Creed was in trouble again and this time, he had gotten himself arrested. His science teacher had made comments about his father in class after Creed had gotten a bit too antagonistic. “You’re gonna end up just like your dad,” Mr. Wilkins snarled during his tirade. Farrell could ignore that but when his mother was brought up, he lost control and beat the man in the middle of the classroom, giving him multiple injuries. Now, he was in an interrogation room at the police station, wearing handcuffs and waiting for his mother to show up. When the police asked questions, his response was usually, “Suck it”, or something worse, so they no longer felt the need to be in the room any more than they had to be. Mary came in and smiled sweetly at him, masking her fear that her son would likely be going to juvenile detention or possibly prison. “This one was pretty bad, huh?,” she asked as she sat in the chair next to him. He shrugged but said nothing. She placed an arm around his broad shoulders and said in a reassuring voice, “Remember what I told you, never let anyone tell you who you are”. Creed rested his head on his mother’s shoulder and it was then he allowed himself to be vulnerable enough to cry.

Years Earlier…

Creed was in trouble again but this time, he had gotten himself arrested. After the incident at Dale McGregor’s farm, an officer found Nelson Creed at Town Tavern, then brought him to the station in Winghaven. Mary was allowed to drive the truck and meet them there. After he was booked, she was brought inside the interrogation room where she saw him seated at a table in handcuffs. When questioned, he kept telling the police “Kiss my ass and get my lawyer,” which they did and saw no further need to deal with him. Mary pulled up a chair and smiled, masking her fear that her husband might go to prison. She placed her hand on Nelson’s shoulder but he pulled away angrily and snarled, “Lawyer’s taken care of everything.” Indeed, he had; he posted bail and Nelson was released with his court date set a month later. While he expected to be arrested eventually, it still set him off as retaliation was something he could not abide.

Days later, Gus was studying the journal of Heinrich Mason which he picked up from his collection in Winghaven. On the table before him, the strange diving suit was spread out along with a map of the area with red lines drawn through it. Charlie and Miriam entered City Hall where he was studying and took a curious look over his shoulder.

“Find something, Gus?,” Charlie asked.

“Mason was obsessed with time,” he explained, “You probably know this already but he thought something was sleeping underground and that he woke it up,” he began thumbing through the journal, “The man was nuts in his later years but from what I can gleam, he built something called the Time Jacket,” he indicated the diving suit, “He thought the monster would wake up again after he was gone so he wanted to travel to the future to fight it,” he pointed to the red lines across the map, “Do you know what these are?”

“Sure don’t.”

“Ley Lines. Iseda folks believed certain pathways criss-crossed all over the world which can be used to travel from one place to the next, so someone could walk from Vegas to Winghaven in a few minutes if they knew how to use these things,” he pointed to the Runes along the sleeves of the suit, “Now, about these Runes, Mason thought they accessed magic power, including…,” Gus pressed a finger on the journal and read aloud, “… manipulating the fundamental tenants of the universe.”

“What’s that mean?,” Miriam brushed her hair behind her ear.

“Basically, the Ley Lines are used to travel through space, right? But the Runes can manipulate the Ley Lines so a person can travel through time instead,” he said finally, “The chronometer on the back is basically the controls. Set the time, walk along the right path and … Boom! You got yourself a time machine.”

Charlie took off his cap and scratched his forehead, “Mason was a real crack-pot, huh?”

“Maybe,” the Gus peered into the helmet’s visor.

The next day was Sunday and most of the residents of Widow Springs were in the local Episcopalian church. The pastor was conducting a sermon on salvation when the double doors at the back of the sanctuary burst open. They all turned in their pews and stared in horror as Nelson Creed made his way down the aisle, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and his revolver in the other. He sauntered toward the pulpit, a harbinger of violence and hatred. “Don’t mean to interrupt,” he slurred, “Just gotta get someth’n off my chest,” he spun around and since one hand was holding a gun, the congregation gasped and ducked with many parents guarding their children, “Don’t mind me!”

“Nelson Creed, you put that pistol away before someone gets hurt,” the pastor shouted from the pulpit.

