Someday Over Yonder--7 , 8 , 9

7

May 12, 2002
Reading, Ohio

"District Four, Detective Dean here."

"Reggie, this is Julie Clemens. Can you talk?"

"How long has it been?" Reggie asked, surprised by the call.

"My high school graduation. I've been busy, but that's no excuse."

"Are you still in college?"

"I graduate this August," Julie said. "Reggie, that's not why I'm calling. I need a favor."

"Anything."

Julie gave Detective Reggie Dean the name of Elizabeth Wilder, her address, and a description of the Ford Stepside. Julie secretly waited outside the jail and followed Hank to Delhi Hills; it was obvious they were looking for the truck on the way home. She also provided everything she knew about Noah's brush with the law.

"This doesn't have anything to do with your father's case, does it?

"No. I met a man that befriended this Noah S. Wilder. I need to locate his truck and any information on the Wilder family."

"Well, young lady. What's his name?"

"Who?"

"This special man you've met."

"I didn't say he was special."

"So, he's not special."

"No." Julie flinched. "Reggie, I'm not in high school. His name is Hank Maddox. He's a nice guy who's trying to do the right thing. And I've got this hunch."

"What kind of hunch?"

"I don't know yet," Julie said, remembering to be cautious, "but the pieces of the puzzle aren't fitting."

"I think you've inherited your daddy's nose for a good mystery."

"Maybe. All right tough guy, how's your love life?"

"Confirmed bachelor."

"Makes sense. Call me the minute you find out anything. Sorry about not calling."

"Ain't nothin' but a chicken wing. I'm glad you're all right."

"You're the best, Reggie." Julie hung up the phone as her mother entered the room. Ramona Clemens wore a Cincinnati Bengal's T-shirt and an old pair of blue jeans. Her delicate features radiated a calm benevolence, in spite of her bright red hair.

"Aren't you going to work?" Julie asked, moving away from the phone.

"The bookstore can do without me a couple of days. I thought we should spend some time together. We hardly talk anymore. I can't believe you graduate this year."

"Mom, I couldn't have done it without you. You've worked so hard since Dad's been gone. As soon as I get a real job, I'll take my student loan off your hands."

"Honey, I've been happy to do it. It was always our hope that you would go to college. Let's not overlook your contribution; you've been working since you were thirteen. Your daddy would be so proud. Would you like some tea?"

"Sure." Julie smiled and moved to the bay window. The neighborhood was run down. She remembered playing cops and robbers with her dad in the small yard. It seemed much larger then. That was before a psychopathic killer destroyed the heart and soul of the Clemens family and disappeared without a trace. Ramona returned with two cups.

"This green tea has beneficial properties, good for your constitution. You look a little frail. Have you been getting enough food?"

"All the pizza I can eat," Julie said, turning and forcing a smile. "I'm fine."

"Who was on the phone?"

"Reggie Dean."

Ramona's face tightened. "I didn't hear the phone ring."

Julie answered cautiously. "I called him."

"You promised! You're not back to all that are you? Is that what you're up to?"

"Absolutely not. Reggie is helping me locate a friend's truck, that's all."

Somewhat relieved, but still apprehensive, Julie's mother sat down on the sofa. She sipped her tea, practicing the calming techniques she used to keep the past from stealing her future.

"I'm sorry," Ramona said. "You know how hard it was to get back on track; heaven knows we've been through enough therapy."

"Mom, you don't have to worry."

"Every one of those people knew and admired your father. You know as well as I do what they concluded--they all agreed. This maniac is either dead, in prison . . ."

"I know," Julie interrupted. "Or has amnesia and became a different person."

"That's Reggie Dean's speculation. This monster has been inactive for nine years. The police are positive that he would kill again if he were able. It's over, baby."

"I know," Julie said, lacking conviction. "That's all behind us. I'm just helping out some friends. I might bring them to our graduation get-together."

"Tell me about them."

"Hank Maddox is about my age, sort of an enigma. He doesn't make it easy to connect."

Ramona scooted closer to her daughter. "Sounds like someone we know."

Julie rolled her eyes and gave her mother a playful smirk. "He's very intelligent, but socially backwards. I suspect a terrible childhood. He lives in this tiny apartment with the cutest little dog."

