This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males. If material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age in most states you are not allowed to read this story by law.
This story is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental.
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Mark Stevens
Readers, I just wanted to pass on to you that I have been away on vacation; hence the time in between chapters. You folks are the greatest, and I appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you for being so patient. I was ready for a time of R & R, which I enjoyed very much in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Again, thanks for your patience. Without readers there would be no story tellers. You guys are the greatest group of fans!
Mark
CHAPTER TWELVE
A loud jolt of thunder suddenly wakened Britt. He sat up in bed, his heart beating rapidly inside his chest. He lay back down, his head on the pillow once more. Another loud crack and pop soared through the sky, and he sat back up. He was awake now and decided to get up. John McKenzie's funeral service was this morning, and he might as well get the day started.
He looked outside and saw how dark the sky was. He was surprised when he looked at the clock beside his bed and discovered it was already after eight. What a day for a funeral, he thought as he jumped out of bed.
Pulling his robe on, Britt made his way down the hall and joined his mother who was already out in the kitchen enjoying a cup of coffee. "Morning," he greeted.
"Good morning, Britt. You were out so late last night, I thought for certain you would sleep in this morning."
Britt poured a cup and joined her at the kitchen table. "The storm woke me," he said. "What a day for a funeral, huh?" He took a sip from his cup.
"It is a gloomy day," Catherine agreed.
"Are you planning on attending the service?" he asked.
She nodded. "I think so. I've known John McKenzie all his life."
"Then I guess you should pay your respects."
"How about you? Are you going?"
"Yes," he answered. "Funerals aren't my thing, but I feel I need to go for Devon. It's hard to believe this is the second funeral service I'm going to attend since coming home."
"It happens," his mother pointed out. "All the time," she added. "You just notice it more in a small town, I suppose."
"That's the truth."
Britt downed two more cups of coffee and a piece of toast and headed for his room. "You want to ride with me, Mom?" he called over his shoulder.
"That would be great. Would you mind dropping me off at the center afterward? This is my day for quilting," she reminded.
"No problem," he assured her.
"I can get a ride home with a friend."
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Brit stood in the church next to his mother as the McKenzie family walked down the aisle. The "family" consisted of Elaine McKenzie, and her son, Devon. Britt watched as they were followed by several men and women, and he assumed they were comprised of the McKenzie staff and employees of the textile plant. Devon's mother walked with her head high, displaying her pride and dignity.
As Devon led his mother to the family pew, he sent a look of thanks Britt's way. His mother turned and walked inside the pew row, and he followed her. All the others filled the rows behind them.
John McKenzie's service was a lot like Alice Cooper's had been, with the exception of it being more elaborate. Where her funeral had been simple like the woman herself, John McKenzie's was full of his accomplishments, his good deeds, and his example of great concern and love for the people of Porterville, as well as the town itself.
As Britt sat listening to the words of praise that Larry Owens spoke, he felt sick to his stomach. He was sure Larry was saying exactly what Elaine McKenzie had instructed him to. Britt had never known a more powerful woman than Devon McKenzie's mother. He wondered if some day all the power she had, the need for control, if it would be her downfall. When a person seems to always be at the top, there was only one way for them to eventually go, and that was down.
Britt thought about Devon and wondered where he was headed through all this. It sounded as if his mother expected him to take over where his father had left off. That would be huge for anybody, especially for someone as young as Devon McKenzie. Porter Textile wasn't the largest company by far, but it was definitely the livelihood for most of Porterville. Britt had no idea how many people it employed, but he knew that a large number of the town's people depended on it for their living.
Finally Britt thought about the two of them. He wondered what their chances were having a life together, what with Devon being tied up the way it appeared he would be. Was that what Elaine McKenzie wanted, he wondered? Did she think this would keep them apart?
Something caught Britt's attention, and he realized the service was over. People were being ushered row by row to the front of the church. The service at the cemetery was to be a private one, so the people of Porterville were going to view John McKenzie at the church, and show their respects to the family there.