“What’s th’ matter? Don’t I deserve to be here?,” Nelson bent a knee in a mockery of humility, “Don’t this place take sinners? Don’t you have something to say about forgiveness?”

“We are all sinners and fall short of the glory of God,” the pastor explained as he raised a Bible, “Forgiveness is for those who seek it.”

“I don’t seek noth’n but answers and I’m not gonna get any from read’n your book,” he stood and turned back to the congregation with his arms spread wide, almost mirroring the large wooden cross hanging above him, “I just wanna know if there’s a man here who got it in `im to pull the trigger.” His eyes searched around the room. There was Charlie and his wife Miriam, Beau the grocer and his family, the Mayor, a few others – and Dale McGregor along with his wife Katey and son Caleb. He swaggered toward the pews, “Ya’ll uppity enough to talk about me when I ain’t around but when I am front an’ center, ya’ll shut the hell up with a quickness don’t ya? Now, I got the police on my ass and it don’t appear anyone wants to take credit for that.” He made his way down the aisle as most of the people gathered silently averted their gazes, “What’s wrong? Can’t fight your own battles? Shit, I gotta wonder if there’s an ounce of fight in any sumbitch here!” He stopped and looked directly at Dale who raised his head and met his line of sight. “Seems to be lots of weak men in this town who don’t know how to do noth’n but flap their gums,” Nelson motioned toward him with the whiskey bottle, “Let’s take Dale McGregor as a for-instance. Someone took a bull from his farm and shot `im good because he can’t protect what’s his. I even heard gunshots outside his house the other night. Seems like someone’s intimidate’n now.”

“It’s you, Nelson,” Katey sneered, “We all know it’s you.”

“All’s I know is that if ya’ll think’n about tak’n the stand at the courthouse, it might be in your best interest not to. Hard tell’n what people are liable to do nowadays,” Nelson took a swig of whiskey, “God knows we ain’t got no men around here who got it in `im to pull the trigger if things get outta hand. Best to just let sleep’n dogs lie.”

“Is that what this is about?,” Dale asked, “You’re try’n to get me not to testify.”

“Why you bring’n me into it? I ain’t got noth’n to do with that,” Nelson staggered back, his drunken gaze now staring through Dale instead of at him, “But hell, as long as my name is com’n outta your mouth, let’s talk about me,” he spun around again to face the other side of the church, “You good people tell me if you think I got it in me to pull the trigger,” he stomped toward them, “I had a buddy in Winghaven once who owed me money. See, he lost a card game and didn’t have the scratch so he kept duck’n me around town. Do ya’ll think I let that slide or do you think I fixed `im good?” Nelson paused for an answer, indicating it was not a rhetorical question and when he didn’t get a response, he angrily turned and let the whiskey bottle fly and when it smashed against the cross above the pulpit, it made everyone jump. “Hell yeah I fixed `im!,” Nelson bellowed, “And again I ask if there’s a man here who got it in `im to pull the goddamn trigger other than me!” He staggered back toward Dale and his family, swaying over young Caleb with his gun still firmly pressed in his palm, “Maybe not a man,” Nelson tossed the revolver into the air, “Maybe a boy,” he caught the gun by the grip with the barrel pointed down then he shoved it toward Caleb as a silent invitation to hold it.

“No,” Katey tried to pull her son away but Dale stopped her with his one good arm. Nelson gave a knowing smile to Caleb’s parents, then looked down at the boy, “Maybe the old man ain’t got it in `im but could you? Could you have the balls to do what no one else here could do?” Caleb looked up at Nelson angrily but said nothing. His parents continued to sit, terrified and unsure of what to do next. “Go on, boy. Take the damn thing. It’s got a kick but you look strong enough to handle it. An’ don’t worry about your aim `cuz it ain’t like I’m standing on the other side of town,” he pressed the barrel against his sternum with the grip free for Caleb to hold, “Quick squeeze of the trigger is all it is. The police ain’t gonna do noth’n to a boy your age. Hell, I bet the people here won’t say shit if they finally saw someone who had the gumption to do me in.”

Caleb silently considered the gun.

“Atta boy.”