"What does this gentleman do?"

"I don't really know much about him, yet. I do know that he befriended this older man who's been diagnosed with autism. It's complicated. They have tremendous affection for one another, but Hank may be in over his head. I'm just trying to help."

"Be careful, dear. I know your nature is to save everyone, a goal not always obtainable. Just promise to be circumspect . . .and stay abreast of your studies. Have you decided on graduate school?"

Julie answered defensively, "not yet" and then returned to the window. "I have plenty of time," she said, softening her voice. "Let's work in the yard this afternoon? What do ya say?"

"I have neglected the lawn."

"We could plant some marigolds, like Dad use to do."

"Your father always waited until after Mother's Day. One day early couldn't hurt."

"Naw," Julie said, giving her mother a hug. "I think the bad weather is all behind us."

Even though Ramona hadn't always agreed with her daughter's choices, she knew that Julie was highly capable and took responsibility for her actions. Ramona suppressed her concerns and the afternoon proceeded without incident.

An emergency at the bookstore took Ramona away the next day, and Julie had a brainstorm. She decided to check the impound lot for the Stepside. It was there. The truck had been illegally parked in Over the Rhine the day of Noah's arrest. The short inquiry also revealed that only the registered owner could pick up the vehicle. Julie almost dropped in on Hank, but chose to respect his wishes. She headed for I-75, deciding to try the bookstore.

Julie hoped Noah's problems would work themselves out, but she had to admit the court's diagnosis troubled her. Julie interned with a psychiatrist that specialized exclusively in amnesia cases. Maybe I'm reaching, Julie thought, as she turned on the Galbraith Street exit. I could be wrong; the professionals have diagnosed him. Even if I'm right, it doesn't mean the big lug murdered my dad. It was hard for Julie to imagine Noah being a psychopathic killer, even though she knew it was possible.

Her father's partner, Reggie Dean, was famous for intuitive hunches. He theorized that the killer had developed amnesia. Despite the lack of DNA evidence, or an eyewitness to the crime, Reggie Dean had followed up on every cop killing in America. Ten previous murders using the same modus operandi had been documented. The heinous method was never used again after the murder of Martin Clemens. The only lead Reggie had to go on was a statement of a homeless woman, who saw a huge, white man with scars on his face in the vicinity of the crime that evening. The mystery man was never located.

Much to his wife's chagrin, Martin Clemens hoped Julie would become a detective and left her his prized journal. It included critiques of the police officers he worked with, case studies, and his personal methods and techniques for crime investigation. Julie studied the journal like a bible. One entry was of special interest to Julie Clemens: REGGIE DEAN HAS THE BEST NATURAL INSTINCTS OF ANY DETECTIVE I'VE EVER SEEN. HIS GUT REACTIONS ARE ALMOST PSYCHIC.

Noah fit the description in every way.

Julie felt her ulcer acting up. She desperately wanted justice for her father, but the unsettling possibility of Noah's involvement complicated the matter. It was a long shot the mystery man was actually connected to her father's case. The homeless woman merely saw him walking down the street, minding his own business. That was all Julie had to go on--that, and the instincts of Reggie Dean. Julie turned on Reading Road, remembering the visits her father made to the bookstore during summer vacations. She lived to hear the gritty cases he was working on; stocking bookshelves paled in comparison.

Julie pulled her Cavalier (she called it her bucket of bolts) into the plaza-center lot, right in front of the Clemens Family Bookstore. An uneasy sensation overcame her. A year had passed since her last attempt to enter the store. Julie's obsession to find her father's killer had nearly ruined her chances for college, setting her back three years. More importantly, it almost destroyed her relationship with her mother. Julie maneuvered out of the parking lot, hoping the feeling would pass. She also hoped Reggie Dean would find something to negate her suspicions, or at the very least not enhance them. Minutes after arriving at her mother's house, and opening a bottle of water, the phone rang.

"Julie Clemens here."

"Hey, baby sister."

"Reggie. I got the plate number on the Stepside. Found the truck at the impound lot on Spring Grove."

