the kitchen working on his cup of very hot, very strong black coffee, Jim talked on and on jumping from one topic to another seemingly without caring if Gerald joined in the conversation. For Gerald's part, he nodded, said "I see" when appropriate, shook his head in disbelief, but mostly just sat quietly as the old cowboy went on and on about ranching and raising a family in Wyoming. Jim never seemed to get around to why he was alone, why none of the other family members were on the ranch, or what happened to his wife. He'd mention James Junior, always referring to the boy as being swishy, but it never sounded demeaning or derogatory, just disappointment that his namesake didn't desire to follow in his father's footsteps.

After innumerable cups of Jim's coffee and conversation, Gerald began to notice a definite dimming of light in the room. He knew dusk was rapidly approaching, yet all of the cowboy's stories about ranching on the Snowy Range were too interesting. He simply wanted to hear more and more; and, the more he wanted to hear, the more Jim seemed to provide. It was just like when he was little and listened to his grandfather's stories about growing up in a small town in Western Oklahoma. In fact, at lot of Jim's stories reminded Gerald of his grandfather's stories.

Suddenly, the house shuddered and Jim's expression turned from humor about James Junior falling off a horse when he was only three to worry. He stared directly into Gerald's eyes, then stood up as the house shuddered again.

"We're in for a blow," Jim said as the room suddenly darkened. He stood up and walked out the backdoor.

Gerald followed and standing out behind the house followed Jim's eyes up toward the snow covered peak, only the snow covered peak was wrapped in dark and menacing clouds which were rapidly filling the rest of the western sky. A storm was enveloping the mountain and it was already too late to be heading back to Laramie as Gerald knew he'd certainly get lost. One missed turn going back to the highway and he'd be in serious trouble. The only solution he could see was staying where he was.

"Do you think there's any chance you could put up with me until this thing blows over?" Gerald asked. He could see snow swirling out of the clouds whitening the pines high up on the slopes above him. Twilight enveloped them and Jim headed back inside.

"It'll be gone by morning," Jim said as he stuffed a few pieces of wood into the stove. "But, you're right about not heading out. Only a fool would risk heading into town in that wind and snow. I don't know if you'll like my cooking, but I'll do my best to satisfy you."

Gerald wandered into the parlor and was struck by the dustiness of everything, but what got his attention most was the feeling that something suddenly occurred at this house causing everyone to put down what they were doing. There had been someone knitting at the rocking chair. A book lay open on the sofa and another, a coloring book, was open on the floor. Three people had been in this room and stopped what they were doing for some reason. The only thing obvious was whatever happened, happened many years ago.

Yet, as his eyes scanned the room, he could have sworn dust and cobwebs were slowly going away as if his looking at something made it cleaner. It was happening almost imperceptibly, but as he became aware of this phenomenon, he decided to pay closer attention. The coloring book, the knitting, the arm of the rocking chair, the coloring book, the knitting, the arm or the rocking chair, each in turn his eyes darted from place to place. Then a quick glance to the mantel that had been covered with cobwebs when he came in, but was now only a little dusty.

He looked back at his three test subjects and clearly saw an improvement. The room was slowly cleaning itself, but not exactly before his eyes. It was more behind his awareness. Only when he wasn't looking at something did the cleaning begin, but when he looked at an object the cleaning stopped.

Ghosts came to mind, but cleaning ghosts? He always imagined things that go bump in the night as things that only go bump in the night. Tidy ghosts were a little beyond his comprehension, but as a scholarly person, an historian in fact, he had to admit something was definitely trying to make the room look a bit nicer the longer he stood there.

"Supper's on the table," Jim called out.

Gerald took one last quick glance around the parlor hoping to catch whatever it was that was cleaning, but, no, that was not to be.

Supper was some kind of steak, potatoes, canned green beans, homemade bread, and a remarkably good red wine. Darkness was enveloping the kitchen and Jim had set a coal oil lamp on the table. Gerald sat down first and then Jim sat down looking nervous.

"Elk," Jim said.

"What?"

"The meat is elk."

"Oh."

"Never had it?"

"No, my family went for wild things in the sea, not the land."

"I've caught quite a few trout in my time, but always put them back. Thought that's what you were supposed to do with them. They aren't that big anyway, hardly a meal and when you've got three hungry mouths and a wife, too, you'd practically have to catch something as big as a salmon. That creek up yonder just isn't big enough for anything close to the size of a salmon.

"Now, my brother, when he was in the Coast Guard, I'll never understand why he chose those guys, anyway he was stationed up in Alaska and he said they caught salmon damned near everyday; and, halibut and cod, too. He never brought any of that meat home so I never had the chance to eat any of it, but he said fish was kind of tasty.