Britt followed his mother to the front, and he cast his eyes down briefly upon the body of Devon's father. Then he joined his mother as she spoke to Elaine McKenzie.
"Elaine, I am so sorry for your loss," Catherine was saying.
Devon's mother smiled rather warmly at Catherine. "Thank you, Catherine, for coming today," she said, taking Catherine Williams' hand in hers.
Britt wanted to hug Devon very much, and the need was almost too great not to. However, he refrained from doing so, and instead, said, "Devon, I am so sorry. If I can do anything at all, please, let me know." He hoped his eyes said what his voice couldn't say, at least for the moment.
"Thank you, Britt, for coming today," Devon said, a break in his voice.
Elaine turned and looked Britt's way, the look in her eyes not nearly as warm as it had been a moment ago when she had spoken to his mother. She said, "Yes, thank you, Mr. Williams for coming today. I'm sure Devon appreciated it very much."
Britt took the cold outstretched hand before him, and said, rather quietly and simply, "I'm sorry."
They left the church, and Britt dropped his mother off at the center. He drove home and changed clothes. He was at a loss as to what he wanted to do. He knew he should go to the Beacon and research more files, yet for some reason his heart wasn't in it. Attending John McKenzie's service had really left him feeling down, and he didn't know why.
He backed his car out of the drive and headed down the street. He drove slowly, trying to form some type of plan of action. He came to Main Street and turned. Coming to the Court House, he suddenly pulled into a parking space. Ever since his return to Porterville he had intended on visiting the majestic and formal looking old building, yet he never thought of it until after business hours.
He walked up the steps in front of the ancient looking structure and went inside the lobby. He saw a sign above a doorway that said "Public Records" and decided to start there. He greeted the girl behind the counter with a smile.
"How's it going?"
The girl returned his smile. "May I help you?"
"I'm not sure. My name is Britt Williams," he told her.
"It's so nice to meet you," she said. "I've heard a lot about you."
"I hope it hasn't been too bad."
"On the contrary," she laughed. "Everyone I know has sung your praises to the moon." She told him her name was Penny Jordon.
"Hi, Penny, it's very nice to meet you."
He asked her if most public records were just that, public information.
She nodded. "If it has anything to do with property rights, tax information, that sort of thing, I have it all right here."
"What about cemetery plots? Do you have that info here?"
"You mean do I know who owns a particular grave site?"
Britt nodded and asked, "And do you know who is buried in a plot?"
"I can for sure tell you the owner or owners of the plot or plots. As for who is actually buried in that plot, I would have no idea. Have you checked with the Funeral Home? I think they keep records there with that sort of information."
Britt gave her a smile and thanked her. He left the building and headed for his car. He heard his name called, and he turned to discover Agnes Johnson, the town librarian, walking his way.
"Britt Williams, how have you been?" she greeted him warmly. "I heard you were in town."
Britt grinned at the lady he had known all his life. He said, "Mrs. Johnson, how are you?"
"Oh, I'm fine as ever. Britt, I am so proud of you," she said, her eyes sparkling. "I always knew, with the love you had for reading, that you would accomplish much in life."
"Well, Mrs. Johnson, I did love to read. I still do," he added.
"Difference now, though, is you're doing the writing for others to read and enjoy."
Britt could hear the pride in her voice. "Thank you for the compliment. I hope you realize that you have been a big inspiration for me over the years. Even though I probably didn't show it when I was growing up," he added.
"Oh, pshaw," she said. Then becoming serious she asked, "May I ask a huge favor of you?"
"Anything, Mrs. Johnson, anything at all," Britt smiled.
"The library has every one of your books, and I was wondering if sometime while you are in town, you would mind dropping by and autographing the copies? It would mean so much to us. To me," she added.
"That would make me very happy," he assured her.
"Could you drop by the library, say in half an hour or so?" she asked. "I have a couple of errands to run, but I should be back by then."
Britt looked at his watch and assured her he would be there.