Caleb carefully reached up, his fingers gripping the gun as Nelson raised his hands.

“Caleb, just take it easy,” Dale warned his son.

“Don’t listen to `im,” Nelson kept his hands above his head, “The way I see it, if a boy has a coward for a daddy, then he don’t need one anyway. In a way, the son is almost obligated to take the old man out if came down to that.”

That’s when Caleb pulled the trigger.

The sound of the hammer slamming against an empty chamber echoed across the sanctuary and made everyone jump once more, Caleb and his family in particular. Nelson let out a belly-laugh and snatched the gun from the boy’s hands, “Ya’ll thought I came in here with a loaded weapon an’ just handed it over?,” he stuck it down the front of his pants, “Someone shoot’n me with my own gun? I can’t imagine a more embarrass’n death.” He laughed again as he made his way to the back of the church while Dale held his wife and son for comfort. Nelson stopped at the door, then turned one last time and pointed at the cross at the other end of the sanctuary, “Ain’t no god in Heaven ever made a man like me,” then he looked at Dale and his family, “Be see’n you folks in court.”

A week later, at the county courthouse, Buford Wallace held on to the lapels of his blazer as he spoke, which accentuated his large belly. He sauntered up to the witness stand while Dale waited patiently. “Now, my client, Mr. Creed, says he was camping with some drinking buddies the night you were shot and those fellas have taken the stand during this trial,” Wallace motioned toward the men sitting in the gallery, “But you claim Nelson Creed was the man who shot you. Now, I don’t doubt that someone shot you and stole your bull. Sounds like a pretty harrowing situation and in such a harrowing situation, our minds can play tricks on us. Especially if it happened at night with little visibility. It did occur at night, did it not Mr. McGregor? It’s mighty hard to see out in the fields when it’s dark, is it not?”

“There was enough light.”

“Perhaps. You told police there were two men there that night. You believe the man who shot you was Nelson Creed but can you identify the man’s accomplice?”

“No.”

“According to police reports the man who shot you had a revolver that you couldn’t see at first. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I imagine it would be difficult to see a handgun that size unless visibility was obstructed to a large extent.”

“Look, I know who I saw. It was Nelson Creed,” Dale became irate and impatient, “I even called out his name.”

“Did this person respond when you said the name?”

“He turned around.”

“Sure, anyone would turn around when they hear someone talk’n. Did this person identify themselves as Nelson Creed?”

“…No.”

“If you could humor me, what color shirt was the man wearing at the time?”

“I don’t… remember but…”

“What was the make and model of his truck?”

“Nelson Creed drives a-”

“We all know what Mr. Creed drives but could you clearly see the truck that night?”

“I… the trailer was mostly in the way, but -”

“No further questions, Your Honor,” the lawyer returned to his bench with more expediency than he had left it. Nelson, meanwhile, stared at Dale silently.

That night, Dale sat in his bedroom with his wife. “Nelson’s got that lawyer from Winghaven lying for `im,” Dale told her, “I thought maybe we could get some justice from the county courthouse but the judge looked bored and the prosecutor seemed like he was too busy with more important cases. I got no doubt Nelson Creed’s gonna go free.”

Katey rested her head on his shoulder, “We’re not important enough. They just won’t care about whatever’s going on in Widow Springs.”

“Not until that bastard kills one of us.”

Suddenly, the distinct sound of a shotgun cut through the air close enough that the shot could have taken out a window. Dale leapt off the bed and peaked out the window in time to see the headlights of a truck cutting through the field and onto the road nearby. “Godammit,” Dale said in frustration. Caleb burst into the room with tears in his eyes, “Mom! Dad!”. Katey held him tightly as Dale remained on the look-out.

“Should we call the cops?,” Katey asked.

“They won’t show up ‘til morning,” Dale said angrily, “And unless I got an absolutely clear view of Nelson, it won’t be taken seriously anyway,” he sat down next to his family and held his head in his hands, “I can’t help but think this is only gonna end when someone dies.”

“So how do we figure it out?”

“How do we figure what out?”

Katey’s eyes went cold, “How do we figure out how to kill that son of a bitch?”

Continued…