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The Future
You’ve read
the accounts in the past and present; it’s time to fast forward to the
future! Mr. Maypenny influenced Dan greatly as he grew up. Now that Dan’s on his
own, his old guardian and trusted friend is still teaching him about life. December 27th, Glimpses into the Future Universe Dan brushed his hands off against
his signature dark jeans after placing the last log into the large woodbin by
the old-fashioned wood-burning stove. “That should last you several days, Mr.
Maypenny.” “You didn’t have to chop all that
wood, son,” the elderly man said from his spot in the rocking chair, which
was positioned in the living area of the small cabin. “It’s no problem. You know I enjoy
getting out in the woods during my visits home. Besides, I just chopped a
little bit. I carried most of this firewood in from the shed. I’ll split some
more for you next week.” “I can do that, Daniel. I may not be
as young as I used to be, but I daresay I could still out-chop the best of
them,” Mr. Maypenny crowed. “I’ll bet you could, too. But if I
don’t work these scrawny muscles of mine every once in a while, they’ll get
soft.” Dan flexed his biceps once, allowing the rock hard muscle to strain
the material of his black T-shirt. “Now, wouldn’t it be a shame if I lost
these guns?” he asked, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. Mr. Maypenny chuckled. “Do you
remember how skinny you were when you first came to Sleepyside? I don’t think
your upper arms were any bigger around than a milk jug ring.” “Yeah, and I had to tease the hair
on my legs to get my socks to stay up,” Dan added, grinning broadly. He’d
heard that particular sentiment several times from Mr. Maypenny. “That was many years ago,” the old
man murmured wistfully. “Thirteen years this coming February.” “Seems like yesterday.” The sentiment lingered until Dan
observed Mr. Maypenny closer. The elderly gentleman’s shoulders had become
hunched through the years, and his thick head of white hair had thinned
slightly. His hands, once so rough and tan, were now covered with age spots,
and if Dan looked hard, he could see a slight tremor in them when Mr.
Maypenny wasn’t clasping them tightly together. His guardian’s gait, once so
sure and fast, had grown a bit slower, and at times he even stumbled. He
could still swing an ax better than any man around, but his strength quickly
waned. Sadly, Dan observed more decline during each visit, and it bothered
the young policeman more than he cared to admit. Dan cleared his throat. “I’ll be
back New Year’s Eve,” he promised. “There should be plenty of wood out on the
porch to last you till then. I filled up the closed-in shed behind the house
with enough logs to build another cabin.” “When did you say you’d be back?” “New Year’s Eve,” Dan repeated, this
time louder. “There’s some big swanky party at the Country Club that the rest
of the Bob-Whites are dragging me to.” “New Year’s Eve?” Mr. Maypenny’s
wrinkled brow met in a knot above his beaked nose. “Why, that’s only four
days from now.” “I told you I was coming back in a few days,” Dan reminded him. “Well, I know that,” Mr. Maypenny retorted crossly. He’d gotten defensive
lately if anyone pointed out that his memory wasn’t as sharp as it used to
be. “I just didn’t think it would be
that soon. Don’t the city policemen have some sort of shindig that
night?” “Yeah, but I’d rather come back to
Sleepyside and ring in the new year with my friends here,” Dan explained with
a shrug. “And of course, Mrs. B’s having a big get-together at her house New
Year’s Day, and only a fool would pass up a chance to eat at Crabapple Farm.” “Bringing a lady friend with you?”
Mr. Maypenny questioned slyly. “Just Beulah,” Dan answered,
referring to his beloved ’69 Ford that had been a gift from Mr. Maypenny
years ago. He waggled his dark brows mischievously. “Bringing a truck for your date,”
Mr. Maypenny scoffed. “I’ll have you know that an automobile can’t keep you
warm on these cold nights.” “Tell me about it.” Dan snorted. “I
think the heater’s blowing out cold air, and the air conditioning’s blowing
out hot air. I need to ask Tom to take a look at her.” Mr. Maypenny scratched his stubbly
chin. “I thought you were courting someone. Kaye something-or-another?” “We stopped seeing each other last
September,” Dan reminded him. “We weren’t serious or anything. She’d also
been dating some dude in politics, and I think they ran off and eloped. They
just bought a house.” “Was she the dark-headed one?” “Nah, that was Ronda,” Dan
corrected. “I dated her for a couple weeks in October.” “But you brought Kaye to
Thanksgiving Dinner?” Dan shook his head. “No, that was
Steph, although she had blondish hair like Kaye. You’re thinking of Mal, who
I went out with a couple of times before Christmas.” Mr. Maypenny glared at him
reproachfully. “How’s a man supposed to keep track? Back in my day, a man
didn’t court every single girl he met.” “I don’t court all of the girls I met,” Dan remarked defensively. With an ornery
wink, he added, “Just the pretty ones.” “Back in the good ol’ days, a fellow found a
nice girl, settled down, and raised a few kids.” “Hmmm…” Dan murmured thoughtfully.
