Month: October 2023

2:38 AM.

It was the beginning of the hard hours. The hours of 2:00 to 4:00 AM where the ghosts in my head shouted. Sometimes they screamed at me. Sometimes at each other. Or hell, sometimes the ghosts just wanted to scream. I guess in eternity, you have that luxury. What else are you going to do?

The pull was always there. Even in the good years after AA saved my life. It started at an early age for me. I was 8 and found the key to the liquor cabinet. The taste wasn’t good at all at first. I couldn’t believe that the adults drank what had to be part gasoline. However, when the buzz hit me, the lightheadedness was awesome. I never felt anything like it. It was almost like that thrilling, out-of-control feeling you get when you are on a tall slide. Wind blowing by you, the ground approaching fast. You are helpless but at the same time you are having an amazing experience knowing you’ll be safe. This felt even better as I was plopped down in the center of the kitchen floor. My head spun, my heart raced, and a great sense of joy spread over me. I continued to down the clear vodka bottle.

Anyway, I have been a bad drunk, a recovering alcoholic, a neglectful dad, and finally a hit-rock-bottom survivor in my illustrious forty-eight years of life.

I guide the puttering moped over the curb and up to the bar’s entrance. Janie’s Tavern has been home for a couple of months now. Her arms are always spread wide to welcome her wayward son.

The burly kid bouncer at the door gives me a nod and holds the door open for me. The music is obnoxious and loud but that’s okay. It helps to cover the screaming mimies in my brain some.

“Brett, slide me over a Miller and a Wild Eagle bourbon chaser. It’s gonna be a long night,” I proclaim.

His eyebrows shoot up and he gives me a questioning look.

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s a night of a bad anniversary and I need a little support. So, hook a fella up!”

I sit at the counter, the stools are all empty. A few tables have other patrons, but in the corner, one man in a jean jacket glances over in my direction. He is scruffy, long straggly beard and greasy brown hair. He is shy of 270 pounds, but I guess the majority of it are in his beefy arms. Maybe at one point he had been in football or was a bodybuilder of some sort.

I nod in his direction and raise my shot glass in a friendly salute to him.

He smiles and lifts up his own tall glass of beer.

I take a deep breath. For the most part I haven’t been on the wagon for nearly five years, but the last three months I tried to keep it at a beer here and there. Mostly. I was throwing out that rule tonight.

I threw back the shot and felt its fiery contents delightfully burn as they went down.

“And let’s not let the poor fella be lonely down there, Brett. Another shot, please!”

“Whoa, easy man. Are you celebrating tonight?” Said the man in the jean jacket. He stood behind me. Must’ve walked up as I drank and was still nursing his own drink.

“No. Not celebrating, but tonight is five years to the day of… to the day of a morning that no one could ever believe.”

I got quiet. The shouting eased back but it left the stage open for the child whispers that were far worse for me.

When are we going to get there, Mister Donner?

What time is it? Are we running late, sir?

Can we go back? I left my homework for Miss Janda’s class.

I have to go potty, Mister Donner. Are we there yet?

What’s that? Is someone in the road…

That last one. That voice in particular was little Susie. Her tiny, high-pitched but sweet voice calling out. The last question she ever said. I hear it over and over in my nightmares. A simple, innocent question.

By gods, where was she? Where were they?

“You okay there, pal?” The man asked as he sat down on the stool next to me.

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Lost in here,” I said as I poked my index finger into the side of my temple.

He extended his hand. “Gary. Yours?”

“Charlie.” I lied.

“Sounds like you have a doozy of a story. Can you spill it? Or are you a secret agent on a classified mission?”

I laughed hard at his joke. Laughed too hard and too long, drawing stares, but the drinks were already affecting me.

“Sorry. Yeah, it’s a weird story.” I paused and stared at him. He was drinking his beer and now starting to light up a Maverick Cigarette. His finger had a white tan line where a possible wedding ring was missing.

“It’s not a happy ending. You sure you are in the right mood for it, Gary?”

“I love stories. Come on, quit stalling.”

I motioned to the bartender one more time. More liquid courage.

After I finished the shot and splashed more beer to follow it, I opened up and relived the worst morning of my life.

“It was… well, I am not going to say what town, but it was your typical small town. I was driving the #237 for this Elementary School. I just passed Munroe Street after grabbing that chubby Darryl Sampson kid. Brat always left wrappers in the backseat and chocolate smears on the seats. Anyway, it was the last of the loop. Now it was time to head to the school lot for the drop off.

“Traffic had been light. Even holiday light you might say, but it wasn’t a holiday. I went down Jefferson and made a left to take Lawson Avenue to the Torv Tunnel. I noticed right away that there were no lights inside, and it was unusually dark. When we entered and as I reached for my headlights, a stupid sedan, I think it was a Prius, nearly swiped my left wheel. It cut across and sped ahead. I had to brake hard and turn the bus into the gravel at the side. ‘Hold on kids. Hold on!’ I shouted as we bumped along and bounced.

“I was instantly hot. I hate bad drivers. Got a bit of that road rage bug, you know.

“I heard lots of screams and shouts at first from the kids as expected, but it was Susie Willey’s question that cut through all the chaos.