"Me too, Nancy Drew. Check this out. It's registered to an Elizabeth Wilder, and before that to her husband, Lennox Wilder. The guy was a rabbi. Here's where it gets interesting. You ready? Noah Wilder doesn't exist. Can't find him anywhere. Zip. Zilch. Nothing. Your Rain Man definitely isn't related to the Wilders."

Julie took a large gulp of water. "Say that again."

"Doesn't exist--your Noah told a caseworker that his name was Herbert Hoover. They don't even know this guy goes by the name of Wilder."

"You're telling me that Mrs. Wilder never had a son."

"Oh yeah. Jay Wilder would've been about Noah's age, if he were alive. He died in an automobile accident with his father. What's going on?"

"I'm not sure," Julie said, momentarily at a loss, "but I would appreciate it if you kept this under your hat. Hank Maddox loves this guy. I need some time to sort through it."

"I'm still running down a few leads," the detective said. "Listen, you'll have to promise to be careful and let me know if you need help."

"You got it."

"And you're sure you're not looking at this guy to be your dad's ‘perp'?"

"Reggie, I'll stop in to see you as soon as I get a handle on it."

"I don't wanna cause your mother any more grief."

"That was a lifetime ago; you weren't to blame. Everything's under control."

That wasn't the truth, but she couldn't worry about her mother now. Julie was overcome with uncertainty. This wasn't the news she hoped for. That evening, Ramona discussed plans for a mother-daughter shopping trip. Julie begged off, explaining she had business that couldn't wait. Ramona had suspicions that Julie was up to something, but wanted to spend time with her daughter. That meant avoiding a confrontation.

8

Julie Clemens didn't sleep well that night, because of her reservations about not "coming clean" with Reggie Dean. Although there wasn't any evidence that linked Noah to her father's death, all indications pointed to a likely hypothesis: Noah would have to get well before he could provide any useful information, if indeed he had amnesia. On the other hand, Elizabeth Wilder presented a more promising target. It was obvious that something wasn't kosher at the tidy two-story in Delhi Hills, which meant Hank's problems were more complicated than he realized. Julie hoped to be instrumental in its solution, either way. The pressing question in Julie's mind was whether to take Hank into her confidence. He has a right to know, Julie reasoned, starting up her bucket of bolts. But that could be extremely risky. She didn't know what her exact plan was, but knew timing was essential. Her father's golden rule of investigation would now come into play: ONLY DIVULGE WHAT IS NECESSARY.

Julie planned to take the expressway to Hank's (estimating it would take fifteen minutes to get to Clifton) and then changed her mind and took Reading Road. It would take longer, but she wanted the feel of the city running through her veins. She wanted to be on the top of her game when she talked to Hank.

After graduating from the police academy, her father's first job was in the City of Reading, north of Cincinnati, "walking the beat". Julie remembered the stories of his tireless efforts to help those in need, and how grand he looked in his blue uniform and shiny badge. Each block of storefronts, houses, and sidewalks brought back memories. He had repeatedly told Julie that everyone and everything was connected, to never, ever overlook the obvious.

Julie found a parking spot on Ludlow Avenue, in front of a coffee shop. She figured a cup of hot java was just what she needed. Hank's apartment was a couple of streets over. Hank didn't work on Saturday, but if he wasn't home it would provide the perfect opportunity for her to talk to Noah.

"Coffee, black."

"Coming right up," the waitress said, hurriedly, focused on a huge man coming in the door. It occurred to Julie that the city was filled with oversized people. This particular one had a full beard, which could easily hide facial scars. The waitress set Julie's coffee down. "Enjoy," she said, on her way to the big man's table.

"Thanks," Julie got out, too late for the young woman to hear. The rude man was short with the waitress, barking his order in a foul manner. Noah is nothing like this guy, Julie thought, noticing how well the waitress handled the situation. She stayed calm, confident, and maintained her dignity. Julie hoped to do equally as well with Hank. She pulled out her phone and dialed the Efficiency. No answer. She drank another coffee and called three times before deciding to leave Hank a note. She detailed the information concerning the truck and her desire to evaluate Noah, but nothing about Elizabeth Wilder not being Noah's mother. Julie rationalized: I haven't lied yet. I've been selective. She wondered if withholding the truth would prevent their friendship from coming to fruition. Julie knew that her personal desires had to be set aside if she were to have any chance of getting to the bottom-of-things, even if it meant jeopardizing Hank's friendship. She remembered the inscription on the cover of her father's journal: JUSTICE CAN BE A LONELY BUSINESS.