“I think the pot just called the kettle black.” “You know I never wanted to get married,”
Mr. Maypenny chided, pointing his finger at the young man in a chastising
manner. “I’ve always been more than satisfied to stay out here in the woods
by myself. I chose this sort of
life, knowing a family wasn’t the right decision for me. Ain’t nothing more
annoying than people, and I prefer my companions to be the squirrels and the
hoot owls.” “I’m a people, er person,” Dan
pointed out with an evil grin. “You let me
live here.” “Yes, and what a mistake that was.” The obvious affection in
both his tone and eyes made it clear that Mr. Maypenny was only teasing. “I’m
lecturing you for your own good, Daniel. All the Bob-Whites are in steady
relationships except you. Why, at this rate Honey and Brian will be married
before you even go steady with a gal.” “Maybe I don’t want to get married,” Dan countered stubbornly. “What if I want to build my own cabin out in the woods, miles away
from all the annoying people?” “The hermit life isn’t for you,
Daniel Mangan,” Mr. Maypenny replied wisely. “You can run from love, but you
won’t be able to hide forever. Someday it’ll catch up with you, and when it
does, you’d better take cover.” Dan merely looked out the window. He
never liked it when Mr. Maypenny was right, and something deep in the pit of
his stomach told him that this was one of those times. “So you’d better get out there and
start looking,” Mr. Maypenny added. “What you
need is a fiery redhead. I don’t think you’ve dated one of them yet.” “You know I don’t date redheads,”
Dan said, a wistful expression clouding his features. “Then go get me one,” Mr. Maypenny instructed. He followed up his request with
a hardy chuckle. “Seriously, Daniel, just go find you a good, virtuous wife
like the old black book talks about. I’m not getting any younger, you know.
If I’m going to teach my grandbabies the proper way to hold an ax, you’d
better get a move on. Lord knows their daddy won’t be able to learn ‘em as
good as I could.” Dan smiled tenderly at the old man.
“Mr. Maypenny, you don’t have anything to worry about. You’re going to be
around forever.” “Heck fire, I am!” Mr. Maypenny
slapped his thigh excitedly. “One of these years, I’m going to take all my
money and buy me a condo off in “Probably,” Dan laughed. “Probably.”
He walked into the small living area, where Mr. Maypenny sat. He bent down
and kissed the top of the old man’s white head. “I’ll see ya next week, Mr.
Maypenny. I’d better get Luther back to the stable before Regan skins my
hide.” “Good-bye, Daniel.” The old man
watched fondly as Dan left, wondering where the time had gone and why it had
to pass so quickly.
Dan inhaled deeply, finding the
aroma of the Manor House Stable strangely comforting. Of course, these barns
couldn’t be compared to the average facility used for boarding horses. His
uncle was careful to keep the Wheelers’ barns immaculate, even to the point
of obsessive. Dan was sure that the
stalls in Regan’s stables were cleaner than the interior of most homes. And
remembering some of the dwellings that he’d visited in the slums of New York
City, he knew his opinion was unfortunately accurate. He tethered Luther, the chestnut
Morgan that had replaced Spartan years ago, to a pole in the middle of the
barn. The medium-sized gelding snorted and, strangely enough, almost shook
his head in disfavor. “C’mon, buddy,” Dan murmured
comfortingly. “I know you don’t like to be tied up, but we wouldn’t want you
bolting out of the stable, would we?” Almost as if Luther could understand
his master, he ceased his head-shaking and allowed Dan to loosely tether him
to the pole. He patiently swatted flies with his long tail as Dan removed his
saddle, blanket, and bridle and put them away in their proper spots. The
horse snorted a greeting after Dan returned from the tack room carrying a few
pieces of equipment he needed for grooming. Dan smiled as he affectionately ran
his hand through the horse’s black mane. Luther had been purchased after
Spartan’s death at the distinguished age of twenty-eight nine years ago. Now
almost twenty-years-old, Luther wasn’t exactly a spring chicken, either. In
spite of his vintage, the old horse was still spry for his age and able to
easily carry Dan around the preserve as he occasionally patrolled on the
weekends for the aging Mr. Maypenny. Lately, the horse’s gait had slowed a
bit and Dan watched his old friend visibly decline, an unwanted reminder of
the situation with Mr. Maypenny. It pained his heart as he realized two very
close and dear companions wouldn’t always be around. Dan hated to admit it, but Luther’s
sprinting days were far gone. However, he saw no need to bring that particular
fact up in the presence of the other residents of the stable, especially the
less seasoned ones. Dan felt very protective of his
faithful companion. He glanced around the stable and, sure enough, Jim’s
horse Mercury, Jupiter’s much younger half-brother, was poking his coal black
head through the open top of his stall. Fearing the much younger, powerful
steed would look askance at his ancient counterpart, the sentimental side of
Dan decided there was no harm in protecting Luther’s reputation. If Mercury
assumed that Luther could gallop away at any given moment, so be it. “Now, calm down, Luther,” Dan
sternly admonished, loud enough for the young, arrogant stallion nearby to
hear. He made sure to give the old horse a wink so that Luther would know he
wasn’t serious. “I know you’re
champing at the bit, but I’m exhausted. I need to rest a while before I put
you back in your stall.” He gave a friendly slap to the horse’s
backside. Luther turned his head to Dan and began bumping it against his
master’s stomach, begging for more attention. Dan laughed as he scratched his
old friend’s ears in just the spot that Luther liked. “You ready to trade that model in
for something with a bit more… horsepower?”
Regan asked. He shot his nephew a grin as he exited his office and entered
the main room of the stable. “Shhh!” Dan hissed, giving his uncle
a nasty look. “Luther will hear you.” “He can still hear?” Regan threw his
back and chuckled at the horrified look his nephew shot back at him. “Not Luther. I don’t want him to hear.” As Dan emphasized the
word “him”, he nodded in the direction of Mercury’s stall. Regan scratched his chin, puzzled.
