Running on Red

Chapter 1

Paul Saxman stepped out on the dew glistened grass in his front yard. The plain white clapboard house sat on a half-acre lot on Skywiew Drive. A mid-November fog had settled in overnight. Off to the east the sun shoved its way into the mist and appeared like a flashlight in a glass of milk. The moisture of the grass darkened the leather of his work boots as he walked through the yard to the newspaper box. Paul grumbled as he scanned the front page of the Greensburg Tribune Review as he trudged towards the house. He turned and looked at the obscured sun and an eerie uneasiness washed over him. He fully expected a two headed ogre to lunge at him from out of the fog.

The clinging droplets were locked off onto the concrete steps leading to the porch. After sliding his feet out of the cumbersome boots, Paul walked into the house. The sweet smell of cinnamon rolls greeted him and instantly changed his disposition. The paper was tossed onto the coffee table and the sections slid across the oak surface. The sports section headlined the 44-17 trouncing of the hated Cleveland Browns. The aroma led him into the kitchen.

His wife of 35 years, Eileen, was placing some powdered sugar into a bowl when Paul walked in. He reached for a still warm cinnamon roll.

No Paul! Not yet! I have to ice them first.

There’s six here. I’m only going to take one.

It’ll only take a minute. Go sit down.

Yes, sweetheart.

Eileen had let her shoulder length brunette hair turn gray five years ago at the age of 53. The 20 menopausal pounds she gained were welcome as she previously had a small build. She was five inches short of Paul’s six feet. A nearly wrinkle free complexion surrounded kind but purposeful brown eyes. She set two plates with three heavenly pastries each next to two steaming cups of coffee.

So, what is the occasion? asked Paul.

Whatya mean, what’s the occasion? I have been making cinnamon rolls for your birthday for the last thirty-five years. Happy birthday, darling.

Thanks for the cinnamon rolls and for putting up with me for that long. I know I’m not always the most pleasant person to be around.

You have your good moments too. She gave an affectionate smile. What’s it like out there?

Foggy and chilly. It won’t be long until that white stuff starts falling. I can’t stand winter anymore. The older I get, the colder I get.

This is the last winter you’ll have to leave the house for work. One year to retirement.

Paul took a bite of a cinnamon roll and washed it down with some java.

Excellent as usual. Hard to believe I’ve been at McNaughton Tool and Die for almost forty years. It seems like only yesterday that Ian asked me to come work with him. I still miss that old stubborn Scotsman.

Look who’s calling the kettle black. I can’t imagine anyone as stubborn as you.

Yeah, we had our share of head-butting.

I think that’s why Patty and I got along so well. We sure had a lot of good stories to share about you two.

Eileen took a forkful of cinnamon roll and searched into space.

It had to be hard on Dan, losing both parents. He was too young to have that happen.

Dan’s a tough kid. He definitely has Ian and Patty in him.

She put her hand on his.

My only regret in life is that I couldn’t give you a son…or a daughter.

It just wasn’t meant to happen, Eileen. I have no regrets. It gave us more time to share with each other.

You’re a good man, Paul Saxman. I’ve decided that when you retire, I’m going to quit my job at Mosso’s Pharmacy, so we have even more time to share.

I would like that. I would like that a lot. Speaking of work, we better get moving. We need to drop my truck off at Snooky’s to get inspected.

Let me put the rest of the rolls in some Tupperware. We can have them tonight for dessert. Does Clearview sound good for your birthday dinner?

It’s a date.

They walked to the driveway and Eileen pulled up her jacket to shield against the chilled mist. The sun was slowly nudging the fog out of its arcing path. Paul looked into the dismal sky and again felt the eeriness.

Be careful pulling onto 30. You know how those idiots like to run the red light. In fact, let me go first.

Paul, don’t be foolish. I’ll be careful. I’m having dinner tonight with a pretty terrific guy.

Eileen pulled out of the driveway in her Chevy Malibu onto Skyview Drive. Paul followed closely in his Chevy pickup. They made a left onto White School Road and drove about a mile until they came to the intersection with Route 30. Across the intersection stood the Mountain View Inn with its familiar weather-vaned cupola. They usually made a right to go into Latrobe. Today, their first destination was to the left and Snooky’s Garage near Greensburg.

As usual, the traffic light was in no hurry to change its mind and let people cross. Eileen waited patiently as she listened to O’Brien and Garry on the radio. She looked in the rearview mirror at Paul. She waved and blew him a kiss. He returned the kiss and waved and added a smile. At last the amber caution light for the traffic illumined, and then the red light followed. Eileen proceeded into the four lane highway. Paul looked to the left and saw the speeding car.

