The Return (Haunted Series Book 21) Read online

  Ethan took advantage of his focus and confided, “I was you once, so intelligent they skipped me grades to keep me out of trouble because I was bored. I took the wrong path. I bullied and tortured those beneath me. My soul is so black that your mother could use it for mascara. But that all changed with the sacrifice of one man. He could have left me to drown in sand – a very nasty way to die, but instead, he sacrificed himself to save me. Something happened in here,” Ethan said, patting his chest. “I knew that I was worth saving. That I was worth it.”

  “Who was the man?” Brian asked.

  “Tom Braverman.”

  “You’re the guy who helped Uncle Murphy save Tom! You’re a hero.”

  Ethan almost choked on his Coke. “I’m not a hero.”

  “Yes, you are. You pulled Tom out and dug the sand out of his mouth while Murphy squeezed his heart. I’ve heard this story a few times.”

  “He wouldn’t have been in danger if I hadn’t been such an acerbic pig instead of a kind person. If I were kind, I would have warned Rory. Instead, I watched him as if he were an experiment, not really caring who got hurt. After all, the experiment is everything.”

  Brian put his hands to his face.

  “This is how you think, isn’t it?”

  Brian was too stunned to speak. He just nodded.

  “Experiments are fine under controlled situations. A controlled experiment takes into account, first, the safety of the people around you. You have to also look to your safety, because saving your butt could get someone else killed. Finally, ask yourself, will the result of the experiment put anyone in danger after it’s been concluded?”

  “I put the rocks and the sand into the wagon so that it would weigh the same as if I was in it. I didn’t think about if anyone would have gotten hurt if the experiment failed. Or that Dieter would get yelled at by Mom for not watching me. All I saw was the Radio Flyer, flying,” Brian admitted.

  “What would have been a better experiment?”

  “If I had used miniatures and had an adult with me. I took giant steps when I should have been inching along.” Brian slapped his forehead. “How could I have been so stupid?”

  “No, not stupid. Give me a better word,” Ethan insisted.

  “Unthinking?” Brian guessed.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Why were you in jail, Ethan?”

  “I confessed to my crimes, and they punished me. Because of my not thinking, two of my friends died. Another boy was traumatized. They had every right to toss me in jail and throw away the key, but I got lucky.”

  “I’m not a bad boy, am I?” Brian asked.

  “No, Brian, you’re not a bad boy, but you have to get control of your unthinking ways. Your brain operates so fast, it shouldn’t take any time at all to think things through before implementing your plans.”

  “You’re right about the other kids. They’re afraid of me. I hear their whispers.”

  “Kids at your age forget easily. How about starting fresh tomorrow? Maybe play a game that they want to play – as long as it’s safe,” Ethan quickly added. “Wait until they ask you a question, and then answer it after you have thought it through. I want you to think if the information you are going to give them will hurt them, confuse them, or help them to grow, to thrive.”

  “So instead of telling you about the cocaine in the Coke, I should have said, ‘Here’s a Coke, enjoy.’”

  “Maybe not so namby-pamby, but you’ve got the idea.”

  The back door opened, and a man with a prosthetic leg walked in carrying a grocery bag.

  Ethan jumped up. “Can I help you, sir?”

  Lazar smiled. “No thank you, I’ve got this. I’m Lazar Popov.”

  “Ethan Aldridge,” Ethan said, grasping Lazar’s hand when it was offered.

  “Lazar, can I get you a refreshment?” Brian asked.

  “I’ll take a Coke if there is one left.”

  “I saw one in the back,” Brian said and opened the refrigerator. He pulled it out and handed it to Lazar. “Here’s your Coke.”

  Ethan gave Brian a thumbs up.

  Chapter Four

  “I can’t believe you left Ethan Aldridge alone with Brian,” Cid said to Ted.

  “He’s not alone. Murphy is probably breathing down their necks. Besides, you saw Mia read Ethan.”

  “Wait…”

  “Dude, she took off her glove and shook his hand for a long time,” Ted said.