“Him who?” “Him him,” Dan said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. When it became
obvious Regan still did know of whom he spoke, he decided to spell it out,
literally. “M-E-R-C-U-R-Y.” “Mercury!” Regan exclaimed with a
hoot, chuckling at his nephew’s reaction. “Shhhh!” Dan ordered. “I don’t want
him to know that we’re talking about him! That’s why I spelled his name, you
moron.” “As much training as that horse has had, he can probably
not only spell, but also solve trigonometric functions, recite the periodic
table by memory, and give you a list of former presidents in alphabetical
order,” Regan snorted. Dan, who’d been covering the
Morgan’s ears with his hands, groaned at the bragging. “Yeah, and I’ll bet
the big showoff walks on water while he does all that fancy stuff.” “Dan, don’t be crazy,” Regan
disagreed, feigning shock. “With those big horse shoes of his, he’d sink
right to the bottom of the lake.” He laughed uproariously at Dan’s
wounded expression. The red-haired groom gently patted the old Morgan on the
rump. “You ready for the pasture, boy?” Dan glared over at his uncle. “Ol’
Luther may be two decades young, but he isn’t quite ready for the pasture
field yet. He’s got a few good years left, and then he’ll move in with me to
my apartment in the city.” “Oh, that’d go over good with your
landlord,” Regan remarked. “Besides, Dan, when I said ‘pasture’, I meant the
literal meadow, not some retirement villa for old, rich horses. If you wanna
ride Luther around until he keels over, that’s fine with me. I don’t
particularly want to go through the hassle of finding you a replacement.” “Of all people, I’d thought you’d understand why I don’t want a
new horse,” Dan muttered, not so easily placated. With a bit of difficulty,
he dug into the pocket of his tight “Of course I understand,” Regan assured
him. “Luther’s been a big help to you through the years. How long have you
had him now?” Dan shrugged his shoulders, before
squeezing his hand into his pocket for another lump of sugar. “Spartan died
three or four years after I moved to Sleepyside. You got Luther after that,
so I guess it’d be close to nine years.” Dan rubbed the Morgan’s nose as he
noisily devoured the sugar. “I’ve grown pretty fond of the old guy.” “Yeah, Luther’s a fine feller,”
Regan agreed, bringing over a can of grain on which the horse could munch. It
was clear that, in spite of his teasing, he was quite fond of the horse
himself. “So, what’re you doing here in Sleepyside? Weren’t you just here day
before yesterday for Christmas?” “Just helping Maypenny in the
preserve. He’s been busy setting out all the salt blocks and keeping the
feeders full, and although he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s hard on him.” “How old is he now— seventy-some?”
Regan inquired in a mixture of disbelief and admiration. “Just about,” Dan answered, his voice
growing heavy with concern. “I don’t know an exact age, but I do know he’s
getting up there. After all, it was only a year or two ago that I found out
his first name was Elijah and not ‘Mister’.” Regan chuckled in amusement, knowing
Dan spoke the truth. In many ways, the common, plainspoken Elijah Maypenny
was an enigma, even to those closest to him. “If it makes you feel any
better, I didn’t know his first
name for a long time, either. And even after I found out, I wouldn’t dare use it.” “You and me both, son,” Dan agreed.
“He’s one stubborn ol’ coot, but he’s getting too old to be traipsing around
in the woods like a teenager.” “Try telling him that,” Regan snickered. “I only hope I’m as spry as Eli when
I’m his age.” “He can’t keep this up,” Dan
insisted, his voice raising as he championed his cause. “I worry constantly
that he’ll have a heart attack out in the woods and just lay there, helpless.
He could die before anyone could find him.” Regan nodded, thoughtfully mulling
his nephew’s words. “True,” he said after a long pause, “but something could
just as easily happen to him while he’s alone in his cabin.” “Well, he needs to start acting his
age,” Dan blustered, purposely ignoring his uncle’s latter comment. “He’s not
as young as he used to be; he needs help, and the old man’s just too proud to
ask for it.” Regan studied his nephew carefully,
one coppery brow raised in query. “That why you’ve been coming home every
weekend?” “S’pose so.” Dan moved to the
opposite side of Luther and began properly grooming the horse. “You can’t keep him from dying, you
know.” Dan’s coal black eyes darted
everywhere except near Regan, carefully avoiding his uncle’s gaze. “I can
try.” Regan nodded, his sage green eyes
boring into his nephew’s back as Dan fastidiously ran the curry comb over
Luther’s chestnut belly. “So, you think if you spend all your free time in
Sleepyside, you can keep Eli safe?” Dan offered no response, busying
himself with grooming his horse. “You can’t keep doing this, Dan,”
Regan persisted in a gentler tone. “You’re wearing yourself out. If you
aren’t on duty at the police station, you’re either on the road or in the
preserve.” Dan silently hung the curry comb
back onto its hook on the stable’s wall and chose a stifle-bristled brush. “You don’t have any time for
yourself,” Regan persisted. Dan exhaled loudly as he ran the
brush through Luther’s mane. “Don’t need time for myself.” Regan’s brow creased as he ran a
freckled hand through his closely cropped hair. “You’re never going to be
able to settle down and get married if you don’t date someone for more than
two or three weeks.” Dan snorted as he turned his head to
look at his uncle. “What is this? First Maypenny, and now you. Has December
27th officially been dubbed ‘Campaign-to-See-Dan-Mangan-Married-Off
Day’?” “As a matter of fact, Mr. Royal Pain
in the Butt, we’ve started the paperwork to get it declared a national
holiday,” Regan cracked. “Besides, if you’re tired of the lecture, then get
serious about someone for a change.” “You’re one to talk.” “What do you mean?” Regan inquired. Dan shook his head slightly as he
re-hung the brush on its hook. “I don’t see you running out of room on your
dance card.” “That’s different,” Regan
rationalized with a shrug. “I’m a loner, and always have been. But you’re one
of those annoying ‘people person’ people. You love to get in a crowd and cut
up.” “Doesn’t mean I want to settle down
and get married.” “True,” Regan conceded. He studied
his nephew’s serious features, and his green eyes grew a bit misty. “But
you’re like your mother. She always talked about growing up and having her
own family someday. It was her dream.” “Just because Mom wanted a family
doesn’t mean I want the same thing
for myself,” Dan retorted. “And just because a person says they
don’t want something doesn’t mean that they really don’t want it. Especially if they don’t want to want it.” “You’re starting to sound like
Honey,” Dan commented, annoyance evident in his tone. “Why? Does she nag at you about