Paul screamed, NO so loud that his throat hurt. The next sound was the impact of metal hitting metal. It sounded like a sledgehammer hitting an empty garbage can. He watched in unbelieving horror as Eileen’s car was pushed 50 feet down the road. The other car careened off and embedded into the hillside. The Malibu spun completely around twice before sliding to a stop. Paul was already out of his truck and racing toward Eileen. The driver’s window was shattered, and he could see Eileen leaning toward the passenger’s side. Only the seat belt held her up. Her left arm was grotesquely twisted and bent. The left side of her head was covered with blood.

The odor of gasoline pierced the air. Paul reached in and placed his fingers against Eileen’s neck. A weak pulse was felt. Fearing that the car could be engulfed in flames in any second, he pulled hard on the door. The twisted metal wouldn’t budge. He frantically rushed around to the other side. The mangled frame held onto the door with a vice grip. Smoke began to envelope the car as Paul returned to the driver’s side. He heard a car screech to a stop and then footsteps running toward him. A man in his mid-thirties appeared. You gotta get outta here! It could blow up!

I can’t!

Do you know her?

It’s my wife!

Okay, let’s get her out. You pull her up and I’ll get the seat belt.

Paul felt her dead weight as the seatbelt unsnapped. The smoke got thicker.

The man said, Grab under her right arm. I’ll get her left. Okay. Got her?

Yes!

Pull!

The adrenaline pulsed bodies got Eileen out of the window. They then carried her into a grassy area and laid her down. Paul cradled her head in his arms.

An ambulance is on the way.

His last word was drowned out by the exploding Malibu.

I’m going to check on the other driver. I’ll be right back.

Thank you! said Paul. Who are you?

I’m Detective Nelson from the State Police.

Paul held out a blood covered hand and Detective Gregory Nelson clasped it. He then ran to the other car.

Paul carefully brushed back the blood matted hair from Eileen’s forehead. Her pulse was weaker.

Can you hear me?

There was no response.

Eileen, can you hear me? I love you.

Her eyes fluttered for a second. He then felt the air leave her and her body go limp. Paul searched for a pulse that no longer existed.

Detective Nelson returned. Paul looked up and shook his head.

Detective Nelson placed his hand on Paul’s shoulder and said, I’m so sorry.

How’s the other driver? asked Paul.

He’s dead.

After Nelson walked away, Paul said, Good. Paul looked up at the traffic signal and the red reflected in his dry eyes.

Chapter 2

The 1976 Chevy Chevette chugged, wheezed and gasped up the mountain on Route 30 in Pennsylvania. The luster of the blue paint had faded like the few remaining leaves on the trees. The rich browns of the oak trees that were once overshadowed by the vivid maples and poplars now made their mark. Carol coaxed the car into a pull off area about three fourths of the way to the apex. After turning off the overwhelmed and appreciative engine, she patted the steering wheel.

The overly persistent fog had finally succumbed to the early afternoon sun and brisk breeze. A retired couple was taking pictures of the vista. Their Cadillac had Georgia plates. Bundled in winter coats, gloves and scarfs, the photography session lasted only a few minutes before they shivered back into the caddy and drove off. A weak, somewhat smug smile emerged as Carol reached for the door handle.

She sat on the still warm hood of the Chevette. Carol stretched her legs out and rested her high-top canvas Converse basketball shoes on the guiderail. They showed the effects of the many hours of playing basketball or just shooting at the hoop attached to the barn back home in Maine. She wore her favorite pair of faded blue jeans along with a threadbare green sweatshirt. The University of Maine letters were tattered on the sweatshirt that her sister Mandy had given her about ten years ago.

The crisp breeze felt comforting as she took in the mountain scenery. At twenty-eight years of age, she had already seen her share of nasty winters in Dover-Foxcroft, Maine. The mountains also gave her a sense of warmth because mountains were all she knew. Now somehow the vastness and emptiness of the scene in front of her disturbed her. Perhaps it was because it reminded her too much of the emptiness that she felt inside of her.

The Bible that was as worn as the clothes and shoes that covered her body sat next to her on the hood of the Chevette. She leafed through the black leather bound book until she arrived at Psalms 121. Carol read the heartening words.

"I lift my eyes up to the mountains – where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and Earth.

He will not let your foot slip. He who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord watches over you – The Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day or the moon at night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm – He will watch over your life;

The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore."

With her eyes closed she let the words fill some of the emptiness in her soul. Carol untied her hair and let the mountain air flow through it. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being like a ship without a sail in the middle of the ocean.

Carol clasped her Bible and got back into her Chevette. She guided the car onto Route 30 and headed west on her journey to find her sail.

The Chevette barely stirred up the dust on the gravel driveway as it snaked through the woods. Just past the edge of the woods the house appeared. Carol grinned when she saw the basketball hoop in the driveway of Dan and Mandy McNaughton’s house. Two cars were parked in the driveway. A drape partially opened then closed. Two seconds elapsed, and she saw Mandy bounding across the porch and toward her. Her seat belt had just recoiled when Mandy opened the door.

