Generation Three— Chapter One: When The Passing of the Torch Burns

Nathaniel managed, with the help of both his father and his ghostly grandfather, to bring up his flagging grades just prior to graduation. His hard work paid off, the final report card reflecting  a strong B across the board. Taking his father’s advice, he decided to follow his creative spirit and got a job in the writing profession. He saw many things, including the entire reportage of his uncle Braylon’s trial and just what the man had been accused of.

Nathaniel stared at the computer in disbelief. “He killed my mother? He killed my mother!” When he got home from work, he cautiously asked his father about it. Both Ayden and the spectre of Erik sat him down on the couch and explained the whole thing to him.

“I’m sorry you had to read about it like that, son,” Ayden said.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because you were only twelve at the time of the trial,” Erik said. “It was terrible enough you were without a mother at that tender age. We couldn’t risk further damage knowing she died at the hands of a heretofore trusted family member.”

“We. You all conspired to withhold the truth.”

“For your own good,” Ayden said. “But, now that you know, please feel free to ask me anything about it.”

“Just who are the Mobwives and are any of us safe from them?” Nathaniel said, keeping his eyes on those of his father’s.  He had read all kinds of articles speculating about the possibility of a threat to the then Captain Ayden Cantrell and his family. Nathaniel was well aware security around their house and on their street had been beefed up. Ayden’s sigh was long, and Nathaniel noticed he looked away before he spoke.

“There’s no definitive answer to that I can give. It behooves all of us to watch our backs. Except — well, perhaps Gramps doesn’t have to be on his guard so much.” Ayden gave a wry grin, to which the ghostly Erik just shrugged.

“So, have you looked into what happened to Auntie Patrice? I know she was up there in days, but she was very active. Her death came out of the blue. So — sudden. And don’t bother to sugar-coat it. I’ve seen the pictures the National Simquirer published. Looks like a crime scene to me.”

“No, and I’ll tell you why not.” Ayden suddenly looked older to his son. Clearly the Sim was bearing a terrible burden. “She told me to just let it alone.”

“Before or aft—”

“I see ghosts, you know.”

“So, it was a hit.” Nathaniel blinked back the tears that stung his eyes. Even having read the articles, talking about the situation, the triple tragedy really, that his family had suffered was almost more than he could bear. In the months that followed, he worked hard, trying to make something of himself. Seeing just how lonely his father was, a widower all of these years, he also worked at finding the right woman to help him thrust the Cantrell family forward. The last thing he wanted was to die before his own children married. He had a strong desire to know his future grandchildren — in person and not through some supernatural shroud. However, in some ways he was following more in his grandfather’s footsteps.

He liked Jackie and Jackie appeared to like him, but even when she invited him out for an evening, she would suddenly disappear on him. That left him time, once, to get acquainted with another girl. Laticsha, or whatever it was. Her name was just too hard to pronounce. Before long, the potential for that relationship didn’t blossom, as he’d hoped. Fizzling out altogether. Due to lack of interest on both of their parts, no doubt.

Then one evening Nathaniel looked up and across the dance floor was a very cute blonde Sim. He had just finished showing off some rather slick dance moves before a most appreciative crowd that left him feeling decidedly confident. Nathaniel went over and introduced himself to her. There was something there between them, an immediate spark, an attraction, that he sensed right off. Her name was Sophia. Which, when translated from the original Greek, meant wisdom. He liked the fact he could pronounce it, at least. They chatted, they flirted. She was single, so was he. They exchanged cell phone numbers, something he hadn’t bothered to do with the others. Nathaniel was very excited about her. As if, maybe, he’d found the One.  

In the meantime, his father started becoming more social again, too. Nathaniel wondered how much of his seclusion was his mourning Jade, or if the threat of an ‘accident’ was enough to all but make the Sim a recluse. Ayden did seem to really like this Morgan Fryes he’d met on one outing. Morgan was a mixologist, but Nathaniel was always bothered by how often she refused to make drinks whenever she visited and was asked. Also, when she did make drinks, they weren’t really very tasty. This bothered him and he had questions. Many, many questions.  

Knowing everything he knew about the crimes and the threats, Nathaniel was still unprepared for what happened. He was up late one night, working on his latest attempt at a novel, since his boss required him to write. Finally, in the middle of the night, he went upstairs to his room to turn in. A short time later, he could hear the whispers and a few outbursts of giggles, as two somebody’s were climbing the stairs to the second floor.