  “How did I miss that?” Cid asked.

  “Don’t really know. You’ve been a little slow since you came back. Must be all that physical labor.”

  “Or getting myself blown up. It tends to rattle the brain cage,” Cid said, miming taking his head off. He placed the invisible head on the workbench and, with both hands, unscrewed the top. He looked inside. “I see the problem.”

  “Dude, how can you see if your head is on the bench,” Ted criticized.

  Cid put his hand in and pulled out a cookie. “Damn, that’s where I put it.”

  “What?” Ted said, surprised.

  Cid ignored him, put the cookie aside, and screwed the lid back on his head. He then lifted the head and mimed reattaching it on his neck.

  “How did you do that? When did you palm the cookie?” Ted asked.

  “He palmed the cookie when you were describing what Mia was doing holding Ethan’s hand,” Mark said from the office.

  “How do you know? You weren’t even in here,” Ted said.

  “Jake’s been broadcasting you two. It’s on the Two Nerds and a Toolbox show.”

  “What the hell?” Ted said, accessing the private Wi-Fi and entering the title. There he was, along with Cid who was holding his sides he was laughing so hard.

  “Honestly, I’ve missed this,” Cid said. “You can’t predict what that Svengali is going to do next.”

  “I am not a Svengali,” Jake protested. “I did not have to manipulate you guys into being entertaining. You just are,” Jake said as Marvin the Martian.

  “He’s got a point,” Ted said, closing the housing around Ethan’s PC. “How’s the monitor coming?” he asked Cid.

  “I thought I had it ready, and then Markus, the backstabber, giver up of magical secrets, reminded me that Ethan may need a video unit to take pictures of the stuff he wants to sell on eBay.”

  “A camera attachment would be enough,” Ted said, yawning.

  “This is better,” Cid said. “Watch.”

  The monitor’s top housing opened and a micro camera rose and rotated 360 degrees.

  “As long as he returns the camera to the original position, aka unwind it, I think this will work.”

  Ted, who was bummed because he didn’t think of it, patted Cid on the back. “Grasshopper, you have completed your training. Time to fly.”

  “Hey, would someone explain why there’s a sitcom playing on the nursery monitor?” Mia asked, carrying Varden and the baby monitor into the workroom.

  “Jake,” Cid said.

  “Jake,” Ted agreed, taking Varden from his wife.

  “Mom, Jake didn’t mean any harm,” Dieter said, defending the entity. “It was funny.”

  “I’m not mad, just inconvenienced. I thought it was broken. Susan is coming over tonight so we can go to the parent-teacher conferences at the high school.”

  “You don’t have to go,” Dieter said. “Mark’s mom’s not.”

  “Well, Mark’s not having difficulty with English Composition,” Mia said. “Mr. Goldsworth has set aside a few moments to explain his program to us in hopes that we’ll be able to help you through it.”

  “Cid should go. I’m rubbish at English Comp,” Ted said.

  “That’s exactly why you should go with me. Both of us are Dieter’s parents, and both of us need to understand this class.”

  “Okay. Can we get ice cream after?” Ted asked.

  “Yes, we can. How’s the computer coming along?” Mia asked.

  “Ten minutes, thirty tops,” Ted est
imated.

  “I’ll let Ethan know. Lazar is going to drop him off when he takes Mark home.”

  “Can I go?” Dieter asked.

  “Sorry, I need you here to back up Susan. Your brothers are a handful.”

  Cid was about to volunteer but sensed Mia was giving Dieter another chance with Brian.

  “I’ll do my best. I’m sorry about this afternoon.”

  “Hey, you were conned by one of the best,” Mia said. She started to go but stopped, pulled over a small step ladder, and climbed it. She reached over and grabbed Cid’s head and began to mime unscrewing the top. She reached in and pulled out the beginning of a Red Vine whip. She climbed down the steps, and still more Red vine seemed to have unraveled from Cid’s head. She handed one end to Ted, picked up Varden, and said, “Amateurs,” as she walked out the door.

