Part 6

Douglas had no further contact with his father, although he would occasionally think about picking up the phone and calling, but the anger always came back and prevented him from going through with it. He told himself that if his father wanted to mend things, he would contact him, first. 2 years passed, and Douglas received a letter from a lawyer’s office. He opened it up and found a short, terse message which read:

Mister Wensley,
I regret to inform you of your father, Arthur Douglas Wensley, Jr.’s death. While this must be a difficult and emotional time for you, there are critical matters that must be dealt with in a timely manner. According to your father’s last will and testament, he wished for you to inherit the following items:

Estate and contents
1 x Letter – opened posthumously

Please call our office to schedule an appointment for the ownership of these items to change hands.

Douglas was stunned – he thought there must have been a mistake, or a mix up… he called the number for the law office, and after a lengthy discussion with a secretary, he hung up the phone and hung his head in sorrow. There was no mistake. His father was dead, killed in an automobile accident, and there would be no chance of reconciling with him. Douglas felt awful. Regret washed through him in an icy flood, obliterating every trace of resentment and anger that had previously dwelled inside him. He cried for the first time since his mother had died.
A week later, he was sitting in the lawyer’s office. Mr Thompson was trying to explain something to Douglas, which obviously the lawyer thought was bad news. Douglas simply waited until he stopped talking in circles and said what he was trying to say.

“So, Mr Wensley, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do… I do have this letter for you, of course…”

The sharply dressed, elderly man lifted an envelope off of the desk with a gnarled, wrinkled, and shaky hand, and passed it over to Douglas. Douglas took the letter, noticing that it had previously been opened by a letter opener, or a similar item, and tucked the envelope into his jacket for later.

Frowning, he asked, “So, I’m not allowed to inherit the house?”

Mr Thompson shrugged, the old man looked to be on the verge of tears. “Apparently, you father built on land that didn’t belong to him, and the city is claiming possession of the estate.”

“This doesn’t make any sense – how would he have been allowed to build there in the first place? Will they let me take some things out of the house? There might be portraits or other sentimental items that I would like to keep…”

The lawyer shook his head, “No one is allowed onto the property. You’ll have to take it up with the Housing Authority, downtown.”

Douglas sat agape for a moment before gathering himself. He thanked Mr Thompson, and then slowly headed out the building for home. Later, he remembered the letter and opened it up to read it.

Son,
I know that we have had our differences over the years. I will not seek your forgiveness, only your understanding. There are powers outside my control that have been of great influence in my life, and have caused more heartache for me, and those I love, than I care to imagine. Suffice it to say that I am deeply sorry that you have had to feel some of the burden of my life’s work. I wish I could tell you all about it, but I cannot. I know that they will get their hands on this letter, and they will not allow me to say anything to you.

As I sit in my study writing this, a lone tear drips from my nose onto a book I have nearby. I think it is called Schematics for Various Diode Devices. I thought I had run out of tears a long time ago. At least I can take solace in the thought that once I have gone, you will be able to read this book, and many more like it in the library I will leave to you. I know how much you like books. This whole house will belong to you, my son. I did not have a chance to show it to you when we last met, but there is a particularly nice painting of your mother in the foyer. I may move it to the dining room, and place it over the mantle. That might look nice.
Please understand. I have tried to do everything I can for the sake of the people I love.
Take care, son, and good luck.

- A. D. W. (Dad)

Although most of the letter seemed to be rambling, Douglas still broke down in tears for the second time in as many weeks. He would spend the next couple of months battling the red tape of bureaucracy in an attempt to restore ownership of his father’s estate, which brings us back to the present…

Part 5

Douglas stepped tentatively out of the car. “Are you sure this is the right place? You wanted Douglas Wensley, right?”
The driver frowned, but did not answer. He pointed up the walkway towards the massive double doors, climbed back into the car, and pulled away. Douglas walked slowly towards the front door, and pressed the button on the intricately decorated doorbell. Faint jingling could be heard echoing through the building. A few moments later, and the door flew open, opened by another grave-looking man, with a very sharp black suit. This man didn’t say anything for a moment, but just before Douglas could say anything to interrupt the awkward silence, he heard a voice from inside.

“Son! You made it! Well let him in, Smith!”

The man at the door nodded, and gestured for Douglas to enter. Behind the door, the source of the voice, was Douglas’s father. He was slightly shorter, rounder, and much more gray than Douglas remembered him, but was otherwise the same. They embraced, briefly, and then Douglas was shown around the sprawling building. Most of the rooms were empty, or seemed pointless to Douglas, but his father acted very proud of each room, showing him the decorations he had picked out, and the purpose behind each one. He seemed very much like a child who was showing off some work of art he had made. Douglas took everything in silently, with an occasional nod or smile, but he could not describe what he was really feeling.