He heard his father’s bedroom door open and shut. Smiling to himself, Nathaniel crawled into bed. Well, the Sim was lonely, after all. A widower for several years, now. He often talked about a certain young woman, Morgan, whom he seemed to have feelings for. But, Ayden was in his late eighties now. Nathaniel was certain he was thinking of him and Jaylen and refused to marry again, not wishing to derail their inheritance in any way. What little there was. The Sim in question was still well young enough to have babies. Shaking off his thoughts, Nathaniel rolled over and fell asleep. 

Moments later, or so it seemed, Nathaniel heard a loud thump from the other bedroom and swung out of his bed. That’s when he heard the screams coming from his father’s bedroom, a few feet away. He rushed to see just what was going on.

“Ayden! Oh, my gawd, Ayden!” Morgan Fryes screamed at the top of her lungs. Pushing open the door, Nathaniel saw his eighty-eight day old father prone upon the floor. He glanced over at Morgan, scantily clad in a short black negligee, holding a pillow over herself, doing her best to look frantic. Putting two and two together, Nathaniel realized his father went out with a bang. He must have desired some woohoo and over-exerted his old self. But, why would his father be so careless? Ayden had consumed a Youth Potion to give him more time. This made no sense to him. Mobwives, the thought wafted through his head. Was this a hit, made to look like an accident? They don’t normally investigate accidents …  

Nathaniel knelt on the floor, put a shaky hand to his father’s throat. There was no pulse. Fumbling, he grabbed his father’s cell phone from the dresser and called the police. “Hello, no this isn’t Chief Cantrell, this is his son, Nathaniel. Something has happened. We need a bus. Oh, gawd, I think he’s dead!”

Glancing upward, he caught the expression on Morgan’s face. She looked terrified. “Why did you go and call the police?” She all but screamed at him. “We were just having some fun, a night of woohoo. Your father was very flirty, and just so … so, well he just wanted more, let’s say. It was his idea—”

Nathaniel got back on his feet. “Don’t say another word, Morgan Fryes. You’re a Rebel. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had ties to the Mobwives. You did this to him. You kept him from getting any rest at all. You’re the one. Who paid you and was it worth it? You woohooed him to death!”

“I — um,”

“Is that true?” Jaylen said from the doorframe. He glared at the woman with steely blue eyes.

“I think I should just be going,” Morgan fretted. She quickly grabbed up her clothing .

“You’re not going anywhere until the police get here.” Jaylen blocked the doorway. Looking at Nathaniel, he said, “You did call the police, right?” 

Before Morgan could get one leg into her black leggings, the officers from out front were slamming up the stairs to the only lit room in the house.

“Chief!”

“Save your voice,” Nathaniel said, as he pointed behind him. “Right over there.” As the two officers knelt over the body of their new chief, Nathaniel spoke again, nodding his head toward the young woman now seated awkwardly on the edge of the double bed, dressed in a short, filmy black negligee, with only one leg partially into a legging. “You may wish to speak to her. She is the only actual witness,” he said.

“You sound just like your father, son,” one officer said, glancing up. “Sure you won’t consider joining the force?”

“Not cut out for it. I’d rather write, instead. Maybe I’ll become a journalist and just cover these things.”

The wagon was called for and then the two officers went over the perceived ‘crime scene’, leaving nothing unturned. Then they gathered up Morgan in her skimpy state of dress and hauled her downtown to the station for what they called “a chat”.

Nathaniel sat in his room for a long time, inert. Then he finally went downstairs and climbed into the closet in his younger brother’s room and had himself a good cry. He just couldn’t shake the incredible gloom that had settled over him. First his mother, and now his dear father. Ayden, who had meant everything to him. His father who took all care to ensure his sons a good upbringing, alone as he was. Ayden, who despite all the odds and the threats, made it to the top of his career. He was the Chief of Police in Willow Creek. And, now he was dead.

     After a time, Nathaniel sent a text to Sophia. A sad text. A few moments later, he sent another one. When she answered, she invited him over to her place. Her text message: You sound really sad, come over and we’ll hang out. First thing Sophia did was wrapped her slender arms around Nathaniel and held him tight. Nathaniel wished he could stay in the cocoon of her arms forever. For the briefest moment, he felt secure and the gloom lifted just a little.        

