The Prospect by Eliot Parker (epub ebook reader .txt) 📖

year since the warehouse was cleaned, and the dust, grit, and grime appeared to have grown worse over the last twelve months. The sloped roof of the warehouse resembled a folded piece of lunch meat, and the cavernous space between the floor and ceiling led to hollow, ricocheting echoes.
“It won’t echo when we get the decorations up and more people in here,” Frank said, reassuringly.
Even with a good cleansing, the workers could make out imprints where several hefty machines had exerted their weight on the cement floor. Small reddish brown circles dotted the floor and permanently stained, jagged puddles of dark residue gave a clear indication of machine oil and fluid that seemed to mark the territory accurately.
Shane and Ryan were wiping down the windowsill when Shane stumbled across an engraving on a faded red brick.
As he leaned in closer, Shane noticed some letters and names carved into the brick. The letter combinations of “RT” “HS” and “MM” were fronting one another.
Amidst dim light, Shane saw the letters. Frustrated by a lack of help, Chaz stopped wiping and stood next to Shane.
“Trip, I would like to get this done today,” Chaz said, reprovingly.
“Just a sec,” Shane said, motioning him to quit speaking. The letters were initials, initials that were very familiar. “RT,” “HS,” and “MM,” what did those letters mean? Faintly hearing the mayor and Phil arguing across the warehouse floor over sponges helped Shane piece together the pattern.
“Trip, what is going on?” questioned Chaz. Shane continued to stare off into space with his mind reeling.
It all started to sense. These initials were connected is some way, Shane thought. Shane looked up and surveyed the walls. The wall featured raven colored predominately throughout the east wall of the building. Shane assumed that these types of spots had not and possibly could not be cleaned.
Shane recalled the early road trip to Columbus where he glanced at the yellow note given to him by Frank. From what Shane could recall, the note featured the some of the same letter patterns that appeared on the wall, although he had no idea where he placed the piece of paper.
Shane dropped his soap sopping sponge and dashed across the warehouse floor. Chaz could not gather a thought quickly enough as he observed Shane’s long strides brimming with ire.
The mayor and Phil Rodney were still arguing when Shane lowered his shoulder and speared the mayor from behind. Rolling him over on his back, Shane socked the mayor squarely in the nose, cracking some bones and sending blood spewing across the freshly cleaned floor.
Ryan and Frank scampered over to the scene while Phil tried to pull Shane away. Shane was mumbling a variety of explicatives that could not be determined. The mayor was flailing on the ground, frenziedly trying to fend of the attack.
“Son of a bitch, what do you know!” Shane screamed in a fit of rage. Why is there initials on the wall and on notes? Tell me! Tell me!”
Harry managed to grab one of Shane’s arms while Frank nabbed the other one. Phil was positioning his body in between Shane and Morton, but all Phil received for the trouble was the drumming of fists.
“S…Shane, s…s….stop this n..now,” Ryan pleaded.
“Land sakes, what has gotten into you lad,” groaned Frank as he frenetically attempted to stop the fight.”
“Get off of me you little punk,” snarled the mayor, wiping up dribbling blood with a clean shirtsleeve.
Shane finally rescinded, only because he was experiencing another pestering pain near his ribs. The sensation stopped Shane’s forward momentum. Frank and Ryan loosened their grip just as Chaz reached the scene.
“Shane, man, what has gotten into you. You cannot just attack the mayor like that,” Chaz said. Shane did not move, instead gawking at the mayor, his blue eyes gaping at the reclined porcine figure laying on the floor.
“He knows something. Something about me and my family. Something happened here. People don’t go carving letters into things unless it’s got importance.” Shane spun his head around and made eye contact with Frank Miller, who was wiping a bead of sweat from his chin. Frank did not notice Shane looking at him
“Mr. Miller, I saw a slip the slip paper a few months ago. The slip you gave me. Some of the letters on that note match those letters on that far wall.” Chaz and Ryan took a step back as Shane jabbed his finger into the air in an arbitrary motion.
“At my father’s funeral, we couldn’t see the body. Mama said it was because she did not want to upset me. Dad’s body was burned beyond recognition. That is why the casket was closed for the funeral.”
Morton managed to prop himself up on his elbows, exhibiting a maddened look at Shane as he continued.
“You were an electrician here, mayor. How are you connected to all of this?”
Defiant, the mayor shot back. “I do not know what you are talking about. This is ridiculous. I told you, your father was a good man.”
Shane’s white undershirt was seething with perspiration, and pain continued to internally ricochet throughout his body. But adrenaline and anger expunged the pain. Shane wanted the truth, and this time, the mayor was going to tell it.
Frank looked at Phil flabbergasted. Phil’s responded with a blank stare. Harry and Ryan stood motionless.
The entire warehouse suddenly became a courtroom. Morton Mitchell was on trial and Shane Triplet was the district attorney, hell-bent on getting the truth, once and for all.