Suddenly, they were back at the first room again, and Douglas’s father said: “Well? We can start bringing your belongings here as soon as possible, and-”

“Wait, what?”

“Your belongings… well, anything you think you want to keep, anyway.”

“I’m not living here.”

“Sorry?”

“I said, I’m not living here. I don’t understand why you decide to show up after all these years – where were you when mom died? Where were you before that? I don’t even know you! You were never home! How do you think I would want to live in the house of a total stranger?”

Douglas’s father looked shocked for a moment, and then opened his mouth to say something… he opened and closed his mouth, and then said, “You’re right. I’m sorry I wasn’t there… there was… I was never… well… “

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re gone for most of my life, while mom and I live in poverty, then you show up suddenly and show off this mansion! I don’t appreciate it! I don’t care how much money you have now, you’re no father to me.”

Douglas turned and sped out the front door. The rain had begun, and he ran through the Downpour, down the gravel road, shielding his eyes from the pelting rain. Lightning crashed overhead. A bright light lit up the ground in front of him, and the crunch of tires over the gravel made itself heard over the rain as the black car pulled up next to him. The window rolled down on the drivers side, and the well-dressed driver called out: “Please enter the vehicle. I’ll return you to your home.” Douglas started to refuse, but was already soaked to the bone, and decided not to protest. He climbed in, not caring about the seats getting wet from his clothes.
“Can’t have you wandering around here by yourself,” said the driver. Douglas shrugged, and shivered in his wet clothes all the way home.

Part 4

Douglas’s father was always away while he was growing up – constantly off to some meeting in another city, or across the ocean for important research. The brief moments that he was home were his fondest memories. Although he was always away on business, Douglas and his mother never seemed to see any benefit from his work. They lived in a tiny, two bedroom apartment, and his mother worked full time at a nearby grocer in order to pay the bills. As a child, Douglas never gave these things much thought, it was simply the way the world worked. His mother would be at work most of the time, but be home in time for dinner, and his father would be away for months at a time, sometimes home for holidays… but not always. Douglas reached his teenage years, and began to sense the wrongness of his family, but could not put words to it. He tried to ask his mother why they were so poor when his father was busy working all the time, but anytime he came close to the subject, his mother would come to tears, so he gave up. Still, his father would return home every few months, sometimes with a gift for Douglas, sometimes not, and sometimes spending time bonding with his son before having to rush away again. He eventually learned that his father did send money home from time to time, but it was irregular amounts, and at irregular intervals, so his mother could never count on it to pay for things they needed. When Douglas was 17, his mother died from the influenza outbreak that swept the city. The city determined him old enough to no longer need supervision, and allowed him to live on his own. They were unable to locate his father, and his father did not attend his mother’s funeral. Douglas began to feel resentment for his father boil up inside him. He got a job at a nearby office as a clerk, which mostly meant he spent lots of time filing, sorting, and refiling paperwork. After 2 years, he was able to sell most of the old things in his apartment, and move to a slightly larger apartment closer to work. A year after that, and he received a telegram from his father.

Son! I am finally able to return home after these many years abroad! There is so very much that I wish to tell you. I am retiring and building a house just outside the city. It is my wish that you should meet with me upon my arrival, and stay with me at our new house! Please await my next message to you, which will include a time and location for our reunion!

Douglas was initially overjoyed with this message, but then a cyclone of emotions tore through him – why didn’t his father come to his mother’s funeral? did he not know she was dead at the time? why was he just now contacting him after so many years? 6 months went by, and there was no further message from his father. He had begun to feel more anger and resentment… but then one morning, a new telegram arrived, which simply said:

Son, June 8th, 11:00 A.M. Go to the Bus Station at Fifth and Marshall, a car will pick you up and bring you here. Looking forward to reunion. -Your father.