  

Nathaniel and Jaylen, under the guidance of their ghostly grandfather organized the funeral. There was a huge turnout. The entire Police Force in their dress blues, family, friends. After the grave side service was complete, the Honor Guard gave Ayden a three-volley salute, shooting blanks into the air. Nathaniel jumped with each pop. Squaring his shoulders, he tried to withhold the tears. Before long, he was taking the handkerchief from his pocket. The shots made it so final. Dad was gone.    

Standing under the great oak tree where Ayden would be interned, Nathaniel, with Sophia hugged tight to his side, stood silently saying goodbye. Morgan Fryes came up beside him.

“What are you doing here?” Nathaniel said, curtly. “Shouldn’t you be locked up or something?”

“I had my ‘chat’ with the police and they let me go. I didn’t do it, Nathaniel. I just wanted you to know. You’re wrong about me. I loved your Dad. He was the dearest, sweetest man I’ve ever met. He treated me like a lady. No one has ever done that.”

“So you honored him by woohooing him to death! I can’t believe you.”

“Your Dad was lonely and we were just having a little bit of fun. He was tense. I thought I could help.” A tear spilled down her face. “Don’t look at me that way. I didn’t mean for it to happen, I swear. I don’t think I’ll ever woohoo with anyone ever again. You can’t, for a minute, even understand how it makes me feel.”

“You’re right, I can’t know how you feel. I’ve heard of ‘killer women’ before, I just never expected to meet one in person. You know,” Nathaniel looked thoughtful for a moment. “I may have a solution for you.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” Morgan said.

“You could join a convent and then all of  Simanity will be safe.”

Sophia drew back from him slightly, slapping him on the upper arm. “Nate,” she said, “you need to forgive her.”

For a moment he looked chastened. Shaking his head, he gazed over at Sophia. “I don’t think I can. Not yet.” When Sophia’s look of dismay met his gaze, Nathaniel shrugged. “I’ll work on it, I promise.”

With that, Sophia held him tight.  

For Morgan Fryes, she merely turned on her heel, handkerchief in hand, and quietly left the cemetery.

Generation Two — Chapter Twelve: More Deaths Plague Willow Creek Police Precinct

Ayden’s week started off very strangely. He should have taken this as a clue of what was to come, he supposed, in retrospect. Beginning to feel his age, he was aware he was slowing down. When he brought his fears to his ghostly father, Erik advised him to try the Youth Potion, which he did. He also did his best to keep active.

     Working hard at cracking cases, working out from time to time. Mostly keeping his brain alive, that was key. So he made sure he was focused whenever it was time for work. One evening he was invited out to a bar for Singles Night. He went. There were some very nice people there, but he was in a bit of a relationship already. Ayden wasn’t one to fool around. So, after a time, when his body told him he needed sleep, he bid the group farewell and headed home. The hour was very late.

That’s when it happened. As he was walking up the drive in front of his house, he was suddenly frozen stiff. Bright light bathed the entire front yard. Eerie sounds filled the otherwise quiet night. Before he knew it, a beam of light shown right in his face, engulfing him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he could feel himself being pulled upward. Suddenly, his feet were no longer on the ground. Above him was a saucer shaped, shiny, metal object.  

   “What the heck?” Ayden gasped, although he was really only thinking it, unable to cry out or so much as utter a noise. Nor could he move at all. He had read a few reports, some articles in the Police Stories magazine put out by some obscure county department, of such events. Ayden really didn’t give them much credence. Scoffing at them, really. He supposed that’s how some looked at his ghostly visions, too. He did discover he was working with an alien in disguise, so that’s when his thoughts turned around and he began to wonder just how real aliens were. He was soon to find out. 

         

          

     If Ayden had any notion of sharing his abduction experience it was literally knocked out of his head. The movie,  Sims In Black came to mind. By the time he was returned, hours later, or so he guessed, all he could remember was a bright light and that saucer-like glowing thing in the sky. Everything else had been strategically washed from his memories.

When he returned to work the next day, he felt tired, achy and full of foreboding. Just last week, said alien cleverly-disguised-as-a-police officer had passed away at the station.  

   They had lost so many here, he was beginning to lose count. Was it six or seven? As he went about his duties, filing the last of his paperwork and getting his next case file, he became aware that the Chief, Angie Sizemore, was having some difficulties. He got up from the desk and ran into her office, just as she collapsed to the floor.  

