Nudge Files (eBook)

Death Postponed

The next morning, Jeff rose out of bed a bit stiff and sore from his adventure. At first, he thought the whole thing might have been a bad dream turned into a good dream and then evolved into a great dream. His face lit up at the realization that it was real. More real than real, if such a concept existed. He looked at an autographed picture of Dorothy Knight on his nightstand and smiled. Not having anywhere else to go, he went down the street to the bus stop. Everything was just as he had left it a few short days before. The bench hadn’t been replaced or even repaired and it stood lopsided, streaked with the paint of the black car that had hit it. At the place where poor Clarice had died, the ground was dark with her blood. A little way down the street, he spotted Clarice’s bicycle. It was leaning against the fence as if someone had recently parked it there. He looked over the bike and, while not an expert on bicycles, he thought that it was an expensive model and should be returned to the girl’s next of kin.

The last time that he had ridden a bicycle was when he was twelve. His bike riding days ended when one morning, he discovered his bicycle missing. His father had been too poor to buy him a replacement and he had to do without.

He didn’t attempt to ride Clarice’s bike, as he was sure that his shoes wouldn’t be compatible with those fancy pedals. He walked the bicycle back to his apartment. Upon arriving, he took out the phone book and looked up Springer. Right below C. Springer was Darla Springer and the addresses matched. Taking a chance that Darla Springer was Clarice’s mother, he called.

“Yes,” answered the voice of an older woman.

“My name is Jeff Collins. Am I speaking to the mother of Clarice Springer?”

Ice coated the receiver as she answered, “I am. Is this another call inquiring about my daughter’s death? We have a funeral home that we have been doing business with for years. Too much business. Now please leave us––”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.”

“What is your interest and be quick about it.”

Jeff paused to collect his thoughts and said, “I am the one who witnessed your daughter’s death. I saw the whole thing. I held her as she died.”

“That’s all very good; however, I still don’t understand the reason for your call. What do you want, a reward?”

“No, certainly not. I found Clarice’s bicycle this morning and I wanted to return it.”

The ice thawing somewhat, she replied, “I thank you for the gesture. However, that thing killed my daughter and I want no part of it. You may keep it as a reward for what you did for my daughter. Now I am busy and must end this call.”

Jeff hung up the phone and wondered what he should do with the bicycle. He could sell it, but that would dishonor poor Clarice. Ride it? Yes. He liked the idea since he realized that he needed more physical conditioning and more so, it would please Clarice to see her bicycle put to good use rather than stuffed into a closet to gather dust. He wondered if the dead could look down from their proverbial clouds and watch the living. He reached out with his feelings and searched for Clarice’s spirit. Nothing. “Clarice,” he said to nothing in particular, “I’m going to figure out how to ride your bike. If you can give me any pointers, I would appreciate it.” This time, he felt something warm his heart. Was this Clarice? He didn’t know. How could he? Still, he somehow felt that she approved of his decision.

With that aim in mind, he went to his local bike shop. He planned to use some of his emergency money to purchase some needed items. Being new to the art of cycling, he brought in the bicycle to have it checked out. The front wheel was damaged and he wanted to have it fixed. When he wheeled the bike into the shop, the owner looked at him with sullen suspicion.

After walking around the bicycle and giving it a good once over, he asked, “Are you here to sell this bike?”

“No. I need to purchase some items and have the front wheel repaired,” Jeff replied.

“Where did you get this bike?” the owner asked with unconcealed hostility.

“A woman by the name of Springer gave it to me. I forget her first name.”

“Really? If I were you, I would leave this shop immediately and leave the bicycle here. I have a mind to call the police.”

Suspecting, but wanting to ask anyway, Jeff asked, “What’s this all about?”

“The owner of this bike was killed a few days ago by a mad driver.”

“I know. I was there. I watched the whole thing. I tried to warn her, but that kid deliberately swerved into her. Clarice died in my arms. Yesterday, I called her mother to return her bike. She didn’t want anything to do with the bicycle that killed her daughter and gave it me as a thank you for comforting her daughter in her last minutes of life.”

“You were there? Sorry. When I saw you with the bike, I assumed the worst. Well, if you want to ride and by ride it, I mean ride it properly, you will need some equipment. Do have any biking gear?”

“Not a thing.”

“All right, in honor of Clarice, I will fix the wheel, replace the tire and clean off those stains for free.”

Jeff hadn’t noticed her blood on the frame. “No, please leave the blood. If you could cover it with clear lacquer or something, I would appreciate it.” A cold fire lit in Jeff’s eyes. “I want those stains preserved because one day, I don’t care how long it takes, I intend to hunt down that bastard and make him wish his mama had aborted him.” The bike shop owner’s eyes shone with fear and respect.

While Jeff had bought a pair of fancy shoes and the cleats for the pedals, he was grateful for the plastic pedal inserts that would allow him to pedal the bike like a ‘normal’ bicycle. After donning his helmet and stretchy shorts, he took the bike outside. He looked at the seat and wondered how Clarice could ride with the seat so high. He fumbled with the tool pouch and lowered the seat to a more acceptable level. Clumsily, straddling the bike, he thought about the happy times when he rode his bike as a kid. “I can do this.” He pushed off and rode unsteadily down the street. As his speed slowly increased, the erratic actions of the bike stopped and it glided smoothly along. Pleased, he pedaled a little harder until he judged that he was traveling at least fifteen miles per hour. Looking up, he saw a stop sign at a cross street. The brakes! Where are they? he thought. He reached down to the ends of the handlebars and fumbled for the brake levers. They weren’t there. For a maddening moment, he feared that the bike didn’t have any brakes. With the stop sign rapidly approaching, he looked down at the handle bar and spotted two curious looking levers on each side of the stem. Taking a chance, he pulled them and came to a rather ungraceful stop. Thinking that any stop is a good stop, he drew a deep breath and pedaled on.

Over the next few days, Jeff rode in the early mornings. His riding improved with practice. He discovered that he liked the bike and more so, he liked riding. He paid a local artist to paint Clarice on the frame as a further reminder of that horrible day. In memory of Clarice. Jeff’s apartment was in a large, quiet neighborhood. Unfortunately for a fledgling rider, his neighborhood was hilly and he lived in a low spot. Even though he was tired and sore when he returned home, he was determined to add cycling to his daily workout program. Mr. D’s assignments could often be physically demanding, not to mention dangerous. Having a well-toned body would be a big plus in coping with the rigors of an assignment.

One early morning a few days later, Jeff heard Mr. D’s three distinctive knocks. Doesn’t that man ever sleep? he thought. Of course not. Why would he? How could he? Opening the door and he sleepily said, “Another job?”

Mr. D walked in, sat himself down on the ratty sofa, crossed his legs in an all too human manner and said, “Nothing of that would require your talents, Mr. Collins.”

“Okay, I will ask again. Why are you here?”

“A social call. I came, in part, to see how you were faring after your encounter with Monpey.”

Jeff relaxed and replied, “I enjoyed the challenge of rooting out the Dorothy Knight’s tormentor. I was especially pleased when I discovered that it was Monpey. He is quite the fellow, you know.”

“Yes. You did well, Mr. Collins. I see that you have Clarice’s bicycle. Are you going to take up cycling? I hear that it’s great exercise. For those that need it, as I never do.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna try it. I tried to give it back to Clarice’s mother, but she wanted nothing to do with it and said that I could have it as a reward for comforting her daughter as she died.”

Mr. D seemed to look down into his being and then said, “Poor Darla Springer. Her second husband is hardly cold in his grave and now her daughter dies a tragic death. I am afraid that with the upcoming death of her...