"Now, my daddy, did a lot of fishing up on the Yellowstone when we were kids and he hooked quite a few lunkers, but released them, too. I guess that's where I learned to do it thataway. Course, you have to understand, my daddy wasn't much of a teacher. He'd do something and if you wanted to do that too, you kind just had to follow along what he was doing 'cause he wasn't about to tell you you were doing it wrong. Know how they say you're supposed to get up a horse on the left side?"

"Yeah," Gerald said, knowing the one sided conversation would go on without his confirmation and listening as Jim didn't seem to care whether Gerald answered or not.

It was just as it was earlier, Jim went on and on about inane and trivial subjects mostly centered around food. He spent nearly an hour on potatoes. Then it was back to elk, deer, bear, antelope, and moose, with a squirrel or two thrown in just to keep Gerald's interest. Pheasants, duck, geese, and chicken came up about the time Jim served brandy and coffee.

"That elk steak wasn't all that bad," Gerald said. "I was expecting a certain gaminess, but it was actually okay."

"Too bad your daddy didn't teach to how to hunt," Jim said. "You'd probably be up on the side of that mountain right now wondering if it was going to stop snowing by morning."

"It's snowing?"

"Well, actually it's blowing right now. There's a bit of white flakes in the wind, but not enough to worry about. Definitely not anything you'd want to be out in, not that I haven't spent my share of nights huddled up in the lee of a hillside hoping I could keep my fire going so I wouldn't freeze up. Well, I guess you will be spending the night."

"Yeah, I was suspecting you were going to get around to that subject," Gerald said, wondering if he was going to get to spend the night in the parlor with whatever was cleaning in there.

"Well, my bed's the warmest in the house and it's big enough that we won't meet in the middle, unless you have a mind to. I mostly stay put in the night. You have a problem with sleeping with another man?"

"No, no problem at all," Gerald said, as an image of Roger lying next to him crossed his mind. He smiled and kind of wished he'd called Roger as they'd probably be in bed right now, down in some hotel room in Denver. They could've gone to Denver, but that wouldn't have been special and Gerald needed to have this day be special. It's not everyday you get to celebrate your own death.

"That's my wife's room," Jim said as they topped the stairs on the second floor. He was pointing left to a set of dark, double doors. Their way was lit by the candle Gerald was holding. "Do me a favor and don't go in there. I do have fond memories of her and would appreciate it if you didn't disturb them."

"Sure, no problem," Gerald said as they turned left into a hallway.

"That was James Junior's room," Jim said as they passed the first door on the right. "He always preferred looking out toward the front gate. I suppose if I'd have been paying attention, I'd have figured out he only looked forward to the day he'd leave us."

"That is Robert Evan's room," Jim said as they passed the first door on the left. "He was to be my successor here. He was a good boy and would've made a good cowboy, too."

"When did he leave?" Gerald asked.

"Oh, he didn't leave," Jim said half turning to Gerald. "Only James Junior left. Everyone's still here. We're all still here."

"But, where?"

"That's is my daughter's room," Jim said pointing right as he walked away. "And, no, it's not true what they say about the farmer's daughter. Not, here, anyway. I'd not have any problem hanging you up and gutting you like an elk. Not a threat, boy, just a promise."

"You don't have to worry about me," Gerald said, shocked at the sudden change in Jim's demeanor. "I've never had much luck with farmer's daughters, including my own sister."

"Raised on a farm?"

"Orchard, we herded apples," Gerald said, smiling and trying to lighten the moment.

"Yeah, that's funny. Herding apple trees. Don't have much problem with them running off, do you?"

"No, and there isn't that horrible screaming in the spring when little ones get their nuts cut off and tossed into the stew pot."

"You know, I like you," Jim said. "You're funny. I haven't had anyone up here as funny as you. No, no one's been funny. It's nice to smile. Ah, here we are."

Jim opened a door into what immediately seemed to be a room larger than its outside dimensions. The canopied bed with its four massive posts and headboard was covered with pillows and fluffy comforters. It stood in the middle of the room. Windows covered with dark draperies looked out toward the back pastures. A fifteen drawer, mirrored dresser was on the left wall and a nine drawer chest of drawers stood opposite beside a double doored wardrobe. Jim took the candle and lit a coal oil lamp on the right nightstand.

"All this furniture was from my mother's grandparent's home back in Connecticut," Jim said as he started to unbutton his shirt. Gerald watched him slowly reveal a broad, heavily muscled chest. "She didn't want it, so I claimed ownership. The bed's too good for me, but it's too good a night's sleep to pass up."

"I didn't see a toilet?" Gerald asked.

"Downstairs," Jim said as he sat down in a chair to remove his boots. "Never thought of having one up here, couldn't see having a tank taller than the house. The one in the attic does good enough."