  ~

  Hiram Goldsworth scanned the crowd and was disappointed not to see Dieter Martin’s parents there. He glanced down at the sign-in sheet and looked again at the crowd. Somewhere there was a Mia and Theodore Martin. He hadn’t met them before. This was Dieter’s first year in one of Hiram’s English classes. The young black youth towered over his classmates and had no trouble reading the prose the class was working on. The problem was, Dieter didn’t understand poetry enough to write any.

  “Hello, thank you all for coming,” Hiram started. “Find a seat. Don’t be afraid of sitting in the front. My years of knuckle-whacking are long gone,” he teased.

  A cute blonde walked forward, dragging her tall escort with her. He sat down, trying valiantly to house his long legs under the desk. He looked upon his partner with such love and admiration that seven poems jumped into Hiram’s mind. The woman wrinkled her nose and blushed as if she could read his mind.

  “Now that we’re settled. I’ve asked you here because I believe that your children, with a little help, can not only pass this class, but can develop an appreciation for the written word. These days, the kids text to each other. They type shortened versions of words and assign emojis instead of expressing themselves with the English language.”

  He handed a stack of papers to each of the front desks. “Take one and pass it back,” he instructed. “Here is the syllabus I gave your children at the beginning of the term. I bet none of you have seen it.”

  There was a murmur of agreement in the room.

  “It seems pretty advanced for a freshman course,” a male at the back of the room mentioned.

  “It could be,” Hiram said. “But I think we need to stop coddling our youth, especially in the Midwest. Let me ask you a question, Mr…”

  “Bentley. I’m Chad’s father.”

  “Mr. Bentley, when you think of poets, writers, and artists, what cities come to mind?”

  “New York, Los Angeles, Denver, Seattle,” Mr. Bentley listed.

  “Paris,” a woman called out.

  “Any more?” Hiram asked and waited before continuing, “Why not here?”

  “To be fair,” Ted said. “There are poets, writers, and artists from the Midwest who have moved to these cities.”

  “How many from Big Bear Lake?” Hiram challenged.

  Ted looked at Mia, and she hunched her shoulders.

  “The point I’m trying to make is that I believe, with a little prodding, we can get your children to learn to write. If it’s not prose, it will be an essay for a college application or instructions for building a flat-pack dresser. The list goes on and on. The written word isn’t dead; it’s just showing up in other areas. I believe it’s coming back, and when it does, your children will benefit by it.”

  There was another murmuring of parents, but this time, it was one of approval.

  “What I’m asking you to do is to take the syllabus and talk with your child. See if your child understands what’s being asked of him or her. If not, discuss it. If you run into a problem, call the number on the bottom. It’s my voicemail. I will get back to you. That’s all I have. Will Dieter Martin’s parents stay for a moment?”

  The parents got up and exited the room. Hiram shook a few hands and listened to a few concerned parents on their way out. When he walked back into the room, the mismatched couple were still sitting in the front row.

  “You’re…”

  “Dieter’s adoptive parents,” Mia filled in. “Don’t be embarrassed. It happens all the time. I usually explain that he gets his height from Ted.”

  Hiram sat at the edge of his desk. “Dieter is a smart boy, but he’s failing my class.”

  “I don’t know if you know his history,” Ted began, “but it’s amazing he speaks English, as well as several other languages, considering that he had to learn on the run.”

  “We’re not telling you this as an excuse. We plan on helping him catch up,” Mia contributed. “If you were us, where would you start?” she asked, fanning the many pages of the syllabus.

  “Take him to a bookstore or library, and have him choose a poet who speaks to him. I don’t want him copying the poet’s style but study the author in order to understand how the poet is expressing himself. Then I want Dieter to write an original work. It can be in any style, and it doesn’t have to have structure. It just has to be honest.”

  “In other words, Dieter needs to work on expressing himself in writing. Would a journal help?” Ted asked.

  Hiram was pleasantly surprised by Dieter’s adoptive parents. “Yes. It’s a good start. Dieter has a great attitude, but I think his focus has been more on sports than his schoolwork.”