"Thank you so much." She reached out and gave him a hug. "I'm so proud of you, Britt Williams."
Britt drove to the Beacon. He decided to check in and see how Alice was holding up. He walked inside the office, and discovered her sitting behind the desk. He gave her a smile.
"Hey, Alice, how are things going?"
"Hello, Britt," she greeted. "Did you go to John McKenzie's service?"
He told her he had.
"We closed the office for it. All of the business closed, I believe," she told him.
Britt smile. "I forgot that was Porterville's custom, to practically shut down that way."
"Well, usually when it's a business owner or a civic leader they do."
He told Alice about running into Agnes Johnson. "She has asked me to drop by the library this afternoon and sign my books."
"Wonderful," she said. She jumped up from the desk and went to call Sam.
"What is it, Alice?" Sam asked, coming to the office door. He saw Britt and said, "Hey, stranger, where have you been?"
"Just around," Britt answered with a grin.
"Sam," Alice said, "Hold up on going to press a few minutes today, can you?"
Sam looked surprised and said, "Sure, but why?"
Alice told him about the autograph session Britt was going to have over at the library. "I thought you might like a picture of that for your paper this afternoon."
"Tarnation, you're right, Alice," he said. "You go with him and take some pictures, and I'll write up an article."
"You don't need to do that," Britt said. "It's not a big deal."
"You let us decide the big deals from the little deals," Sam told him.
Sam disappeared inside the print shop room, leaving Britt and Alice alone.
"Britt, have you had a chance to look into what you and I were discussing earlier this week?"
Britt shook his head and said, "No, I haven't, Alice. I will though, I promise. There has been so damn much stuff going on, what with John McKenzie's death, that I haven't had much time for anything else."
"You think a lot of Devon McKenzie, don't you?"
Britt nodded. "Yes, I do."
It was a simple answer, and Britt knew she understood completely.
"Do you have a problem with me feeling the way I do toward him, Alice?"
"Of course not," she assured him. "Everyone has the right to love someone in the way they choose."
"You are right," he told her. "I do choose to care for and love Devon. However, sometimes there is a bit of confusion. People often make the mistake of believing that a person chooses to be a certain way. While a person may choose to love or not love someone, he does not choose to be that type of person. Do I make sense here?"
"Very much so, and I agree completely. You have no argument from me, my friend."
He gave her a warm smile. "Thank you, Alice. That means a lot to me."
They walked down the street to the building that housed the Porterville library. As they came inside, Britt took a deep breath. Some things never change, he thought. Everything was the way it always had been, even down to the same book smell he remembered from his visits as a child.
Agnes Johnson was behind the counter, along with a young girl, who Britt found out, was "helping for the summer".
Agnes smiled warmly at him and greeted them both. "I have your books over here on my desk," she told him.
"I see that," Britt grinned. "You do have them all, don't you?"
She beamed. "Yes, we do. And I can say I've read every one of them," she added.
Britt reached for the first book he had published. As he signed it, along with each and every one of the others, Alice took several shots of him, and even took a couple of Britt and Agnes together.
When Alice told her there would be a picture in that afternoon's paper, she was thrilled. "Oh my that will give us such good advertising," she beamed. "That makes me very happy. Thank you, Alice. And thank you, Britt," she said, taking his hand. "You don't have any idea how happy this has made me."
Britt reached out and hugged her. "You have made my day as well, Mrs. Johnson, just by asking me to drop by. You deserve all the thanks."
After the books were signed, Agnes took them on a quick tour of the library, proudly showing all the changes that had been made over the many years she had been in charge. Britt was surprised, because upon his arrival he had thought things looked the same as always. Porterville Library had certainly changed with the times, computers, and all, and he told her so.
"Your library will match any I have seen in the city," he praised.
Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. "You really think so?"
"I do," he told her.
Alice left him with Agnes Johnson. "I need to get these pictures over to Sam," she said.
"I'll be back shortly," Britt told her.