"But, you have no electricity," Gerald said as he began to unbutton his shirt.

"There's a spring fed cistern up on the mountain," Jim said stretching his feet and toes before standing up and undoing his belt. "A pipe runs down to the house. We buried it far enough so we have water unless it gets cold enough to freeze the tank in the attic, and that's when it's cold enough to freeze the fire in the fireplace."

"I remember a winter like that," Gerald said watching Jim push down his pants. He wasn't wearing underwear, which didn't seem to surprise Gerald that much. The older man certainly had the equipment to satisfy his wife, even if she slept in another room. "Back in the early Seventies, I think. I was kind of young."

"Most of our winters are like that," Jim said walking over to where Gerald stood. "Here, let me help."

The older man's hands were cold against Gerald's cloth covered skin as he stood dumbfounded. Jim worked quickly and had Gerald down to his black and white checked boxers in only a few moments.

"You're pretty fit for spending all your time inside," Jim said as his cold hands and fingers searched Gerald's bare skin for erogenous points on the younger man's body.

"You don't mind, do you?" Jim whispered in Gerald's ear. He was behind him, nuzzling Gerald's neck with ice cold lips. The fingers found the younger man's nipples causing his body to shudder with excitement when thumbs and forefingers pressed tightly in a seductive rhythm.

"No, I don't think you mind one little bit," Jim whispered as he bit into Gerald's earlobe making him scrunch his neck against the sharpness of the pain.

Hands were lowering his boxers as a freezing tongue snaked down his spine. Detouring right, it outlined the right globe of muscle then slipped in between Gerald's upper thighs. Cold hands pulled his cheeks apart and he shook as Jim's frosty tongue lapped across his perineum.

He wanted to stop this, but felt powerless in the older man's grasp. His eyes were closed as thoughts of Roger quickly faded away, replaced by an image of a little boy playing out in the snow, lying on his back making snow angels and feeling the icy cold moisture chilling his body.

Gerald's eyes snapped open when the older man's ice covered tongue slipped inside him. Never in his life had he imagined feeling this cold. He couldn't tell if he was shivering from excitement or from the chill against his body. Cold hands were grasping him in front, pulling against his manhood and as he felt Jim begin to stand. He knew what was going to happen.

Never once, never had he allowed a man to dominate him in this way, but he couldn't do anything to stop the inevitable. He was so cold. His skin trembled as it seemed to shrink away from the freezing touch of the older man.

His mouth flew open as a silent scream tore out of his throat as Jim began to enter him. He wanted this to stop, but deep down in his very core of being Gerald welcomed the cold embrace of sinewed arms pulling him back. His mind searched for some logical reason for this, some need in him that welcomed the older man's supremacy over him.

He was so cold, so very, very cold. He felt like he was in a bath of ice cubes, not that he'd ever contemplated taking a bath in ice, but this was what that must feel like. He wanted this to stop, yet he wanted this to go on and on, never stopping. And, then, he gasped as Jim began to slowly pull out, only to quickly shove back in.

Gerald felt tears begin to dribble down his cheeks and cold breath chilled his neck. This definitely wasn't what he had in mind when thinking of doing something special on his death day, but he couldn't think of that for long as he felt Jim's icy fingers wrap around his own firmness. A rhythm was establishing itself between them as hand and cock pulled and pushed each of them toward a point far off on the snowy slopes of the mountain above them.

Gerald closed his eyes and let his mind wander back across all the men he'd been with, the meager handful of experiences that paled in comparison to what was occurring at that moment, in that ranch house, in the middle of nowhere. The house shuddered in the wind as a bright light enveloped Gerald's mind. He felt his balls tighten as he neared the end. The older man's thrusts were short and quick, as he too approached his goal.

"Aah!" Gerald screamed as teeth sank into his neck. The icicle inside him pulled far back then thrust deeply in, throbbing as the older man's orgasm matched his own. He'd never been this high before. He stood at the top of the mountain covered in snow as an icy wind blew around him chilling him deep. Ice crystals sparkled in his blood as pain and pleasure intertwined in a mind-numbing explosion of orgasmic pleasure.

Gerald opened his eyes. He was cold. He'd never been this cold in his life. Deathly cold came to mind as he remembered the previous night. He was naked, but needed a bathroom. Light filtered in through gaps in the draperies bathing the room in a soft, eerie glow. He turned to look at the man who truly gave him a once in a lifetime experience.

"Shit!" Gerald exclaimed. A skeleton lay behind him on top of the covers. A gaping hole in the back of its head gave reason to the shotgun lying across the collapsed bones of its chest.

He clambered out of bed staring at the white bones as his mind tried to find some memory of the previous night that could explain what he was seeing. He'd never put clothes on so fast and didn't pause at the door. He ran out into the hall and was momentarily puzzled by the unfamiliar surroundings.