Carol! I was so worried about you. It was so foggy this morning. I didn’t know what it would be like coming over the mountain. Did you have any trouble? Were my directions okay? Did you eat? Any car troubles? I know you said it was acting up.

No, yes, a little and no. Well, maybe a little. I had to beg it to get to the top of the mountain. But I made it.

Dan already got the pizza. I’ll help you with your bags.

You don’t have to, I can get them.

One trip, if we both take a couple.

Carol pulled the handle of the hatch then deftly kicked it with her foot. The hatch sprung open.

I like the security system, laughed Mandy.

Hey, it got me here.

I’m glad it did.

Me too.

Carol slung a large gym bag over her shoulder and snatched an overnight bag. Mandy grabbed two small suitcases. Carol slammed the hatch down. As they walked past the two cars Carol asked, Do you have company?

More like family than company. You met Lee and Ellen at our wedding. And I’ve told you about Linda. She brought a friend who’s a detective with the state police. Really nice guy.

They were halfway to the house when they were met by Dan and Lee, who took the luggage from them. Carol hesitated before going in. She felt like she was walking into a dentist’s office for a root canal.

Dan and Lee returned to the living room after placing Carol’s bags in the bedroom that was Ian and Patty’s. Lee shoved Dan as they entered.

Those two will never grow up. Mandy said to Carol. They’ve been best friends since they played basketball together in college. I think it’s the best thing that happened to either one of them. Except maybe their wonderful wives.

I remember when you used to be humble, said Carol.

Don’t worry, I still am. You can take the girl out of Maine, but you can’t take Maine out of the girl. Come on, let’s go get some pizza.

Hey, thanks for letting me hang out here for a while.

You’re always welcome here, you’re the only sister I got.

Mandy put her arm around Carol and they joined the others. Lee and Dan were sitting on the floor playing a board game with Danielle Grace, Lee and Ellen’s five your old daughter. Linda and Gregory Nelson were sitting on the love seat. Ellen was by herself on the couch. Mandy and Carol joined her.

Danielle Grace, take it easy on them. They’re not as smart as you, said Ellen.

It’s okay Mommy. I’m only using half my brains.

Good. That’ll make it a fair game.

Dan looked at Lee, What’ya think she meant by that?

I dunno, said Lee.

How’s Danielle Grace doing? asked Mandy.

She still has the nightmares about the bears. We try to not make it a habit of her sleeping with us, but it breaks our hearts when she wakes up crying. Specially, for Lee. It puts him on a huge guilt trip. You know how Lee is, he hides his pain with his humor.

I just can’t imagine what it would be like to have your child kidnapped, said Carol.

Danielle Grace isn’t the only one who still has nightmares, said Ellen. And I know that Lee will never gamble again.

I win! said Danielle Grace. Losers put away the game.

Does she mean us? said Dan.

Yep, said Lee.

Danielle Grace pounced onto Ellen’s lap. Lee slid in between Ellen and Mandy. Dan started toward the empty chair.

Here, Dan, sit with Mandy.

You sure?

Of course I’m sure. She’s your wife after all.

Dan plunked down next to Mandy and put his arm around her. Mandy patted Dan’s knee.

Are you okay? asked Mandy.

Yeah, I guess so, said Dan.

Is everything alright? asked Linda.

Not really. The wife of one of my employees at the tool and die, Paul Saxman, was killed this morning. He’s one of the ones who started the business along with my dad and Tom Gallagher. The worst part is Paul saw the accident happen in front of him.

Was it on Route 30? asked Gregory.

Yes, at Mountain View, said Dan.

I was on my way to the barracks. It happened right before I got there. So tragic. How is he?

It’s always hard to read him. Paul never shows much emotion. He could still be in shock too.

By nine o’clock, everyone had left. Carol went into the bedroom and opened the empty closet. She hung up a few things then placed the rest of her clothes in the empty dresser. She sat on the edge of the king-size bed and looked around the large room.

Carol thought of Dan and Mandy, Lee and Ellen, and Linda sitting next to Gregory. She walked over to the window and peered at the star-studded sky. So vast, so empty. That man, Paul, what emptiness was he going through? So vast, so empty, so much like the feeling inside of her.

Chapter 3

NO!

Paul Saxman’s eyes open like a tightly wound window shade. His sweaty hands were embedded into the arms of the leather recliner. Wide eyes looked around the still dark room. The crash had just replayed in slow motion in his mind. The odor of the blood-stained shirt that had felt Eileen’s last breath nauseated him. The last twenty hours were still a blur after instantaneous Hell.

He realized that he still had on his work boots and for a second thought about how upset she would be. It took a few seconds for him to realize that she wasn’t there to tell him. Force of habit took him to get the newspaper from the box. On his way back to the house, he stripped off his work shirt and threw it in the garbage can. His undershirt was also blood-stained and met the same fate. The chill of the autumn air hit his skin, but he didn’t feel it. He felt nothing but emptiness.