“What’s that? Is someone in the road…

“I saw only the thick curtain of darkness ahead and the patch of roadway lit before the bus. No one was there. Not even that damn sedan. That asshat must’ve kept driving and went further into the tunnel.

“I ground the bus to a stop. ‘It’s okay kids. Nothing to worry about. Everyone okay?’

“Not a sound.

“I shot a glance to the overhead rearview mirror. No one was back there. They were just…gone.”

I waited for Gary’s shout of ‘That’s bullshit!” but he only stared back at me. His mouth was open and slack jawed. His drink abandoned on the bar. His cigarette nearly done, smoldering in his hand.

“They were gone. What? What do you mean?”

I waited to see the building suspicion on his face. For five years now, I have seen it often. It goes from shock, disbelief, suspicion to outright anger. Sometimes it goes right to distrust and hate.

“I know how it sounds. But, yeah, no one was on the bus, but me. Their bags were still there, their little lunch pails, and water thermoses, but no kids. I couldn’t fathom what happened and where they went.

“I ran up the aisle in pure panic. I looked out the side windows, but the tunnel was dark and quiet.

“I pulled out my cell phone, but it took me a moment to figure out who to call. What do I even say? What would they understand? What would they believe? ‘All the kids just vanished. Poof!’” I shrugged and took another long sip from my fourth beer.

“The police arrived in seconds. A busload of children missing including the mayor’s own two sons, that gets you their immediate attention.

“As they scoured the bus for any signs of foul play, they took me back to headquarters. I spent the next 48 hours in constant interrogation rooms, explaining what I saw over and over. They refused to listen or to give me any credit.”

Gary cut in. “Did you really think they would buy that? You were the last adult with them.”

“I know. But, I have been a good driver for that school for six years, not a complaint or problem. I hadn’t drunk a sip of any beer or alcohol in all that time. I was good man, good. I told the truth—”

“That’s all that happened? You aren’t leaving anything out?”

He was starting to upset me.

“No! All they saw was some freak, psycho that abducted a lot of kids and did god knows what with them. Wouldn’t accept that I didn’t know. Finally, after the 48 hours, my public defender got me released without any charges. They had nothing, they knew nothing. I knew nothing. They wasted time on me when they should have just found those kids!”

Brett was at the other end of the bar and cleaning out the ice machine. “Wow. No charges?”

I nodded. “Didn’t stop the press, man. Didn’t stop their smear campaign. Suddenly, I was public enemy number one, raging lunatic, drunk dad and overall, must’ve been a ‘closet molester’. Every detail of my life was scrutinized, judged and blasted out for all to know. Would anyone look good after that?”

Gary continued to listen, smoke and soak in every word. He didn’t seem to be getting worked up, wasn’t passing judgment just yet.

“So what did you finally do? What happened?”

“Can I have one of those?” I pointed to the pack on the bar. He slipped one out, lit it and waited for my story to continue.

“I left town after only two weeks. I was getting death threat calls at night. People busted up my car and everything. I couldn’t take the looks more than anything. I left and started using my middle name. Then that didn’t work. I was found and got stalked by a reporter in the neighboring town. So, I packed up and went way West. They have never found me again, but…they never found the kids either. I hate that they never got an answer to that. And I’m sure it didn’t look good – the main suspect in a case with over a dozen kids missing, up and flees.

“But what could I tell them, the police, the parents. I didn’t do anything, I didn’t see anything, and I don’t know how to find those kids.”

“Man… so the police didn’t find anything?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. They wouldn’t share information with me, of course.” I took a large gulp of the beer. “Brett, get me two more shots. I have had 5 years of this shit and I have earned 5 shots.”

Gary laughed and lit up another cigarette as I hammered the shots. It was near closing and only the three of us remained.

He held out his hand. “Bud, I think you should let me take you home. Hand over your keys.”

“Shit, man, I only have a scooter. Lost my license long ago.”

“Oh,” he said and glanced at Brett, looking irritated. He then sighed loudly. Then looked at his glass. I wondered if that was the same beer all this time.

“Then I guess we should call it a night, Roy.”

I snapped a look at him. He knew my real name!

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

I could only stare in silence.

He pointed at the bartender. “That is Brett Sampson, and I am his brother, Gary Sampson! Daryl Sampson’s uncle and father!” Brett pulled out a wooden bat from under the bar.

Vomit started to rise in my throat, but Gary’s meaty hands wrapped around it too fast. He slammed me to the floor, choking and crushing me. He screamed, “WHERE IS MY BOY, YOU BASTARD? GIVE HIM BACK! GIVE HIM BACK!”

My lungs burned. I gasped and gulped for air without success. He let them loose but plunged his thumb nails into my eyes. He wanted blood and he plumbed my skull for it. I felt sharp pangs of pain as the bat hammered into my rib cage. Gary then grabbed my head in his hands once more and lifted me up from the sticky floor to slam my head again into the floor.

“NO ONE BELIEVES YOUR STORY! WHERE ARE THEY? WHAT DID YOU DO, YOU PERVERT?” Brett cursed.

I heard Gary Sampson roar in pure anger and fury one last time as he blasted the back of my head into–