XXXII

Olivia made sure the silver plastic folding chairs were in position and able to support the weight of the heaviest individuals. Jack Busby had asked for Biggie Rowan’s help setting up a small stage and placing some chairs for some of the town’s dignitaries.
Biggie elected to bake in the summer sun without a shirt on. As Olivia stared at him, she compared Biggie’s physique with Shane’s. She felt that Biggie’s was smallish in comparison to Shane’s chiseled body. Although Biggie’s skin was much darker and his head clean-shaven, Shane had manila perfect skin and when Olivia saw Shane, his build was enough to drive her into an ardor of sexual desire.
Sheaville residents were beginning to arrive and gather around the stage closest to the podium. From there, in a few moments, the auction would begin. The signed items, which included a baseball, team picture, and jersey, were Biggie’s responsibility. Without them, there would be no auction and probably no Fall Festival.
Members of the media were gathering as well. Reporters from The Charleston Gazette, and reporters from WCHS and WQBE radio stations in Charleston were busily preparing for a live broadcast of the event. A photographer and a reporter from WSAZ News Channel 3 in Charleston also arrived as the crowed continued to grow.
As the preparations were taking place, on the ridge above Sheaville, the tensions at Harlan Shea’s sawmill warehouse were maturating.
“Answer me! Answer my question. What does this all mean? This is some type of fucking puzzle and you are a big piece of it!”
“Nothing,” said the mayor, now standing up, trying to remain reserved in an increasing tenuous situation.
Phil tried to diffuse the situation. “Guys, look, we need to get going. We are going to be late for that there auction. Sheaville is filling up even as we sit here.”
Morton was rubbing his swollen nose. “I cannot wait to get back to Sheaville, because I am going to file assault chargers against you Shane! And then you’ll have plenty of time to play detective in jail!”
“Assault? Really mayor…” Phil’s voice trailed away.
“None of your business Phillip,” Morton quipped.
Shane pivoted sideways and faced Frank. “Mr. Miller, you know what happened here. I stumbled upon you and the mayor talking several weeks ago about something. When I walked into the room, you warned him. Said it would be a matter of time before it came out. What is it? Please, tell me.”
Calmly and dejectedly, Frank responded, although the disparaging glance from Phil Rodney suggested otherwise.
“It would be best if Morton told ya son, not me. I ain’t in any position to tell you.”
Shane again faced the mayor. This time, the mayor was trembling, toting hand with knuckles covered in dry, crusted blood.
Morton surveyed the room. The spacious warehouse seemed to expand as the moment of silence progressed. Facing a host of motley looks from everyone, Morton spoke in a detached tone.
“I was the electrician at the mill. I was the electrician responsible for maintaining the wiring of all the buildings at the mill. Roger had the most seniority of anyone that worked in the warehouse so I always trusted and valued his opinion. I noticed that most of the wiring in here needed replaced. I mean, it had not been touched since the place opened. At the time, Harlan Shea, the mill’s owner, was terminally sick. Everyone knew it. Production at the mill was in steep decline and we had already lost most of our good men to out of state or overseas jobs. I took Roger for some support when I spoke with Harlan. We both tried to convince him that the wiring was going to cause an accident; you know something serious. He wouldn’t listen. He said it was an expense that the company just could not afford.”
“Go on,” Shane said, disimpassioned.
“One night, the night before Christmas Eve, your dad came up here after a night out with the boys. I don’t know what you know or have heard, but your daddy wasn’t always a faithful husband. He liked the ladies, and they liked him. Roger was a good-looking fellow, and he loved to womanize.”
Trying to paint Roger as a rogue lowlife did nothing to remedy Shane’s contempt. Shane’s eyes narrowed and his lips were pressed flat against his face.
“He came back up here because he forgot his paycheck. The men were sent home early cause it was Christmas Eve. Harlan always did that. When your daddy got here, he smelt smoke. He rushed in to see what was happening. Fire had engulfed the building. When Roger came in, he tried to put the fire out. He went and got a hose and tried to fight the fire himself. I was in town leaving the diner and I saw plumes of black smoke shooting from the mill. I rushed up here. When I got inside, Roger was there with the hose. He tried to fight it but the flames were too hot.” Morton paused, swallowed hard as he felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.
“He began gasping for breath and wheezing. I screamed for him to get outta there, but he refused. Totally shocked, I fled to go and get help. As soon as I ran, the building exploded. Flames shot out of the building at all angles. I never saw Roger again. Later, Harlan wanted to cover it up. He convinced the media into staying quiet. I was going to lose my job if I talked. I couldn’t risk that. Olivia was on the way. We tried to ignore it. In fact, Harlan rebuilt the building to try and make everyone forget about what happened here. That wall with the letters was the only wall that was spared. The fire had consumed most of the building, but the east wall was barely burned. Those initials over there were a reminder. It was a memorial the men that worked here, to myself, and your father.”
Shane stood, his eyes awash in tears. He backtracked slowly, and Ryan stepped away. Shane did not speak, he did not breathe. All he did was stare at the mayor, lifeless, listless, with two tightly