The door across the hall was ajar. He was certain it was tightly closed the night before. He opened it slightly, but closed it quickly. He tried to force the image of a skull lying on its side staring at him with empty eye sockets, completely severed from the rest of the skeletal remains.

He turned and walked down the hall, stopping at the next door. It too was ajar. He didn't want to look, but his eyes didn't listen. He forced himself back into the hall at the same sight as before, a pale skull lying apart from the bones that had been its body.

At the end of the hall, the double doors into the wife's room were completely open. The skeleton was not much more than a pile of bones in the floor. Unspeakable violence told of a night of terror, a death of hate and despair in a lonely house in the middle of nowhere.

Gerald ran down the stairs and out into a bright afternoon sun. He reached the Land Rover and stopped. He heard the unmistakable snap and crackle of wood burning in a fireplace. Then there was only the quiet sound of a mountainside in autumn. The wind softly blowing dry leaves across the dusty remains of a lawn.

Gerald turned and looked at the ruins of a ranch house, or what must have been a ranch house. There had been a fire a long time ago. A few charred beams leaned against a crumbling rock chimney.

The man was older. It was as simple as that. He wasn't as old as Jim, but definitely older than Gerald. He had enough similar features to be unmistakably no one other than James Junior. The nameplate on the desk was a giveaway, "James Junior Franklin, BA MS PhD DSc."

"You've seen my father," James Junior said. "I've seen the look. You're Gerald Chambers, the Powell Professor of History, aren't you?"

"Yes to both, guilty as charged," Gerald said.

"Did he, uh, well?"

"Yes, I never imagined it could be like that."

"He does that to most men. No, you're not the first. I was twenty-two, in graduate school, when he killed them. No one knew for a couple days. It's not uncommon for ranch people not to come to town. It was Bobby and Sally not being in school that raised suspicions. He was always a little unbalanced, but what could I do? Have a seat, would you like coffee?"

"Thank you," Gerald said sitting down on the offered sofa.

This was the office of a professor who'd been in residence for decades, yet it was tidy. The books were sorted and neatly arranged on shelves. Periodicals and journals were stacked or shelved in their place. A couple philodendrons basked in the dim light of autumn. Nothing was dusty and the carpet had been vacuumed very recently.

A young man came in with a tray holding two coffee mugs, creamer and sugar packets, two spoons, and a small coffee urn. He set in down on the low table in front of the sofa.

"Thank you, David," James said. "And, how about Bach? The organ fugues would be nice. Thank you."

"Yes, sir," David said as he left and closed the door.

"Work study," James said as the soft sound of a massive organ filled the room with the romp and roll of an unfamiliar fugue. "He's a nice boy and a blessing, let me tell you. At my age a boy willing to do domestic work is worth more than the college is paying him. Besides, he'll make a good mathematician. He's got it in his blood. You have to, you know."

"Yeah, I know, and I don't have it on my skin," Gerald said wondering how James got his eyes to sparkle. He'd never felt this comfortable in a long time.

"I've read some of your work," James said. The hand on Gerald's knee was telling him something and he wanted to hear more. "You're good. I'm on the committee, too. Do you like Laramie?"

"I had my doubts," Gerald said. "Well, you know, Matthew Shepard did come to mind, and, yes, I was tempted to turn it down. On the other hand, the prestige isn't something a historian wants to pass up. This is an important step in my career and I had to take it."

"I'm having some friends over tonight for a light supper," James said. "Would you like to join us?"

"Thank you, I'd be honored."

"Don't be honored by coming to my home," James said as his fingers lightly massaged Gerald's knee. "It's only going to be myself, David, a few of his close friends, and Tom Fellows and Phil Long from computer science."

"Philip Long?"

"Do you know him?"

"We roomed together at Fort Okanogan."

"So, that's why he told me to read your book. What are you doing right now?"

"I'm free until tomorrow at eight."

"Good, let's take a walk," James said getting to his feet. "I'd like to show you the Laramie I know. Come on."

Gerald took the offered hand wasn't too surprised as a lot of muscles practically pulled him to his feet. He began to wonder if the son was as strong as the father.

"That's quite a hickey," James said, pulling open Gerald's collar. "Dad give you that?"

"I guess so," Gerald said. "I like to think he did, but this is all a little too weird for me."

"A parapsychologist might have a word or two about it, but I've seen too many of them to be surprised anymore. One thing you don't have to worry about, though, is I'm not a biter."

"That sounds comforting, in a way."

"Thanks, come on, we have a lot to see before supper. David, we're going out."

"Dinner at seven?"

"Yes, son, that'll be fine. Do you prefer Gerry or Gerald?"

"My closest friends call me Gerry."

"You can call me Jim."

The End