Julie discerned a unique integrity about Hank Maddox, an inner strength she found inspiring, and attractive. The majority of her peers wouldn't have given Noah the time of day. Only recently, Julie witnessed a classmate berate an elderly, homeless woman for selling pencils on campus. Society's increasing apathy, especially for those less fortunate, troubled Julie for some time. She left a five-dollar tip and glanced at the huge, bearded man on her way out. For an instant, his bitter eyes caught hers. The possibility of Noah being a serial killer loomed over her consciousness, like the storm clouds threatening the Queen City that morning.

On the Westside, in the tidy two-story, Elizabeth Wilder rummaged through a shoebox. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her tiny hands fondled a photograph of her son, Jay, playing with a yellow kitten at his first birthday party. The Wilders were animal lovers, illimitable to a fault. Not long after the picture was taken, her husband, Lennox, swerved to miss a dog and caused a multiple-car accident. Jay died instantly. Lennox survived three days, long enough to take responsibility for his actions and ask God's forgiveness. Elizabeth never blamed her husband, or lost faith in God, but the painful, overwhelming grief slowly gnawed at her sanity. It had been raining that morning, too.

Years later, as her fear of the outdoors intensified, a homeless man named John Silver showed up looking for work. Elizabeth gave him the job maintaining the lawn. She religiously watched from the window as he went about his chores. He always left the grounds in immaculate condition, and there was tenderness in his mannerism. His child-like nature touched Elizabeth. She imagined that her son might have grown up similar and began leaving meals on the back porch for Silver. Although they never talked at any length, Elizabeth extended her kindness by giving him a key to the workshop. Her late husband had built a small apartment, in the rear of the building, primarily so he wouldn't disturb her in the evenings. Lennox Wilder meticulously maintained a '72 Ford Stepside. He would polish on it into the wee hours of the morning.

One hot afternoon, a rabid Pit Bull leaped over Elizabeth's chain-link fence and attacked her cocker spaniel, jerking it from side to side in its powerful jaws. Elizabeth practically went berserk. She called 911 and sprang back to the window in horror. To her surprise, John Silvers freed the cocker and was wresting with its crazed attacker. Suddenly, with a piercing yelp, it was over. He snapped the dog's neck. They were both covered in blood when the police arrived. Silver's left thigh lay open from hip to knee; the surgery lasted three and a half hours. Strangely, and without explanation, Elizabeth Wilder removed the phone that very week.

When John Silver was released from the hospital, Elizabeth moved him into a spare bedroom where she could tend his wounds and repay him for his courage. He slowly recovered from the Pit Bull's fury, which left him with a slight limp and the constant companionship of Elizabeth Wilder. Only then did it become clear to her that he had no recollection of his past. The symbiotic relationship revolved around Elizabeth's increasing phobias and delusions; she fondly called him Noah S. Wilder. They developed a mother, son relationship. Over time, they both came to believe the memories that she contrived to mend her grieving heart and explain his many questions.

Elizabeth's condition deteriorated; her savings quickly dwindled, resulting in the foreclosure of the Wilders' Amberley Village home. Elizabeth and Noah moved to Delhi Hills, where her fixed income would cover the rent and expenses. She was forced to give up her spaniel, Ruby, and three cats. Noah cried for days; he and Ruby had been constant companions since the attack.

Noah took on odd jobs, occasionally, and worked at an auto salvage removing parts off wrecked cars. He got paid in cash and everything went fine for several months, until a lanky man of questionable character caused trouble. Noah successfully ignored the man's harassment, for a while. Elizabeth's repeated lessons--explaining how to react in these situations--served Noah well.

"Fellas, I bet this big oaf had to ride the short bus to school," the narrow-faced man said, who had worked ten years at the salvage yard and failed to learn anything more than installing mufflers. Noah didn't understand the joke and displayed a blank expression. The insipid character made the mistake of grabbing Noah's shoulder. Noah tossed the man against a drill press, knocking him unconscious, and then made havoc of several automotive bins before running off the property screaming. The owner of the salvage yard, who had a soft spot for Noah, witnessed the altercation and informed Elizabeth Wilder what happened. He agreed not to press charges if Noah stayed away, and strongly recommended Noah see a health professional.