A skin reddening shower and scrub brush removed the last of the blood from his skin. Paul absentmindedly half toweled himself off. His stomach told him he was starving but his mind was concentrating on the other parts of his body that were empty. On the kitchen counter was the plastic container that held the remaining six cinnamon rolls. The lid was removed, and the sweet aroma escaped long enough for Paul to see Eileen’s face in her rear-view mirror. It was as if Pandora’s box had been opened and unbound the ills of the world. Paul quickly snapped the cover back on. The cinnamon rolls were placed inside the freezer to keep the ills restrained.

The coffee that he poured into his cup was made exactly the same way as Eileen had always brewed it, but it didn’t taste as good. The two slices of buttered toast barely made it to his stomach. And then struggled to stay there. Paul skimmed over the stories in the front section of the Trib. He would have failed a civics quiz on the current events. The words blurred and ran together. The photos were meaningless.

Then he got to section B. He felt a Joe Frazier-like punch to his gut. Two destroyed cars were there in plain site with metal strewn across the Mountain View Inn intersection. Paul didn’t need to see the photo; the scene was forever embedded inside of him. The caption read, Fatal two car collision on Route 30 claimed the lives of Eileen Saxman, 58 and Duane Shultz, 25. Route 30 was shut down for several hours. Details on B3.

Paul slammed his fist down on Duane Schultz’s name. The coffee that was in the cup splashed out and onto the table. Within five minutes, he was out the door. The Chevy Silverado pulled out onto White School Road and toward Route 30. Paul turned right on Marguerite Road to avoid the fatal intersection. A left on Sand Hill Road and to Route 30. He needed to go somewhere, anywhere. Past Jennerstown and on top of the mountain, he turned onto to a little used road that led to even less frequented roads that now were merely graveled paths. Finally, he stopped the truck and turned off the engine.

Through the gap in the trees above he could see that the stars were fading as the sun’s rays overwhelmed them. Twenty feet in front of him an eight-point buck leisurely strolled across the road. The deer stared at Paul for a minute then disappeared into the thick woods. Paul looked up at the sky and the stars that had been enveloped in the royal blue sky.

He started the truck and continued down the narrow road. Dense mountain laurel formed dark green walls on both sides. A slit in the laurel to his right caught his attention as he drove on. He stopped then reversed direction until he got back to the opening. A dirt road partially overgrown with vegetation snaked into the trees and undergrowth. A hand drawn sign nailed to an oak tree announced, Cabin For Sale By Owner. A barely readable phone number was underneath on the well weathered sign.

Curiosity got the best of him and he followed the road. Small branches slapped at his mirrors and scraped the sides of his truck. A rabbit zig-zagged ahead of him until he realized that the truck was going straight. It jumped into the trees as Paul crept by. A small stream weaved through the woods and traveled by a wooden bridge. Paul got out and checked the bridge before deciding it was strong enough to hold the weight of the truck.

After driving about a hundred yards on a dirt driveway, the undergrowth cleared out and the cabin appeared. A couple of faded and torn No Hunting signs were nailed to the trees. Paul got out and looked the place over. It was obvious that the place hadn’t been taken care of for a while. A dead tree limb lay on the roof next to some missing shingles. The screen door was precariously held by one hinge. Piles of leaves had gathered on the front porch and blocked the doorway.

Paul walked up to the steps leading up to the porch. He kicked away the leaves and stepped gingerly in the first landing. It withstood his weight, so he continued the process until he crossed the porch and to the door. He carefully pulled open the screen door and leaned it against the wall. He grabbed the handle in the wooden door and was surprised to feel it turn. The door stuck but gave way when he leaned in with his shoulder.

Inside the cabin was damp and musty. A room about twelve by fifteen feet took up most of the space. A stone fireplace was on the exterior wall. A simple wooden table and chairs sat in the middle of the room. Two cushioned chairs sat in the corner. Below where the shingles were missing was a water stain on the bare wooden floor. Everything was covered in dust. A doorless opening led to a kitchen that had a wood burning grill in the front of a window.

A door led to the outside. A pile of rotted firewood sat on a large rock. Behind the cabin was an outhouse. In a large oak tree about fifteen feet from the ground was the remains of a tree stand. An iron-rung ladder was rusting away. The tree stand was facing a clearing in the woods. Paul walked to the edge of a tree line on a little rise. The vantage point gave a fantastic view of the valley below and surrounding mountains. And nothing else. No towns. No barns. No houses. As far as you could see.

On his way back through the cabin, Paul opened a door at the other side of the living room. Inside were two sets of stacked bunk beds. He left the cabin and drove back down the claustrophobic driveway. He stopped