settling down, too?” “Well, yeah, but I was talking more
about the rambling than the relationship advice,” Dan corrected. “Anyway, can
you please pick just one thing to
gripe at me about? I’m getting confused if you’re nagging about me coming to
Sleepyside too often, or about my love life or lack thereof.” “But why should I limit myself to
ragging on you about just one thing when I have so much to pick from?” Regan
commented with feigned innocence. “Jerk,” Dan muttered, a broad grin
belying his mean tone. Regan took a soft brush from the
hook off the wall and rubbed it along the underside of Luther’s belly. “So,
have you noticed anything different about Eli lately to get you worried, or
are you just being paranoid?” “Mostly I’m being paranoid,” Dan
answered honestly. “Aside from the normal failing as a result of age, he’s
healthy as a horse. It’s just that… Oh, never mind.” “What?” Regan prompted. Dan sighed wearily. “A couple of
months ago, we got a call from someone in an apartment building complaining
about a smell coming from their neighbor’s. We went over to investigate, and
sure enough, the old man that lived next door had been dead for a week.” The young police officer closed his
eyes and shook his head as if he could physically remove the unpleasant
memory from his brain. “The poor old guy wasn’t particularly close to any of
his family. There weren’t any pictures of children or grandchildren anywhere
to be found. We had an awful time locating any relatives to contact who would
take care of burial. I just stood there, looking around the empty apartment,
thinking about Mr. Maypenny. “He deserves better than that,” Dan
continued softly. “He took me in when he didn’t have to, put up with my
crappy attitude, and showed me how to be a man. After being in the Cowhands,
I thought being a man was acting tough, pushing your weight around, getting
what you want. A couple of months with Mr. Maypenny taught me that the
Cowhands were a bunch of fools. Being a man was working hard for your family,
enjoying the blessings God has given you, and maintaining your integrity in
the process. If I lived a thousand years, I could never repay that old man
for all he’s done for me.” “They don’t make ‘em like Elijah
Maypenny anymore,” Regan said admiringly. “He’s the greatest man I’ve ever
met.” “Remember the first time you met
him?” Regan recalled with a grin. “You thought he was an ax murderer.” “And I’m still not all that sure
that he isn’t,” Dan quipped, an amused smile on his own face. “I love that
old coot. I wouldn’t be in the police force today if it hadn’t been for his
firm hand. But walking in that apartment and seeing that elderly man, dead in
his bed, I just wonder if it’s worth it.” Regan looked up to meet his nephew’s
gaze. “What’re you talking about? Quitting the police force after how hard
you’ve worked to get there?” “Not quitting it entirely,” Dan
amended. “Just doing it someplace else.” He paused dramatically, and then
tenuously added, “Like Sleepyside.” Regan stepped backwards, whistling
through his teeth. “That old man would kick your butt all the way to your
homeland and back if you left “Well, if he kicks me back to the
city, then at least I’ll already be back in New York to beg for my old job
back,” Dan joked, his onyx-colored eyes twinkling. “I wasn’t talking about New York,”
Regan corrected. “He’d kick your butt clean back to “I’ve heard it’s a nice place to
visit,” Dan said sheepishly. Regan ignored that comment, still
shaking his head in disbelief. “After the way you fussed when I brought you
here, I’m absolutely floored that you want to move back.” “You know I grew to love this
place.” Dan shrugged his shoulders. “When I left for college, I thought I’d
enjoy living in the city again. But I hated it. Still do.” Regan’s gaze softened. “Too many
memories?” Dan nodded glumly. “Yeah.” “You thinking about Michelson?” Almost like a young child, Dan
instinctively covered his ears. “I don’t want to talk about him.” “You’ve avoided talking about him
for over twelve years, Dan,” Regan pointed out gently. “You’re going to have
to face what that bas—” “I said I don’t want to talk about him,” Dan snapped, his eyes
flashing with fire. “He took everything from me!” “He’s dead, Dan. He can’t do
anything else to hurt you.” “Oh, believe me, I know!” Dan
thundered. He clamped his eyes firmly together almost as if he were trying to
cease the assault of memories flooding his mind. Clenching his fists tightly,
he drew them close to his face in an effort to stymie his anguish. In a
guttural whisper, he added, “Every time I walk past that apartment building,
I remember that he’s dead, and that I’m the one who killed him.” Regan was the only man on earth who
could possibly understand his nephew’s torment. He reached out a tenuous hand
and placed it on Dan’s shoulder, hoping that he could transfer some of his
own strength to Dan in his squeeze. “It wasn’t your fault.” “I’ve told myself that a thousand
times.” Like the fog hovering over the “You can’t let the past stand in the way of
your future, Dan. You can’t change what happened. He’s dead, and it wasn’t
your fault. You did what you had to
do. You were trying to save your mother.” Unable to contain the gruesome
memories from his life in the city, Dan began waving his arms around in
frustration, tears misting in his dark, haunted Stygian eyes. “The fact that
he isn’t alive doesn’t keep me from seeing him every day on those Regan remained silent for several
moments until he saw that Dan had relaxed. With serious eyes, he studied
every line, every centimeter, every detail of his nephew’s face. What he
found frightened him. Worried the memories were affecting
Dan’s work performance, he assumed his most casual tone. “How’s the job
going?” “Same old stuff,” Dan muttered
through a clenched jaw. “Your temper been acting up?” Regan
inquired nonchalantly. Dan whooped. “Let’s just say that if
I get a couple more reprimands from the Captain, then the decision to leave
my job will be made for me.” “Dan, you can’t let that stuff get
to you,” Regan chastised. “Leave all the junk you see on your job back at the
precinct. If you keep carrying it around with you, you’re going to explode.” “It’s not just the crimes,” Dan
murmured. “It’s the memories I have. When I see a man beating a woman…” He
broke off his sentence to raise a fist in the air. He shook it, his eyes
closed tightly and a grimace on his face. Regan walked over to his nephew and
placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “I know. I’d already be kicked off the
force if I were you. Nothing raises my hackles worse than that.” “If I don’t move back home, I’m
going to snap,” Dan admitted, trouble etched on his rugged features. “That stuff goes on in Sleepyside,
too,” Regan told him honestly. “Take a job here on the force, and it’ll
follow you.” Dan nodded. “I know. But at least I
won’t be right there where it happened to me.