He visited a while longer with Agnes, and then said his goodbye and left the library. The funeral home was two blocks away, and he decided to make a stop by there. He hoped the people could provide the information he was looking for.
A short time later he walked inside another old, well established business of Porterville. He hadn't been inside the building since he had come with his mother several years ago to make arrangements for his father.
A man was sitting at the desk, and he greeted Britt with a smile. "May I help you?"
Britt returned the smile. "I hope so," he said. "I have a question for you. Do you keep records here concerning grave plots?"
"Are you asking what is available?" the man asked.
"Well, actually, do you know who is buried in each plot?"
"I see," the man said thoughtfully. "Do you have a particular plot in mind?"
"Yes, I do. I was wondering about a grave that is in the Porter family plot."
"Oh, I can answer that right off the top of my head," the man assured him. "That would be Samson Porter and his wife, Amelia. Also, Jonathan Porter and his wife Louise. They were Elaine McKenzie's great grandparents, and grandparents. Donald Porter, and wife, Marlene, are there as well. They were Elaine McKenzie's parents."
"Is that all?" Britt asked. "Is that all the graves there are in that plot?"
The man nodded. "That's it," he said. "Well, John McKenzie is there now," he added.
"What about the other grave?" Britt asked.
The man's face displayed surprise, and he asked, "What other grave? I gave you the names of everyone that is buried in that location."
"There is one other grave, I believe," Britt said. "Could you check in your records and see who it might be?"
"Young man, I think I should know who is buried and who is not," the man said sharply.
"Please look," Britt asked quietly.
The man punched something in on the computer and waited for the screen to come up. When it did, he typed in something else and sat back to wait while the page loaded. When it did, he read:
"Samson Porter, Amelia Sands Porter, Jonathan Porter, Louise Maxwell Porter, Donald Porter, Marlene Townsend Porter..." his voice trailed off. He looked at Britt, and said, "Young man, I owe you an apology. I had no idea there was another grave in this plot."
"Is there a name listed?" Britt asked, trying to conceal the excitement in his voice.
"There is a young boy buried in that plot. It says is he was two years of age, and the inscription simply reads `DDM'. How peculiar," he mused.
"That's all it says? Nothing more?" Britt asked.
The man nodded. "That's all the information I have." He looked at Britt apologetically and said, "Again, I am very sorry. I had no idea this child was buried there, nor do I have any clue how he fits into the family."
Britt didn't tell him that the grave belonged to some relative of Elaine McKenzie's. He thought it best not to say anything at all, other than, "Thank you for your time. You have been very helpful."
Britt left the funeral home and walked back to the Beacon. He had no more errands to run for the day and decided he might as well continue on with his research. Part of him wanted to stop working, for he felt he already had enough facts to create a good plot. However, the writer in him cried out for something more. What that was, Britt didn't exactly know.
He worked the rest of the afternoon, searching for anything that might shed some light on any one of the mysteries he had uncovered since coming home to Porterville. Much later, his eyes watering from staring so long at the computer screen, Britt pushed his chair away from the desk. He stretched out and leaned back in his seat, waving his arms and back forth, willing his body to relax. He was startled when his cell phone rang. He saw that it was Devon, and quickly picked up.
"Hey, Dev, what's on your mind?" he greeted.
Devon's voice sounded different as he spoke from the other end. "Britt, can you come to my office? There is something I'd like to show you."
"Your office at the plant?" Britt asked. "Devon McKenzie, why are you back at work? Isn't it a bit early?"
"Britt, I need you to come to the plant. Now, please," he said.
There was a sense of urgency in his voice, and Britt suddenly knew that something must be terribly wrong. He asked, "What's the problem, Dev?"
"Please come," Devon repeated. "I don't want to discuss this over the telephone."
"All right, I'll be there. How do I find you?"
"I'll leave word at the gate that I'm expecting you," Devon told him. "They will guide you once you're on the grounds."
"I'm on my way, Dev. I'll be there as quickly as I can."
"Please hurry."