Dashing over to her, “Chief, Chief, what is it? Somebody call 9-1-1! We need an ambulance.” He shouted over his shoulder. The Chief lay still. Suddenly the room was full of people. Ayden spied the Grim Reaper, who was no longer a shocking sight for him, out of the corner of his eye. Getting the Reaper’s attention, he took a moment to plead for the Chief’s life to no avail. Remorse settled hard on Colonel Ayden Cantrell. Before he even realized it, another officer, Derek Huston lay unconscious in the other corner of the Chief’s office. Two coffee cups, barely touched, sat on the Chief’s desk as if the two were sharing coffee and conversation. Ayden made a mental note of this as he snapped into rescue mode. He listened for any sign of breathing and then began CPR. “Come on, Derek, come on! Somebody make that call and get an ambulance here. On the double!”   

Knowing that once he started the compressions, he couldn’t stop, Ayden hollered at the Reaper, pleading with it to save Officer Huston. This time, his pleas were heard as the Grim Reaper levitated Derek’s lifeless form and the man regained consciousness. Sadly, it wasn’t for long. Derek showed up at Ayden’s latest crime scene and again collapsed on the concrete beside the pool outside while busy collecting evidence. This time there was just no saving him. It was over.

     Ayden was overcome with sadness. He tried to get Derek to go with the Paramedics to the hospital to get checked out, but the old man refused to go. In retrospect, Ayden should have pulled rank on the fellow. Another regret to add to his ever-growing tally of regrets. Finishing up with his new crime scene, he called for the Wagon to pick up what ended up being the fifth body at this site. Since Derek wasn’t part of the crime itself, there was no need to lay down any tape.  

What was going on? So much death. Willow Creek seemed like such a lovely place to live and raise children. Ayden finished up his work for the day and hurried home. The only redeeming point of today was the fact it was Nathaniel’s birthday. He quickly made a few calls and got a party underway. For a time, he forgot his troubles. Put his aching heart on a shelf and tried to unwind.  

His children were grown. He had a sweetheart, at least part time. He was one promotion away from that proverbial top rung in his career. All he needed to do was solve this last crime, figure out what killed both the Chief and Officer Huston, which would require he analyze both coffee mugs and the coffee carafe, for good measure. Then get to writing that biography of Erik Cantrell. Did he have enough days left? He had to try. That’s all any Sim can do, or so Erik was fond of saying.

Heading into work again the very next day, at least he was focused. Otherwise he was completely exhausted. There was a person in the Chief’s office who greeted him right away. “You’re Colonel Ayden Cantrell,” she said.

“Yes, I am.” he smiled and shook her hand.

“At the end of your shift, please come see me.” She promptly returned to the Chief’s office and settled in behind Angie’s desk.

Ayden got to work, analyzing evidence, adding clues to the board. At one point he went back to the crime scene feeling as if he missed something. At the end of his shift the temporary Chief called him to her office. “This just came down from the Commissioner’s office,” she said, handing him a large packet. “Congratulations, you’re  the new Chief.”

Ayden was stunned, guessing that all of the hard work he put into his career had finally paid off. He excused himself and went into the restroom. Tearing open the large packet, he found a new uniform inside. He dressed quickly. Shaking the hand of the temporary chief, he left the precinct to share his triumph with his family.

Generation Two — Chapter Eleven: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back …

 Ayden was promoted to Captain just prior to his sixty-fifth birthday, when he officially became an elder.  This troubled him, since from the start of his career, he had climbed the ladder of success rapidly, and had hoped he’d reach the top in his lifetime. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He feared, too, that he would become yet another officer to die right here at the precinct. But, he resigned himself to continue to do the very best job he could. Two more promotions and he would be at the top. If only he had enough time …

    When he got home from work, Nathaniel met him on the front walkway — the same place Ayden’s mother had collapsed and died.  Nathaniel had that look — as if someone had died.  

  “Dad,” Nathaniel said.

  “Nate, what’s up?”

“Not my grades,” the boy said, shrugging and hanging his head. “I need help. They gave me an F across the board. Every single stupid subject. Dad? How is this happening? I was just getting them up and suddenly they’re back in the dumpster? What am I going to do? Graduation is just around the corner —”

“Have you missed assignments?”

Still keeping his head hung, the boy scrubbed at the pavement with the toe of his boot.  “Maybe one or two …”

“We’ll start there. Finish the homework you missed and then get tonight’s done. I’ll help. And you know you can always ask Gramps to help you.”