At least I’ll be home, keeping an eye on Mr. Maypenny before he hikes all the
way to “It’s up to you,” Regan said,
patting Dan’s shoulder. “I’m here if you need to talk.” “Thanks.” “But it is kind of ironic, you know.” “What do you mean?” Dan asked. “You wanting to come back to
Sleepyside,” Regan explained. “When you first got here, you couldn’t wait to
go back to the city. Now, you just want to come back home.” “Time changes a man,” Dan observed. “Come back or stay in Dan quirked an ebony brow at his
uncle. “Something up with Bobby that I should know about?” “Sleepyside isn’t your jurisdiction yet.” Regan smiled sadly. “You know
what I always say: I mind my own business and…” “Don’t tell anybody anything that
doesn’t concern them,” Dan finished for him with an impish grin. “Smart aleck,” Regan muttered. He
turned his full attention to Luther, who by now was getting quite antsy.
“Well, I think this ol’ boy’s ready for a run in the meadow. What do you
think, Dan?” “I think you’re trying to change the
subject,” Dan replied, studying his uncle’s face carefully. However, he knew
the redheaded groom too well to pry. Regan, whether he liked to admit it or
not, had a soft spot for youth, particularly those going through difficult
times, and considered himself a confidant to all the Bob-Whites. Now that the
BWG’s were adults, Dan was sure his uncle had become even closer to the
“littlest” Belden, who at 18, now towered above his father and all his
brothers. Just like Regan had kept the Bob-Whites’ confidences, Dan knew he
would keep Bobby’s “see-cruds” as well. “Just promise you’ll talk to Trixie or
Mart if Bobby does anything illegal,” Dan requested earnestly. “Not Brian?” Regan inquired with a
touch of amusement. “Good Lord, no. We want Bobby
straightened up, not dead,” Dan retorted with a chuckle. However, his humor
soon faded. “Just promise me, okay?” “It’s a deal,” Regan agreed
solemnly. “You heading back to the city now?” Dan shook his head. “Nah, I’m going
to go back over to Mr. Maypenny’s.” “You just came from there,” Regan
said, with a quizzical look. “Yeah, but I need to chop some
wood.” “Didn’t you just do that?” Dan merely shrugged his shoulders.
“I think I need to chop some more.”
New Year’s Eve… Dan completed a wearisome shift with
the New York City Police Department. Drugs, thievery, prostitution,
extortion, murder… he’d seen it all. It had been a full day, and he was
exhausted, mentally as well as physically. He longed for the isolation of the
rustic cabin in the woods, not to mention the security he would find in the
company of familiar friends. Before he made the hour-long trek to
Sleepyside, Dan stopped in at the old Irish pub he frequented, Blarney
Stone’s Bar and Grille. He carefully stomped all the snow away from his
shoes, and then entered the cozy restaurant. The building’s comfortable
atmosphere somehow reassured Dan after his difficult day. Various
Ireland-inspired artworks hung from the hunter green walls, their frames
matching the dark mahogany chair rail and trim. The lights in the pub were
dim, casting faint shadows on the dark walls around them. The chairs, tables,
stools and bar were all crafted out of the same dark mahogany wood as the
trim, and had a well-worn patina. The overall effect could be summed up as
“invitingly cozy”. Only a few patrons were scattered
around Blarney Stone’s, so thankfully there was several stools from which Dan
could choose at the long counter in the middle of the room. He knew in
another hour or so, the place would be packed with those ringing in the New
Year. Mickey, the bartender there since
the beginning of time, looked up at Dan with a grin. “Your usual, Sergeant?” “Sounds good,” Dan agreed
congenially. “Thanks, Mick.” In less than fifteen minutes, Mickey
slid a plate heaped high with a thick sausage sandwich, fries, and homemade
pickles. A large glass of milk was placed nearby. The bartender shook his
head in disbelief as Dan took a long swig of his beverage of choice. “You’re the only cop I’ve ever seen
that orders a stiff glass of milk after a hard day of patrolling,” he
commented. “Hey, milk does a body good, and so
far I’ve never had any complaints,” Dan answered good-naturedly. “Besides you
know I don’t drink.” “And you call yourself a proud
Irishman.” Mickey shook his head with feigned disdain. “Mick, if you saw all the things
alcohol causes men to do, you’d never sell another drop,” Dan commented
matter-of-factly as he doused his fries with ketchup. “Seen a lot as a cop?” “And before.” Dan grabbed his
sandwich with two hands and took a bite, unwilling to discuss the topic further.
It was on the tip of his tongue to add that the bartender really didn’t want to hear all Dan faced every day
in his line of work. Or what he’d seen as a young teen… Mickey slid another glass of milk in
front of the weary policeman. “This one’s on the house, Danny Boy.” “Thanks,” Dan mumbled with a smile. A customer sat down a few stools
away from Dan, so the kindhearted bartender turned away to take his order. Dan sat there, alone with his
troubled thoughts. The jingling of the bell above the front door announced a
new arrival to the pub. Out of the corner of his eye, Dan noticed a trio of
women enter. One in particular was pretty enough to merit a full turn of his
head, but upon closer inspection, he saw the lady was a strawberry-blonde.
