Bastard Son of Nelson Creed part 4

A semi-conscious Farrell Creed lay on a bar floor. From his point of view, blurred figures peered down at him but he was in no position to move or make any noise as his head was still spinning and his body was now numb.

“Shit, is he waking up?”

Creed wasn’t sure but he thought he heard Gus respond, “A little bit but the drugs should hold him as long as we need.”

“Is this gonna work?”

“It already has, you know that.”

“I know but…”

“Help me put this on.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Something was lowered over Creed’s face, which limited his vision even more. He began to breath and the sound echoed back into his ears. The muffled voices became more distant and then he passed out once more.

Years Earlier…

When Farrell Creed was 12, he was jumped by two high school freshmen. They pushed him against the playground’s chainlink fence and began raining down blows before he could react. “Bastard son of Nelson Creed,” the children gathered began to chant a few seconds into the beating. He fell to the pavement and received a kick to the ribs which slammed him against the fence again. “Bastard son of Nelson Creed,” they continued. The lead high schooler was named Johnny, his friend was Bobby; the reason why they were beating him was due to an altercation Farrell had with Johnny’s younger brother, Stevey. Earlier in the week, Stevey had the idea to confront Farrell about the rumors of his father. Farrell was quiet, had no friends and had a stigmatized family so Stevey thought he would be an easy target for bullying despite his massive size. When that confrontation did not go as planned, Stevey gathered a few of his friends to get revenge but they were beaten all the same. After his second humiliation, Stevey felt justified in getting his older brother and his friend to retaliate.

“Bastard son of Nelson Creed!,” the children chanted. Johnny stomped on Farrell’s back which forced him into the pavement, giving him scrapes along the chin and palms. He was allowed to sit up on his knees with his arms wrapped around his stomach but no further. “You just stay on the ground,” Johnny told him, “If you get back up, we’ll beat your ass harder. You wait for us to leave, then you’re allowed to stand up.” Farrell grit his teeth, planted his foot and, with speed that contradicted his size, stood up and took a swing. Johnny wasn’t the target, however. It was his friend Bobby.

The sound of the punch made the gathered mob stop chanting as it could be heard across the playground. Bobby clutched his nose and a second later, a fountain of blood escaped. “Aw shit! Shit!,” Bobby backed away and tried his best to stop the bleeding. Johnny was distracted for a second and checked on his friend which Creed counted on; he took the opportunity to grab his crotch and squeeze his testicles as tightly as possible. Johnny shrieked and tried to pull Creed’s hand away but his grip was steely and furious. “Let go, dickwad,” Johnny shouted and punched Creed in the face, which elicited an insane smile. “Get `im off me,” Johnny shouted as he hit him again. Bobby and Stevey both grabbed Creed and tried to pull him away but were stymied by a stubbornness that could only come from pure rage. Creed took another punch and an insane laugh erupted from his bloody lips. Winning the fight wasn’t important. He wanted to inflict pain. The children that had gathered quickly began sprinting in different directions either out of fear or to get an adult’s help. Johnny, meanwhile sank to his knees and sobbed loudly. Finally, the two boys were separated and Johnny began vomiting on the asphalt. He never had children.

1979…

The strange scuba suit was found in the late 20th century once the Mason Mining Corporation went bankrupt and the mines were closed. The strange doorway deep in the mine with a locked door was the subject of much speculation for several years, especially since it was known that Heinrich Mason built that small compartment. Of course, after being institutionalized, the door became company property and the new management opted to ignore it altogether to distance themselves from “Madman Mason”. The compartment was tucked away in a remote shaft that had already been mined, so no one bothered it for several decades. With the company going under and management concerned with other matters, some workers took a hammer to the lock to finally see what he put inside

Gus Davidson retrieved the diving suit from the mining offices days later, thankful that the managers didn’t ask for money. “The mayor heard you were taking this thing over to Winghaven,” one manager explained, “He asked that you go see him over in City Hall. Said he had a proposition for ya.” Seeing a potential business opportunity, Gus agreed to go further into town and visit City Hall. Once there, the mayor and a small crowd had gathered which excited Gus as he viewed them as future ticket-buyers. The scuba suit lay flat on a table while Gus inspected the strange marked stones running along the limbs.

“These runes are Anglo-Saxon,” Gus explained to the small group gathered, “We’re talk’n ancient Europe. Some people used them for magic and Mason was really into that business.”

“What about the dial in the back?,” the Mayor asked as he indicated an interlocking series of discs attached to the back of the suit which contained star charts and Roman numerals.

“From what I read in Mason’s journal it’s a chronometer,” this got curious looks from the townspeople so he elaborated, “It’s like a really weird timer.”

“You’re sure this thing was built by Heinrich Mason, right?,” the Mayor asked.

“He wrote about something like this and it was in his old mine, so it looks to be the case. I uh,… I think this thing was supposed to let him go back and forth in the past and future.”

