A Misfit's Vision by Ron Brown

Author:Ron Brown [Brown, Ron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781665563758
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Published: 2022-07-08T04:00:00+00:00

A SHOCKING DISCOVERY

The only time we ever hear a whistle of any sort around our place is when Rodney is announcing his arrival in that old remodeled steam engine. So you can imagine the clamor that the police and ambulance sirens evoke in our little neighborhood when they converge at Rodney’s house. I am on my way right now, and I am driving my car because I don’t want to waste any time riding my bike. Money is no object in a case like this. When I pull close, I see cars lined up on both sides of the road. So I park as near as I can, but I still have to walk a couple hundred yards to reach the scene.

The cops have secured the property already, preventing anyone from trespassing. I see people running around but not really going anywhere. One of the police officers is telling people to move along. “Nothing to see here,” he says.

Normally, I am a fairly-compliant sort of guy—with the exception, of course, when things get out of hand and need a little finger-bending—but this one is too close to home to just let them take charge of my decisions.

“Where’s Rodney?” I ask one of the neighbors who is lollygagging around the scene.

He points at one of the cruisers where Rodney is sitting in the rear seat. “He’s just sitting there tossing the ball in his glove and taking it out and tossing it in again over and over.”

“Is he in trouble?” I ask.

“I don’t think so. He ran to the neighbors’ and told them that a bad man was in his house. So they called the police. The rest is history.”

“History?” I know he is not talking about the kind of history we study in school.

“Yeah, as in Rodney’s old man and old lady.”

It’s taking a while to sink in, but those police cars and ambulance, sitting there with their lights flashing more or less fill in the blanks. “How . . . ? Who . . . ?”

“Murder-suicide is what they’re saying right now.”

I look back over at the car where Rodney is sitting, playing absent-mindedly with his worn-out ball and glove. Poor Rodney! I can’t leave him there by himself. So I run over to the car and bang on the window. “Rodney?”

Rodney stops fooling around with the ball for a moment and looks at me. He just stares blankly as though he doesn’t even know me. I don’t know what to do. And I don’t have much time to think about it because a voice behind me says, “Move away from the car, young man.”

I turn around and see one of the cops hurrying over to intervene.

“But he’s my . . . friend.” I can’t believe I’m starting to tear up.

“Well, you can’t stand there.”

“Is he okay?”

“We’re taking care of him.”

That makes me feel a little better but not much. After all, these guys do not really know Rodney. “You realize Rodney’s not exactly—”

“We have a handle on it, son.

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