Just as he was preparing to return his full attention to his sandwich, the
redhead cast him a “come-hither” glance. With a mere polite nod of his head,
he turned around in his stool and resumed eating. Troubled thoughts would inevitably
plague him afterwards. After he had finished his meal, Dan
tossed a few bills on the counter to cover his food as well as a hefty tip,
and rose to leave. “Going to the Policeman’s New Year’s
Ball?” Mickey called as Dan was heading towards the door. “Nah, I’m going to a party in Sleepyside
with some old friends,” Dan answered. “Nothing too wild and crazy, I’m assuming?” “ ‘Wild and crazy’ aren’t invited to
the Sleepyside Country Club,” Dan informed him with a chuckle. “I don’t picture you as the country
club type,” Mickey commented. “I’m not,” Dan replied, “but
unfortunately, some of my friends’ families are.” “Gotta hot date?” “Not unless you count Tiffany
Delanoy,” Dan said with a grin. “She good-lookin’?” “For a five-year-old,” Dan
responded, chuckling. He quickly explained. “Tiff’s the daughter of a
chauffeur friend of ours. He’s driving some people to the New Year’s shindig,
and is bringing Tiff along. I promised her that her Uncle Danny would dance
with her a time or two.” Mickey nodded knowingly, although it
was clear he found these small-town niceties odd. He cocked his head in the
direction of the lovely strawberry-blonde. “I noticed her giving you the eye
as she came in. I’ll bet she’d go with you, if you’d ask.” “Not my type,” Dan murmured with a
sorrowful shake of his head. “Be back tomorrow night?” Dan snorted. “I’ve got two days off
in a row, my friend. I won’t be back till ten minutes before I’m on duty.
Wild horses couldn’t drag me back to the precinct until absolutely
necessary.” “Safe trip,” Mickey told him with a
wave. “See ya when I get back.” Dan vacated the cozy pub and braved
the cold, city streets. Though only a few flakes had been falling when Dan’s
shift ended, the snow was coming down heavily now. The wind was whipping the
tops of the barren trees around, and he had to zip up his warm, police-issue
coat. He quickened his pace to the apartment where he lived, hoping the
weather would not impede his travel plans. Not even the
devil himself could slow me down, he thought with a smirk. However, a thumping sound followed
by first a frightened cry then a loud clanging noise distracted Dan from his
goal. His cop instincts took over, and he hustled from the main sidewalk to
the dark alleyway behind a rundown apartment complex. Although Dan didn’t see the devil,
he saw something pretty close. A crying woman looked up at him from
the ground, a trail of blood dripping down from her obviously-broken nose. A
tall, stocky man towered over her, his stance signifying that he was
responsible for her injury. He staggered around slightly, indicating his
intoxicated condition. “Police!” Dan commanded, running
towards the couple. With one hand, he drew his badge, and with the other his
taser. “Sir, drop on the ground and put your hands behind your head!” The woman’s relieved cry echoed
through the night. However, her assailant had obviously neither seen nor
heard the approaching police officer’s warnings. The lady’s relief quickly
ceased as the man standing over her kicked her in the stomach when he noticed
he did not command her full attention. Hurling a stream of obscene epithets
at his victim, he appeared poised and ready to kick again at any moment. Before he could think things
through, Dan’s feet left the sidewalk in a running leap and went flying through
the air, aiming towards the assailant’s stomach. When his thick-soled shoes
made contact with human flesh, the already-tipsy man went airborne. The
attacker landed several feet away in a moaning heap on the snowy sidewalk. “Hey!” the man hollered once he
caught his breath. “What’s going on?” “Police!” Dan barked with great
authority, flipping open his badge. “I said
to drop face down on the ground and put your hands behind your head! Now!” Although he knew he should be
handcuffing the woman’s assailant, Dan fastened his gaze on the woman. “Are
you all right, ma’am?” The frightened woman nodded, a hand
clamped over her nose and mouth in an attempt to stem the blood flow. “Ma’am, let me call the paramedics
for you,” Dan told her, his eyes filled with concern. “I’m fine,” the woman replied with a
shake of her head. “I just need to go home and get cleaned up.” Hastily putting away his badge, Dan
reached for his cell phone with his newly freed hand. “It’ll just take a
minute…” “I’m okay!” the lady tearfully insisted.