When Noah returned home, two days later, Elizabeth searched for an explanation. It didn't take long for her to ascertain that he had no recollection of the event. Doctors were out of the question. She erroneously believed a drug interaction contributed to the death of her husband. As time passed, multiple phobias moved Elizabeth closer to a mental breakdown. This particular morning, she desperately struggled to balance the delusions that gripped her thoughts.

Elizabeth kissed the photo and returned the shoebox to the closet. In her mind, she had two sons. Jay, the little boy that was taken from her, and Noah, the man with the little boy inside of him, who showed up and gave her a reason to live. It had been nearly a week since Noah brought Hank to the house. She couldn't understand why Noah hadn't returned. Maybe it's just a problem with the truck, she thought, and then sobbed uncontrollably.

Three days earlier a tall, attractive, black man, wearing an expensive suit, showed up at her door. She never answered, of course, and he parked across the street the remainder of the day and a good portion of the next. He reminded Elizabeth of the detectives who investigated her husband's accident. This was how she always assumed it would happen. Men in dark suits would take Noah away. Elizabeth was painfully aware of how easily her son's feelings could be hurt, and how vulnerable he would be without her.

She put on sunglasses and peeked out the window. It had been ten years ago, but she saw it like it was yesterday. Noah ran over a nest of baby rabbits while mowing the lawn. There were so many they intermittingly slowed the mower blade. The blood-curdling sounds sent Noah into a panic. By the time he stopped the engine the damage was done. He fondled the mutilated fur balls in his lap, screaming, "Make it stop, make it stop!" Elizabeth mustered the will to force herself outside to aid her son. She sang lullaby's to calm him down.

Elizabeth Wilder blinked her eyes and the scene disappeared. In a moment of clarity, she pulled herself together, reversed the deadbolt and slowly opened the door. Raindrops splashed at her feet, like thunderbolts from on high. Noah must be warned! With one rush of momentum, she leaped outside. The world began to spin. Two steps later, she was gasping for breath, hyperventilating, and crawling back inside the house, trembling. The truth gripped her, like the air she imagined was too thick to breathe. There was nothing to do, except pray the dark suits would never find her son.

Across town, in the pouring rain, Julie Clemens struggled to stay focused on the road. Those bitter eyes in the coffee shop haunted her. She considered going back and following the bearded man. You're getting jumpy, she thought. It's just your imagination. Reggie Dean is the person you need to see. Julie hoped to catch Reggie before he left the station. District Four's jurisdiction covered some of Cincinnati's roughest neighborhoods, including Avondale, where her father was murdered. The station was in the four-hundred-block of Reading Road, only a short drive from Hank's place.

The Desk Sergeant recognized Julie at once. He remembered the little girl's courage after her father's murder.

"If this don't beat all," the sergeant said, tugging at his belt. His smile was comforting. "You're as pretty as I remember, pretty as springtime."

"Right back at ya, Virgil. How ya been?"

"Besides the wife trying to starve me--can't complain. How about you?"

"I get my degree this August."

"Ya hear that guys. This is Julie Clemens, Martin's daughter."

After several minutes of friendly nods, smiles, and handshakes, Julie made her way to the detective's room and found Reggie Dean working at his computer.

"Saddled to a desk isn't how I envisioned my big, brave knight in shining armor."

"It's a miracle a pretty woman like you made it by those old coots," said Detective Dean, standing up and giving Julie a hug. He looked like a younger version of Sidney Poitier. "It's great to see ya, Julie. How's my favorite amateur investigator?"

"I'm in a holding pattern, "she said, pulling up a chair. "You were running down some leads. How are you doing?"

Dean's expression turned serious. "Have you been to see Elizabeth Wilder?"

"It's my next move."

"She wouldn't answer the door for me," Reggie said. "I staked out the place for two days."

Julie's upper lip curled between her teeth. "Hank says she has a litany of serious phobias."

"Little sister, this is turning out better than a made for TV movie. What type of relationship do you have with this Hank Maddox?"