“Like that’s not weird. He likes to levitate my pages sometimes!”

“He’s just drawing your attention to your problem area. Your Grandfather has his B.A. in Fine Arts.” 

“B.A.? I thought you said he was a Rock Star.”

“Your great-grandfather made your grandfather go to university before he’d allow him to even consider a career in music. Said he needed something to fall back on, should the music ambitions turn into a bust.”

“Wow. A Rock Star with a B.A.? Huh. He’s so playful, I can’t even fathom him focusing on his studies.”

“He graduated summa cum laude.”   

“Summa, what? — What does that mean?”

“The highest accolades. Top in his class across the board. Your Gramps is no dummy. Dead, but not dumb. He’s a musical genius, truth be told. I’ve always been a tad intimidated by him.”

          “I’m intimidated by Jaylen.”

Ayden put a hand on his oldest son’s shoulder, guiding him toward the house. “Don’t be. Your Gramps let me in on a secret once. Your grand uncle Joey—”

“The late renowned surgeon?”

“That would be the one. He was a genius, too, you know, just like Jaylen. But, as your Gramps pointed out, Joe was also a goofball, childish and clumsy.  Your Gramps scored higher in university in the long run. Even over the genius. Your Gramps tailored his studies to include his passions. As he often says, we all have our Gifts. You just need to find yours.”

“I wish I knew what that was …”

“You’ve always had artistic proclivities. Maybe you should start there.”

Back at work, Ayden was gratified to see the slew of new young faces at the precinct. He guessed the latest class of Cadets had graduated. This was a good thing. The force had been steadily thinning since he got here, nearly forty Sim years ago— Had it been that long? Seemed like just yesterday.  

Time flew by and suddenly, or so it seemed, Jaylen’s birthday was upon them. Ayden got off at five in the afternoon, and threw a birthday bash for his youngest son. The boy looked very different from his brother. He was altogether a bigger kid — more like the Cantrell men in stature. Whatever differences his sons had, were long forgotten. The two got along famously, to Ayden’s relief. He had hoped their strife was born out of the growing tension in the household. Turns out, he was right. They were genuine friends. They studied together, chatted, shared their hopes, dreams and insecurities. His family seemed whole again. He had no idea how much discord his own brother brought into his household.   

      Ayden had been very careful all throughout the trial, to never disclose that murder charges had anything to do with their mother’s untimely death. Nor would he allow either of them to attend. Ayden was only there as a witness for the Prosecution. They both loved their uncle Braylon so much. It was a tragedy all the way around. Talking it over with Erik, his father agreed. When the boys were fully grown and better able to handle the news, then they could be told. In the meantime, they were still healing. As their grand-uncle Joey would warn, it’s harmful to open old wounds. To keep them off the ‘net, Ayden just locked their cell phones and the only computer in the house using a very clever app. It allowed basic searches, but kept them from perusing news articles that included anything about the trial. There simply was no newspaper here in Willow Creek to worry about. Ayden also put a parental block on the television, too. 

What he couldn’t control were their friends, or other kids at school. So, he hoped and prayed they weren’t attuned to the news.

In the meantime, Braylon sent letters. Lots of them. At first, his anger was apparent, which switched to grief, which turned into constant pleas for Ayden to launch an appeal for him. Which was closely followed by a constant string of threats, when Ayden gently turned him down. Braylon wanted out of prison, in the worst way. “It’s unconscionable that you leave me in here to ROT. Don’t think for a moment that you’re even close to being safe, big brother. Unlike you, I have friends. Watch your back. Wouldn’t want you to suffer an unfortunate accident, now, would we? And NORMALLY, they don’t investigate accidents. Chew on that.”

Dutifully, Ayden turned over each missive to his Chief for analysis. She kept Ayden’s house on constant surveillance. The Mobwives weren’t merely a start-up group, they had existed for decades — as far back as the days of Prohibition, in fact.

      “More rantings?” the chief said, accepting the packet of letters from Ayden. Rifling through them, reading a few random phrases. “He just doesn’t give up, does he? Just don’t let him get to you, Colonel. We’ve got your back.”

      “Thank you, Chief. I do appreciate it.”

      “Wait, what? You just called me Colonel.”

   “Congratulations you’ve been promoted,” she smiled, slyly, handing over the accompanying certificate and his shiny new shield. “Word from the Commissioner just came in.”