“I’m used to this.” “If I let you go home to get cleaned
up, will you meet me at the precinct to press charges?” Dan questioned. Once again, the lady nodded in
response. She cringed as her violent companion muttered several obscenities
under his breath while he struggled to stumble to his feet. With surprising
speed, the drunk bolted towards his victim. As Dan was fumbling with his cell
phone, the man bent down to grip the terrified woman by the arm, and yanked
her up. “C’mon, woman!” he yelled, his voice
slightly slurred. “You’re not going to any precinct! You’re my wife, and
you’ll do what I say!” “Drop the lady’s arm!” Dan ordered,
his onyx-colored eyes blazing with suppressed anger. “Lie face down on the
ground and put your hands behind your head, now!” Dan’s command only made the man
squeeze the woman’s arm more tightly. “This ain’t no ‘lady’. This is my wife, and she’s nothin’ but
an ol’ whore!” Those statements were followed by several crude suggestions
how the police officer could creatively spend his free time. Dan’s gaze shifted ever-so briefly
to the lady’s face. Blood streamed from both her nose and chin. Her nose was
obviously broken, and a tooth had been knocked out as well. Both her eyes
were blackened and swollen, but these appeared to be old injuries. He inhaled
deeply as he noticed a tress of bright red hair slip loose from her woolen
cap and fall over a bruised eye. “Let go of your wife!” Dan’s voice,
guttural with fury. “This is your last warning!” However, the man didn’t seem concerned
about complying with Dan’s request. In fact, when his wife didn’t move
quickly enough to suit him, he yanked her arm with such force that Dan was
sure he’d pulled the shoulder out of joint. Dan threw down his taser and lunged
toward the couple. He grasped the collar of the drunk’s shirt, yanking him
away from his wife. Freed from her husband’s vise grip, the woman cowered
away, heading towards the couple’s apartment. Consumed with rage, Dan pulled his
tightly-balled fist back, and punched the man in the abdomen. All the years
of chopping wood had made weapons of his upper arms, and he launched a full
assault on the man in his grasp. However, instead of hitting his face, the
furious cop socked the man in the stomach several times in a row. When he finally
released his prisoner, the perpetrator staggered around, gasping for each
breath of oxygen. Deciding he’d had enough, Dan then
grabbed the drunk’s shirt and forcefully hauled the man to a standing
position. "You have the right to remain
silent, you frickin' scumbag," he growled as he jerked the man around.
The young cop, still churning with extreme anger, yanked the drunk’s arm
behind his back with such force that a loud crack echoed through the alley.
Dan then roughly placed the handcuffs on the suspect, not caring if the steel
bit into the perpetrator’s wrists or not.
"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law, you prick," he
hissed, giving a good jerk to the cuffs. When Dan paused in his recitation of
the Miranda rights, the man, though obviously intoxicated, seemed to come out
of his stupor enough to realize that he was being arrested. In a fit of resistance, the drunk turned
slightly. With his hands cuffed, he
had little ability to fight back, but he still attempted to combat Dan by
ramming one shoulder against the policeman's chest. This only served to enrage Dan further. "You son of a…!" Dan ground out. Before the man could do little more than
glare at him, Dan grabbed the handcuffs around the man's wrists and quickly
yanked up on them, which succeeded in forcing the perpetrator down to his
knees. "As I was saying," Dan
barked as he "accidentally" shoved the man's face against the
sidewalk, "you have the right to talk to a lawyer and have him present
with you during questioning." The
man looked as though he were about to begin an argument, but Dan cut him
off. "I'm not done yet, you
flippin' pig!" "If you can't afford a scumbag
lawyer," he continued, his voice hard as steel, "a crappy one will
be appointed to represent you, if you wish." As he prepared to finish his mandatory
speech, Dan shook the man so hard that the drunk groaned at the dizziness it
caused. "Now, then, you freakin'
lowlife, do you understand each of these rights as I have explained them to you,
or are you a complete idiot?"
When the man didn't answer immediately, Dan hauled him up again and
turned him so that his face was inches from his own. "I said," Dan snarled
menacingly, enunciating each word carefully, "do you understand each of
these rights as I have explained them to you?" By this time, the drunk was nearly
passed out from his intoxication, but he was still coherent enough to sense
the imminent danger standing in front of him.
With a wobbly nod of his head, he affirmed his comprehension of the
Miranda rights, and Dan pushed him forward as he pulled his cell phone from
his pocket again, hit the speed dial
button for the precinct, and called for backup.
Not
bothering to be gentle, Dan dragged the perpetrator through the police station
to be processed. One of his particularly smart-alecky coworkers could not
resist calling out, “Book him, Dan-o!” “Yeah,
never heard that before,” Dan muttered with a roll of his eyes. In his
frustrated state, he gave the suspect a slight push to hasten his progress.
The prisoner hollered out in protest just as the captain stuck his head out
of his office. “Mangan!”
Chief Lawrence bellowed. “Let Detective Geoffrey handle the interview, and
get in my office pronto!” “He’s
drunk as a skunk, sir,” Dan respectfully informed his superior. “Then hand
him over to Officer Davis, and tell him to put the perp in a holding cell
until he sobers up,” the captain instructed. “And hurry up about it!” Dan rolled
his eyes in exasperation as he led the inebriated suspect over to the young
African American policeman manning the holding cell. “Merry
Christmas,” Dan quipped sarcastically. He gave a hearty yank to the drunk’s
handcuffs, making him stumble towards Dan’s coworker. “Aw, Sgt.
Mangan,” Officer Davis muttered unenthusiastically, “ya shouldn’t have.” “Don’t
thank me,” Dan responded with a snort. “I get to have a meeting with the
Captain, and he told me you’d baby-sit my prisoner.” “Is he
intoxicated?” Just as
the younger policeman finished asking the question, the suspect leaned over
and began regurgitating the contents of his stomach in front of the desk. “Guess
that answers my question,” Officer Davis mumbled unappreciatively. “I’ll
clean that up if you take my place in the meeting with the chief,” Dan offered. “No,
thanks,” Officer Davis replied. “Rumor has it that Cap’s in a bad mood this
evening.” “Just my
luck,” Dan murmured. “Have fun
in there,” the other cop replied, smiling in an encouraging manner. “Thanks.”