"Spill it, Reggie. What did you find out?"

"Did you know your friend's an orphan?"

Julie flipped her hair. "I knew there was something."

"It gets worse. His father, James Maddox, was killed in Vietnam before Hank was born. The mother lost it and had to be committed. Hank was born in a mental asylum."

"And his mother?"

"She died shortly after."

Julie's earlier assumptions hadn't included this much tragedy. She could only imagine Hank's emptiness. At least she had the good fortune to have known her father. Julie zoned out, inadvertently ignoring the detective.

"Julie, you all right?"

"Yeah, just peachy," she responded. "Hank and I aren't that close. We haven't traded our life stories yet . . . so, have you found out anything more about Noah?"

Reggie Dean ripped off an incoming fax. "Yeah. He looks like a big man with scars on his face. Unbelievable! When were you going to tell me?"

"Look, Reggie. You think I don't want the man that killed my father. Noah has a tender soul. He definitely has a problem; I just don't know what it is yet. I'm gaining Hank's confidence. He's agreed to let me evaluate Noah. I'm almost in."

"Evaluate?"

"I've been studying amnesia my whole life--well, ever since you had your famous hunch. I know what I'm doing."

The detective paced back and forth. Even though he was upset, Reggie felt proud that Julie attributed so much importance to his hunch. "Then you know how dangerous this is."

"Reggie, the mystery man probably isn't our perpetrator--you know that. Anyway, you got nothing on Noah. Give me a shot. If I suspect something not kosher, you can come running like gangbusters." Julie stood and looked the detective in the eyes. "You don't have to worry. If this guy killed my father, I'll get him."

Reggie Dean touched Julie's shoulders. "Little sister," he said, in a tone that left no doubt of his intentions, "if this character killed my partner, he's breathing borrowed air."

**********************************

9

Cincinnatians have a saying: if you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes. When Noah and I left that morning the sun was shining. By the time we completed our shopping and returned home, the windshield wipers were barely accomplishing their mission on high speed. I found Julie's note stuffed under the door; coffee stains confirmed its point of origin. The unspoken urgency between the lines left me with the strong impression that locating the truck wasn't her only discovery.

I confirmed that only the registered owner could remove a vehicle from impound, leaving me little option. Elizabeth Wilder expected her son, and the truck, home by now. She must have been overwhelmed with anticipation. My next course of action gave me pause--I had to go see Elizabeth. To make matters worse, we were expecting Noah's caseworker to drop in at any moment. On a positive note, Noah had made the transition to the Efficiency without incident. I gave him, and consequently Hobo, my room. It provided space for them to play, especially when they got too rambunctious. Our shopping trip was a success, finding most of the items needed within my budget. The daybed worked out fine for me. As a precaution, I hooked up an answering machine. I didn't want to miss any calls from the court.

The next morning Noah offered no resistance to canceling our Sunday picnic. Although apprehensive, he understood why I needed to go alone.

"You tell Momma I miss her. You tell her, Hank."

"I will. I'm going to do my best to find a remedy for your mother. You're in charge until I get back."

"Hobo and me will take care of everything."

"Remember, your case worker is the only person you should let in."

"I should let you in, right Hank?" Noah's laughter had a hollow ring instead of its usual brightness.

"You and Hobo can decide where to put the new shelf. That should be fun. I won't be long. Lock the door behind me."

"Hank, Momma may need you to go to the store. She likes generic brands-- that's all. Generic brands. Tell her I'm sorry about everything."

My limited options, compounded with everything I needed to accomplish, monopolized my thoughts on the way out of town. I hoped to make a positive connection with Elizabeth Wilder, address the truck business, and then press the issue of Noah's health. My chief concern was how she would react to how I handled Noah's probation. The trip seemed to take half the time as it did before.

I pulled in the driveway, hoping the lawn's continued neglect wasn't a foretaste of things to come. As soon as I entered the sitting room, Noah's mother asked about her son.

"He stayed at home," I explained, noticing her demeanor seemed altered from my last visit, less ridged would be the best way to describe it. "We have a problem with the truck," I continued, "it's been impounded. Noah illegally parked it during one of his episodes.

"Is Noah all right?"