      “Thank you, Ma’am.”

      “Consider it a belated birthday present.”  

      His birthday had occurred just the week before, largely unnoticed. Following closely on his younger son’s, it was merely overlooked, he reasoned. Trying not to be down about it, he went about his work, trying to solve his latest case.  The promotion helped. Getting a nice text from Bobbi just after he got home again, also helped. She congratulated him on his promotion and asked him out to celebrate it at the Oasis Lounge. Ayden was happy to oblige. 

   

   To her credit, Bobbi had turned out a nice group of their co-workers. There was a musician, and a would-be comedienne working the crowd. He chatted, ate popcorn, had a drink or two. Before too long, his day caught up to him and he thanked Bobbi for the celebration and gave her a nice hug before he headed home.  

      As Ayden left the lounge and headed home, he crossed the road and was very nearly clipped by a sports car that zoomed down the street. This shook him up. Braylon had repeatedly warned of an ‘accident’. Standing in the middle of the crosswalk, Ayden stared numbly in the car’s trajectory. He managed to get the licence plate number, hastily scribbling it in his little black notebook. “Damn,” he uttered to the darkness. Glancing about, the only police he knew that were anywhere near the scene were his co-workers, busily laughing it up and drinking, some of them, into oblivion upstairs in the lounge. He could have been killed outright, left in the street, for who knows how long. Chills ran up his spine.

      Bored, when he got home from work again, Ayden was more than happy to receive a text from one Morgan Fryes. She was a beauty and he liked her. A lot. She invited him to her house to ‘hang out’. Seeing her in the moonlight, he invited her to star gaze with him. Then he flirted, whispered sweet nothings to her, flirted some more, asked if she were single and when she said she was, he decided to go for it. Within moments the two were very flirty. So much so, she consented to woohoo in her closet. Ayden needed that, it had been quite some time. He was hoping for more, still painfully flirty, but Morgan had left the house. He looked around for her, but when he couldn’t find where she had disappeared to, he went home, instead. Once back, he sent her a flirty text. Ayden was looking forward to having a real date with her.  

      Ayden looked forward to chatting with Patrice about his new romantic interest. Lately, she came around fairly often. Most especially after Jade died, but also after the trial and incarceration of their younger brother. In her own way, she was attempting, Ayden thought, to keep their dwindling family together. She called, but, she didn’t come by as expected. When he didn’t hear from her again, Ayden grew tense. He texted her but got no answer. This was a real worry. Patrice was always texting back and forth. You would never find her without her cell, in fact. He tried calling her, several times over the course of a week. Still no Patrice.

      He checked with her work — she was on vacation and not expected at the office until the following Monday.

      This just wasn’t like her, of late.  Ayden stopped by to see her. He knocked and knocked and knocked some more. No answer. Just as he was about to give up, figuring she was either out-of-town on vacation, or out on the town, which is where she spent a majority of her life, something prompted him to grab the key she kept hidden underneath the door mat. He’d told her countless times, that was an unsafe practice, the very first place most would look. But, Patrice was, well … Patrice. There just was no ‘schooling’ her.

      Slipping the key into the lock he opened the door. Immediately, he was smacked in the face with the distinct, unpleasant, odor of death. The place reeked. Taking out his handkerchief, he placed it over his nose and slowly scoured the house looking for the body. She didn’t live alone, so he had no clue who he would find. Up the stairs, remembering to bypass the squeaky third step from the top, he called out her name. “Patrice? Patrice, are you here? Where are you, Patrice. It’s Ayden.”

      No answer. The house was eerily still. At last, he opened the bedroom door. There she was strewn across the bed like a child’s rag doll, abandoned. Her gray hair lifeless, and her blue eyes, now cloudy, staring upward at nothingness. Reaching for his cell, he called the station. 

     “This is Colonel Ayden Cantrell, I’d like to report a dead body,” he said, keeping his voice as even and professional as possible. Looking around, he soon realized her death was likely not from simple old age. Not being a physician or a coroner, he’d certainly seen enough crime scenes to recognize one when he stumbled upon it. Anxious, he paced about, careful not to disturb anything. “This is going to kill my father,” he uttered. 

      Just as quickly he heard a voice that echoed as if speaking through a metal tube, “Can’t kill a ghost.”

      “No,” he shook his head. “No, you can’t. Ah, Patrice, what happened to you?”