  “He’s trying to fit in,” Mia defended.

  “I’d rather see him stay an individual and do his classwork,” Hiram argued.

  “Where were you when I was going to school here?” Mia asked, not expecting an answer. “Big Bear Lake is changing, but it’s a very lonely place if you don’t fit in.”

  “I take it you’re speaking from experience.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Too often, I see parents trying to shield their children from the hurts the parents experienced as school kids. It’s the bumps and bruises of living that make us who we are.”

  “We’ll work on this with Dieter,” Mia promised.

  “When did you two adopt your son?” Hiram asked.

  “A few months ago,” Ted said, extracting himself from the desk.

  “You adopted a teenager. You’re very brave.”

  “Dieter is very special to us,” Mia said. “His brothers have a big brother who is filled with the joy of living. We have a son who teaches us more than, evidently, we have been teaching him.”

  “I think we can do better, Minnie Mouse,” Ted commiserated.

  “I agree. I’ll postpone going back to work until Dieter gets on track,” Mia said.

  “If I may butt in,” Hiram said. “Don’t change your plans. Dieter will feel guilty. Just give him a little more of your attention in regard to his English assignments.”

  “K. I mean, alright,” Mia said respectfully.

  Ted smiled and shook Hiram’s hand before the young couple left the classroom.

  Hiram walked around and gathered a few forgotten syllabuses. He heard Ted asked his wife as they walked down the hall, “Can we get ice cream now?”

  “Yes, Teddy Bear, you’ve earned your ice cream.”

  Mr. Bentley walked back into the classroom. “Excuse me, Mr. Goldsworth, I left my syllabus,” he said.

  “Here,” Hiram said, handing him one off the pile he had collected.

  “What did you think of the Martins?” Bentley asked.

  “Nice people. Concerned about their adopted son.”

  “Did you know he’s a genius and she’s a nut?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Crazy Cooper, the girl who screamed in the graveyard.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the reference.”

  “She sees ghosts. Both of them are paranormal investigators. They actually make a living out of that crap.”

  “We all have to make a living. M
ine is trying to teach distracted teens,” Hiram said and busied himself with something on his desk until Mr. Bentley left the room. He wasn’t comfortable with Mr. Bentley’s attack on the Martins. He was irritated with himself for not producing a cutting remark. He also suspected Mr. Bentley’s return had more to do with smearing the Martins’ reputation than retrieving the syllabus.

  Susan was pleased as she gently shut the nursery door. Varden had just slipped off to sleep. Now it was time to wrangle Brian into pajamas and into bed. Susan loved Brian and had a few tricks up her sleeve when it came to getting the inquisitive boy to behave. Raising Tom had more than prepared her for the role.

  She found Brian lugging a tome over from his bookshelf. It was one of the larger Harry Potter books. She and Brian had had many discussions about Harry and what Brian would do in the predicaments Harry frequently found himself in. Tonight, Brian was more quiet than normal.

  “Is anything the matter?” she asked him.

  “I got into trouble today,” Brian said. “Major time out.”

  “Oh?”

  Brian told her about what had happened and ended with, “I got some good advice from a boy who got himself into a lot of trouble.”

  “What was this advice?”

  “To think things through. I think, in these books, Harry acts before thinking.”

  “I think the author is using this to give us a good thrill,” Susan said. “But in life, I agree that thinking things through may save you a lot of time outs.”

  Brian smiled.

  “Did you have time outs when you were a little girl?”

  “I admit to finding myself on the wrong side of things a few times,” Susan said. “I think of them as lessons learned,” she said, waving her finger in the air like a wand.

  “Lessons learned,” the two chorused.

  Susan found Dieter pacing the floor of the kitchen. She pointed to a chair and said, “Sit.”

  “I can’t. Mom and Dad have been gone a long time.”

  “I believe they mentioned they would be stopping for ice cream,” Susan said.

  “That’s code for ‘we have to talk about Dieter away from home,’” Dieter insisted.