"Yes. He's fine and misses you very much. Mrs. Wilder, let me get right to the point. Only the registered owner can pick up the vehicle. With your inability to leave the house, one option would be to give me power of attorney so I could retrieve the truck."

Although her countenance was less severe, I noticed her hands trembling.

"You are a resourceful man, Mr. Maddox. The truck is the least of our problems. Do you really care for my son?"

"I only want what's best for him.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Mrs. Wilder, I'm an orphan. I never knew my parents, but I'm more than willing to help you, if you'll let me. I could be your family."

Her penetrating eyes searched mine.

"Mr. Maddox, we are in a precarious situation. A detective has been watching the house. He's waiting to take Noah away. And before you think it, this is not one of my phobias."

"Why would he do that?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know what Noah's done or why they're after him." She set her cup down and raised her head, stiffly, as if posturing herself for the worst. "I'm not his biological mother!" she blurted out. Elizabeth proceeded to divulge all that transpired since Noah appeared on her doorstep those many years ago. Her words rang true and were filled with compassionate stories of her efforts to care for Noah. In between her sorrowful outbursts, she chronicled the events in detail. I regretted ever thinking that she abused Noah. She loved him as her own son.

Elizabeth left the room and returned with a shoebox. She retrieved a military dog tag. "I have no idea who John Silver is," she said, placing it in my hand. "I've done a terrible thing. I'm not sure what to do, now. When he finds out I lied to him, he'll hate me."

"Don't fret," I said, searching for the right words. "Noah has a gift for seeing into a person's heart. He loves you, Mrs. Wilder."

"Please, protect my son. Do what's best for him. It's too dangerous for him to return."

This resolved my biggest obstacle, so I detailed Noah's brush with the law and one-year probation. Elizabeth Wilder calmly accepted the situation. She smiled when I told her that Noah kept her identity a secret from the court. Although I questioned her extensively, she was unable to shed anything significant on Noah's medical condition, other than two months earlier his headaches became more frequent and progressively severe, and that he vomited on occasion.

As far as her suspicions were concerned, it seemed unlikely that detectives were watching the house. Noah was on probation; the authorities knew where he was. No. If someone was watching the house, it seemed only logical they were from Noah's past. I went to the grocery for Mrs. Wilder, and before I left, she made me promise to keep Noah safe from those who were out to get him.

I peered in the rearview mirror all the way home. Not one mysterious character on my trail. I did believe her story, but whom she saw and what their purpose was eluded me. Her confession convinced me of two things: she loved Noah, and the man watching the house wasn't a hallucination. Her lack of concern over the impounded truck strengthened this conclusion. In my estimation, the dark-suited observer couldn't be taken lightly. If this person's intentions were to help Noah, he could easily make his purpose known. No. The situation indeed felt ominous, but I wasn't going home empty-handed. I was in possession of Noah's real name. A sober realization hit me: the obligation to do what Elizabeth Wilder should have done years ago now belonged to me. The trip back seemed shorter than usual.

I was bombarded immediately. "Is Momma all right? What did she say? Is she mad because I didn't come home? Hank, what did Momma say?"

"Hold on. Give me a minute." Noah towered above me.

"One minute ain't very long, Hank. Is everything all right?"

"Your mother loves you. She told me it was fine for you to stay here."

"Did you tell her about me getting in trouble?"

"Yes. She's not mad. She knows it's necessary for you to stay here, but she is concerned about you not being able to remember things."

"Is Momma getting afraid of more things?"

"I think so. She's afraid that if you start remembering, you may be upset with her."

"Why would she say that? Hank, we should go see her."

"We will," I said, still undecided how to handle the situation. "Right now, she wants me to do what's best for you. Do you trust me?" Noah's smile was his answer. "We'll work it all out," I said. "I have a neat storybook for us to begin tonight. You and Hobo will love it. It's about sailors and a pirate named Long John Silver." The name brought no response.

After several bedtime readings, it became apparent the name meant nothing to Noah. All my attempts to invoke Noah's memories failed, although he was enthralled with the great adventure of Treasure Island.

ID: 1375795   (Rated: 13+) Someday Over Yonder--10 ,11, 12  Disaster for Noah and our shaggy mutt. The drama intensifies as our story heads for home. by Coolhand