      “Look around,” she echoed. “What do you think? You’re the cop.”

      “Who did this to you?” his eyes blurred.

      “Might be better if you didn’t know, little brother. Don’t look so glum. I was old. I had my fun.”

      “Was Braylon behind it?”

      “Let it go, Ayden, I beg you,” with that she faded away.

Generation Two — Chapter Ten: The Case Against Braylon

Ayden sprang out of bed the next morning, full of resolve. He had no other choice. He either followed the clues to exonerate his brother or to have him convicted for the brutal, unforgivable murder of Jade. He couldn’t go on pretending all was well, or would be with Time.

So, pulling on his clothes, he went out to his car. Very carefully he inspected the trunk. The lock was undamaged. No hint of tampering. Good. Inside, the gas can was just where he’d left it a few months ago upon their return from that ill-fated campout. Once at work, he would take his first break to dust for fingerprints.  He expected at least three sets, his, Jade’s and Braylon’s — or, none at all. 

If his brother was worth just half of his salt, he would have wiped the can clean. But, given the circumstances, in which Braylon had made himself scarce during the incident, it was possible he didn’t have time to clean up after his misdeed. Once the authorities were finished with the scene and his dear wife’s body carted off, Ayden couldn’t wait to leave that place. As it stood, now, he would likely never return. So, unless Braylon had cleaned up the can after he finally came home … the lack of tampering suggested no. Ayden couldn’t perceive why the prints, or lack thereof, would be disturbed in any way. Since he kept his keys locked up in his safe along with this service weapon, that left Braylon without access.  

Nathaniel was getting to an age, too, where ‘borrowing’ his Dad’s car for a joyride might be fun. Twelve years going on eighty, he could be a handful, to be sure. Ayden had ‘borrowed’ Erik’s car, after all, and sometimes the nut didn’t fall too far from the tree. Nathaniel was very much like Ayden.  Therefore, unless Braylon was an expert at safe-cracking, he didn’t have access to Ayden’s keys, either.  Nobody did, but him. And while his father goofed around, pulling his ghostly pranks, he rarely possessed anything to simply break it. Nor would he be inclined to take keys. Ayden took his own car to work, which would leave Braylon access at night, only. There was simply no damage whatsoever to the trunk’s lock. No scratches anywhere.

Or — Ayden was completely wrong. He hoped and he prayed he was wrong. That the accident was simply that. A horrid, terrible, fatal accident, but only an accident and nothing at all sinister.

Lieutenant Ayden Cantrell got to work straightaway, arriving at the precinct exactly on time. 

“Hey, Jovan, Bobbi, good morning!”

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” they said.

“Ayden, you’re in a good mood,” Bobbi said, winking at him, as she handed him a coffee.

“Thank you, Bobbi,” he held up the to-go cup at her and nodded. “It’s funny how a good night’s sleep affects the temperament.”

“Well, whatever it is, Sir, it’s nice to see you smile again.” With that, she turned on her uniform boot heel and got to work, her dark pony tail bouncing as she walked.  

Ayden went to the computer and got another case file. After doing the preliminary cross-data checks, he created a map on the board. Then, he got the equipment needed, and headed to the crime scene. Once he was back, he decided he would dust for prints on the gas can in his own trunk. Then along with the other evidence he anticipated gathering at the new crime scene, he’d also process whatever he got from his gas can. And if he got nothing, then that would be that. End of story. And he’d cease to berate his younger brother at every turn. Do his best to put the family back together.

Should he find the suspected prints, he would take his situation to the Chief. If she agreed he had just cause, he’d go ahead and call for a full-blown investigation into one Braylon Cantrell.

The crime scene took longer than he’d anticipated. By the time he got back to the station, he was consumed with hunger. He did take the time to snap pictures of his car, the trunk lid, the bumper, the lock and finally the gas can in his trunk. Then he applied a liberal amount of dust to the red can of gas, and to his dismay, he lifted several prints that needed to be sorted. He had his own on file, as all the officers did, and he had access to Jade’s and Braylon’s through their driver’s licences. 

Ayden’s legs grew wobbly. Was his very own brother truly guilty of such a heinous crime? He had another cup of coffee, which oddly, served to stabilize his now shaky self, besides stave off the hunger pangs long enough for him to run the prints found, through the analyzer. He fed in the digital photos and heard the beep. On the monitor screen, the match flashed, blinking its green light at him. On off, on off, on off. The image would forever be burnt into his retina, his mind and his broken heart. Braylon’s prints were clearly seen, both on the can’s handle and on the sides of the red canister. There was no mistaking it.