The tone of this letter worried Douglas – it was very much different from the last one – and terse enough to almost feel cold, and callous. Douglas fretted, unsure if he should show up at the location mentioned, but eventually allowed himself to give his father the benefit of the doubt. He would see him, and try to find out what he had to say before judging him any further. A week later, he was standing at the bus stop at Fifth and Marshall (it was nothing more than a post in the sidewalk that said: “BUS”, and not so much a station, as was mentioned in the telegram). It was cloudy, and threatened to rain shortly, but Douglas endured. He arrived early, just in case, but by 11:30 no one had stopped or even looked in his direction. He had to wave on 3 different buses who thought he was a potential passenger. At 12:30, he was more than a little hungry, and decided that if no one showed by 1:00, he would walk down the street and get a sandwich. Finally, at 12:40, a black car pulled up, and a tall, well-dressed man wearing a suit, and hat stepped out of the drivers seat, and asked, “Mr. Wensley?” Douglas nodded, and the driver walked around the car, opened the rear passenger-side door, and gestured for him to enter. The interior of the car was very dark, and very clean. Douglas sat down, and buckled himself in while the driver shut his door, and then climbed back into the driver’s seat. The two of them did not speak for the rest of the trip, which took Douglas further out of the city than he had ever been before, and into the heavily wooded areas, sometimes called the Wilds. The car turned off the main road onto a recently placed gravel road, which wound through thick trees, up and around the side of a steep hill. Douglas stared out the window in awe at the seclusion of the area, but when the house came into view, he couldn’t keep his jaw from dropping. A massive, sprawling mansion occupied the top of the hill, hidden from the view of the main road, and most of the drive up to the house by tall, thick trees. Columns, and spires, and balconies covered the entire building, and everything was spotless, as if it had been built recently. The driver steered the car over to the front walkway, and then got out to open Douglas’s door.

Part 3

Douglas storms down the hall, angry at the tangle of Bureaucracy that has brought him here, yet again, and sent him home with nothing to show for it. He reaches the entrance lobby, and finds a woman arguing with the security guard on duty. She is red in the face, and shouting at the uniformed guard, who simply sits with his arms folded for her to finish her rant.

“I don’t believe this!” She shouts, while the guard shakes his head, no. She spins around and begins to march out of the building, but almost runs right into Douglas. Nostrils flaring, she looks like she’s about to yell at him, but she catches herself, sets her jaw, and stomps past him, and out the door. Douglas exits behind her, and watches her jump into a black car and drive away. He shrugs, and heads for home.

Home is a cramped, but affordable apartment on the north side of town. Douglas climbs the 5 flights of stairs up to his floor, walks along the warped, wooden hallway to his door, unlocks it, and steps inside. He flicks the light on as he shuts and bolts the door, and tosses the folder full of paperwork onto the table next to the door. It smacks heavily on the table, and then tips over the edge, and onto the floor, spilling some of the papers out across the worn, beige, threadbare carpet. Douglas sighs, and starts to bend down to pick them up, but decides that it’s just not worth it, and slinks into his kitchen to find some supper. He grabs some food out of the icebox, and prepares a sandwich at the counter next to the sink. Then he flops down in a wooden chair at his small dining table, and chews thoughtfully on his sandwich.

Finished with his meal, Douglas straightens up the kitchen and then migrates over to his sitting room, and flops down in a large, dusty, stuffed armchair. He flips the switch on the Fessenden Device, on the table next to the chair, and a dingy yellow light lights up the front of the device, while a faint voice gradually grows louder.

“…further information is needed. In other news, the city is preparing to begin development on the North Shore for a new dock and cargo area, which will be connected to the main rail line. Development is estimated to cost a little less than $50,000. The police are investigating the apparently accidental death of a Francis Williams, whose automobile drove off the road and into a 5 foot-deep ditch, killing him on impact. There are no other injuries known at this time. Police believe the driver swerved to avoid an animal in the road. His family has been notified, but they had no comment for the press at this time. Mr Williams was 38.”

Douglas sits rigid in his seat. Francis Williams, aka Frank, was the man he has spoken to yesterday regarding the zoning maps near his father’s property… Could it be a coincidence that he’s dead now, only a few hours since Douglas had mentioned his name to Mr Wright? Surely this was another Francis Williams… Douglas looks at the clock on his wall: 4:36 pm, the Zoning Department was open until 5. He grabs the phone receiver off the cradle, and dials “Zero”.

“May I please be directed to the City Zoning Department. Thank you.”

A moment of silence, and then the far-away ring… once, twice, thrice…

“Zoning Department, how may I direct your call?”

“Yes, may I please speak with Frank Williams?”

“I’m sorry sir, Mr. Williams is no longer with us…”

“Well, do you know when he will return?”

“Sir, I don’t think you understand me… Mr Williams is deceased. There was a car accident this afternoon..”

“Oh, I’m sorry… um… thanks.”

Douglas lets the phone drop back onto the receiver, but he stares, unseeing out the window. Something is seriously wrong… all the confusion, the red tape, and now this… someone is definitely, deliberately, trying to prevent him from acquiring his father’s possessions… Douglas turns and rapidly heads for the door. He snatches his hat and coat from the hook on the wall, and then speeds out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him.