“So it’s a time machine?,” someone asked.

“Meant to be… I think.”

“You mind if we keep it here for ya?,” the Mayor became sheepish “We don’t get much excitement around here and people are always talk’n about the weird goings-on in Winghaven. It’d be nice if we got some visitors. Especially with the mine closing, we kinda need some business.”

“If we got visitors, Nelson Creed would just scare them away,” a bystander scoffed.

Gus shrugged, “I guess there ain’t much harm in studying this thing here. We can get some pictures for the papers and drum up business for the both of us.”

“Sounds like a deal, Mr. Davidson” the Mayor gladly shook his hand.

****

That night, Dale McGregor patrolled his property, shotgun in hand. A female cow had been stolen from his field weeks prior and he suspected Nelson Creed but had no evidence. Nelson had been a suspect in cattle thefts in the area and it was believed he sold them to farmers across the state, usually with the help of partners from Winghaven. As Widow Springs was too small for a police force, Winghaven police were usually called to investigate but they would often show up the next day, explain there was no evidence to go off of, then leave. As Dale still had a bull, he remained vigilant and knew that if he wanted to keep his cattle, he would have to have a more hands-on approach.

As anticipated, he saw a trailer hitched to a truck in the meadow at around midnight. Dale approached with a flashlight and saw Nelson with a rope tied around the bull, leading him into the back of the trailer along with an unidentified man. “Nelson, that you?,” Dale called out. Nelson turned briefly and indicated that his partner continue loading the bull into the trailer before walking toward Dale.

“That’s far enough,” Dale laid his flashlight on the grass and raised his rifle.

“What’re you gonna do with that?,” Nelson indicated the rifle but otherwise stopped moving.

“Get my bull out of that trailer and you won’t have to worry `bout it.”

“Are ya sure ya wanna do this?”

“When it comes to the livelihood of my family, yer damn straight,” he indicated something past Nelson’s shoulder, “I see your shotgun is in the back of your truck so there ain’t much you can do now.”

“You forgot about one thing…,” Nelson slipped something out of his coat, then a quick flare and thunderclap followed. The bullet tore through Dale’s shoulder, forcing him to drop his rifle before he fell to the grass. Nelson approached and once he got close, he stood over him while displaying a revolver in his hand, “You forgot I always have a six-shooter as back up,” he put the gun back in his coat and marched back to his truck, “Better watch your mouth next time ya see me.”

An officer from Winghaven arrived at Nelson’s residence the next day. Nelson looked out his window when he noticed the squad car outside and sent Mary out to speak to him. This was far from the first time and he made sure she always knew the script when Winghaven police came. She never asked questions.

“Can I help you?,” she poked her head out of the front door.

“Is your father home?,” the officer asked.

“I live with my husband.”

The officer looked her up and down with disturbed curiosity before continuing, “Is… he Nelson Creed?”

“Yes, but he’s out right now.”

“I need to ask him a few questions. Someone stole a bull from a farmer nearby and shot him in the shoulder. The farmer identified Mr Creed.”

“He’s been on a camping trip since Friday. I’ll tell `im when he comes back, though. Thanks, officer.”

The officer took one last look at the house, then seemed to give a concerned look in Mary’s direction before leaving the property. Once he was out of sight, Nelson left through the back door where his truck was parked (he always parked in the back for this reason) and as usual, Mary didn’t ask where he was going because she knew not to.

Half an hour later, Nelson was in Winghaven, visiting his lawyer. “They giv’n ya trouble over there in Widow Springs?,” Buford Wallace spoke in a thick drawl, his round belly touching the edge of his desk regardless of how far away he sat from it.

“A little more trouble than usual,” Nelson confided, “I had to shoot a fella last night. Y’know… self-defense or what-have-you.”

“Is he dead?”

“Nah, I just winged `im in the shoulder but he knew it was me. He said my name but I didn’t answer to noth’n.”

“Good, good. You been camping recently?”

“That’s what Mary told the cop this afternoon.”

“Hell, in that case, I can find some of your buddies here in Winghaven. They’ll be sure to testify `bout where you been.”

“Works for me,” a wad of cash was dropped on the lawyer’s desk, then Nelson left the office and climbed in his truck. Wallace happily counted the money and shoved it in his drawer.

That night, Dale and his family sat around the dinner table; Dale’s wife Katey was pregnant and they had one son named Caleb. Despite Dale’s arm now being in a sling after the excitement of the previous night, they ate peacefully until they heard a gunshot from the fields. “Dale?,” Katey nervously looked at her husband, then her son. Dale raised a reassuring hand without speaking, got up, and looked out the window. In the darkness, he could see the faint glow of a lighter. Nelson calmly lit his cigarette while leaning against his truck with a shotgun tucked under his arm. Nelson made sure to make eye contact with Dale before quietly placing the rifle in the bed of his truck and driving away.

Continued…