Grief swept over him. Swallowing hard, he steeled himself and then headed upstairs to the break room for a bite to eat. He no longer really felt hunger, but it was a good ruse to take a moment for himself. After he’d nabbed the last tuna sandwich — he thought it was tuna, anyway, he brought his plate downstairs. Time to have that unsavory, unwanted chat with his chief.

“Do you really think he’s guilty, Ayden?” the chief said, an enormous amount of empathy in her voice. “Your own brother? But, why?”

“It gives me no pleasure, Chief, but yes, I do think he murdered my wife by switching the normal lighter fluid for the gasoline. Jade wouldn’t have known the difference.”

“How could he do that without you noticing?” 

“He was always coming and going from the camp site.  We had an argument, just after he grilled burgers for us. He took off.  I hit the sack a few minutes after he left. I never saw him return. Had I known —” Ayden drew in a ragged breath. “I had no reason to suspect anything. I honestly thought I was the one in some kind of trouble.”

“Ayden,” the chief put a hand on his arm. “Lieutenant Cantrell, you’re one of our best, why would you think you were in trouble?”

“That ongoing investigation, for one.” 

The Chief gave a wry smile and waved at the air, “Oh, that. You were never the focus or the person of interest. We actually suspected your brother, truth be told. The Mobwives have moved into our quaint seaside town and it’s unsettled the town’s counsel. Now, you’ve just handed him over to us. Good job, as always, Lieutenant. We’ll take it from here. And thank you.”

Ayden was sick to his stomach. Advised to say nothing at all to his brother, he knew he had to at least tell his father. Choosing the right moment was hard. All of this time, Erik was well aware of the friction, the outright tension between his sons. One night, it nearly came to blows. Erik tried his best to talk to Braylon, to help smooth things over. Now, Ayden had to tell Erik his second son and youngest child was going to be arrested for a whole host of crimes, not the least of which was murder. 

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Ayden said. “I didn’t know what else to do. You know I haven’t been sleeping. I’m ripped to pieces over this. I miss my wife … sometimes I can’t breathe. Realizing my brother had anything at all to do with her untimely death. Her ‘accident’ sickens me. Knowing what it does to you breaks what’s left of my heart into fragments. I didn’t want this …”

“Ayden,” Erik echoed. “I chose you as my heir for a reason. You are not your brother’s keeper, nor can you change who he is. I’m the one who screwed up. Something I did or didn’t do. I let him down. I let your sister down, too. She never did marry. Never trusted any man with her heart. That’s my fault, too. I should have stayed a Rock Star and left the family rearing to those more competent.” 

   Ayden stood up. “Dad, stop it. You loved us. You loved Mom — we all love you, too. That should have been more than enough. You did your best. And, you came back. That’s not an easy thing to do.”

In the weeks that followed, Braylon was arrested and arraigned.  Bail was withheld, as he was deemed a flight risk. Also, it was likely the Mobwives would put a hit out on him. A few months after that, Braylon went on trial. In the meantime, Nathaniel had a birthday. He was finally a teen. Tall, like the rest of the Cantrell men, he looked far older than thirteen. 

Ayden threw a small party for him. He worked especially hard on his relationship with his oldest son, worried that since he really loved his uncle Braylon and the two got on so well, that Ayden’s thug of a brother would have an untoward effect on the boy.                                                           

     Finally, the trial was over. To everyone’s chagrin, Braylon was found guilty of facilitating the demise of the victim, Jade Cantrell. He was given life. Ayden packed up his brother’s belongings and sold them. He wanted nothing more to do with the man.

Almost as if she knew, Jade appeared to Ayden one night when he was visiting The Blue Velvet Lounge. She’d appeared to him before, so he wasn’t terribly startled. Taking her aside, he let her know that Braylon was found guilty of arranging for her mishap with the grill and was put away for life. 

“You’re free,” Ayden said. “You don’t have to roam the Earth anymore.”  

“Are you sending me away, Ayden?” she said, looking sad. “Share your pictures of the boys again, please?”

Ayden whipped out his cell and with the flick of a finger had the photos called up. She gazed at them and then he hugged her tight. When he got home, he was going to have to free her soul to the netherlands, so she would really, finally be at peace.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too.”