With a heavy sigh, Dan turned on his heel and marched back to the captain’s
office. After a brusque rap on the door, he opened it to reveal the very
unhappy-looking police chief sitting at his desk. “Thought
you were headed to Sleepyside?” Captain Lawrence questioned, his half-glasses
perched on the bridge of his large nose. “I was,” Dan admitted hesitantly. “But I
happened upon a crime as I was exiting Blarney Stone’s.” Grunting,
the captain nodded towards the empty chair across from his desk. “So, what
happened, or do I even want to know?” Drawing a
hesitant breath, Dan sat down. “You probably don’t want to know,” he answered
warily, waiting for the inevitable lecture. The older
man groaned loudly, raking a hand through his sparse brown hair. “What’d you
do this time? Another one of your perps ‘fall down’ as you were loading him
in the patrol car?” “Actually,
sir, he ‘fell’ before he made it to
the patrol car.” Dan reminded himself quickly that the man had fallen a time or two without his
“assistance”. “That
seems to happen a lot to the guys you arrest,” the chief muttered, wearily
rubbing his throbbing temples with his fingertips. “Was this one knocking his
wife around, too?” “Yes,” was
Dan’s clipped response. “She
okay?” “She was
pretty banged up, sir,” Dan told him. “Both of her eyes had been blackened
and were swollen, most likely from a previous assault by her lousy excuse for
a husband. The perp had just broken her nose, and I noticed a missing tooth
or two. He was pretty rough with her, and I wouldn’t be surprised if her
shoulder was dislocated as well.” The
captain’s bushy eyebrows met in the deep groove above his nose. “She coming
in to press charges?” “Supposed
to,” Dan replied, albeit a bit doubtfully. “If we need to, we can track her
down using the address we found on her husband’s driver’s license. I could go
to their home and pick her up, if you’d like.” “I think
you’ve done quite enough this evening.” Captain Lawrence’s voice was heavy
with sarcastic overtones. “We’re not going to get sued, are we? Because we
really don’t want that to happen.” Dan shook
his head, struggling to keep a sheepish grin off his face. “It’s only my word
against his, sir. He didn’t, er, fall
until after his wife had left, and he’s so drunk, I doubt he’ll remember any
of that in the morning.” The chief
muttered a stream of obscenities under his breath as he slapped his desk
loudly with his hand. “Mangan, you can’t keep doing this sorta crap! I know
you have issues with this particular thing because of your past, but it has
to stop!” Dan
shifted in his seat as he fastened his gaze on the tiled floor. “I know…” “No, you don’t know!” Spouting off a few more
vulgarities as he flipped through his filing cabinet, the captain pulled out
a folder and slapped it onto the desk. His eyes hardened into chips of blue
ice, while meanwhile, his neck grew redder with each passing minute. “Sgt.
Mangan, do you know what these are?” Dan
cleared his throat. “I have a pretty good idea, sir.” “These are
complaints that’ve been filed against you in the past three years,” Captain Lawrence
barked. He leaned over the desk, his bushy brows raised in query. “Do you
know how many are in here?” “Two or
three?” Dan offered hopefully. “Five!”
the chief shot back. “Five complaints in three-and-a-half years! That’s
ridiculous, Mangan!” Dan sunk
back in his seat, his shoulders sagging in defeat. Since he agreed
whole-heartedly with the police chief, he knew it was pointless to argue. “What’s
your problem?” Captain Lawrence bellowed. Suddenly, he began dumping out the
contents of the folder onto his desk. “Look at this!” He began reading from
the paper he held in his hands. “ ‘Suspect found with bruises on his arm.’
Here’s another one: ‘Perpetrator complained about inappropriate police
conduct. No sufficient grounds for complaint found.’ You got lucky there,
Mangan.” “Those
guys deserved it, Captain,” Dan said with a wince. “If you’d seen what I’d
seen—” “That’s no
excuse!” The chief let loose another stream of four-letter words. “Mangan,
it’s our responsibility as officers of the law to maintain the peace, not
destroy it!” “I know,”
Dan mumbled guiltily, his eyes staring holes in the toes of his black dress
shoes. Captain
Lawrence exhaled loudly as he studied the officer sitting before him. He
closed his eyes thoughtfully, rubbing his fingertips in the left corner of
his right one in an effort to calm down. Once he had found the barest
semblance of serenity, he fastened his steely gaze on the young policeman. “Dan,
you’re a rising star here. You’ve got good instincts, street smarts, and a
brain like a steel trap. And it’s a good thing you’re sharp as a tack; if you
weren’t so freakin’ intelligent and intuitive, you never would’ve made it to
Sergeant.” “Thanks, I
think,” Dan answered hesitantly. “For every
one of these complaints, you have two or three commendations,” the chief
continued, tapping his pencil thoughtfully against his desk. “When you aren’t
being such a royal pain in the butt, you’re a good cop. I don’t want to have
to fire you.” “I don’t
want you to have to fire me, either, sir,” Dan muttered, wincing at the
prospect. Captain
Lawrence leaned over the desk, his hands clasped under his chin in a
thoughtful pose. “So, what do you suggest we do, Mangan?” “I have no
idea.” “I know having
you on the force could probably get the NYPD sued Rodney King-style, but my
gut says you’re worth keeping around,” the older man replied. “I guess we
could send you to counseling, or did we already try that?” “We tried
that,” Dan answered, grimacing. “Didn’t
help, huh?” Dan merely
shook his head. “I just
don’t understand, Mangan.” The chief cocked his head pensively to study the
younger officer. “You’ll be fine for months, and then you snap and fly off
the handle. What brings these fits of rage on?” Something
Dan had seen recently flitted through his mind, but he pushed the unpleasant
memory aside. “I don’t know,” he murmured in response. The
captain raised his hands in resignation. “Tell me what we need to do to get
your temper under control, Dan. What can I do to help?” “Chop
wood,” was Dan’s even reply. Captain
Lawrence sat upright, a quizzical expression on his face. “Excuse me?” “I need to
go home and chop wood,” Dan repeated solemnly. The chief
began piling the contents of Dan’s folder back into an orderly stack. “Fine,
Mangan. You go back to Sleepyside and cool off. In a few days, get your butt
back here, and we’ll see if we can’t find you another therapist, one who can
help you work through this anger.” Dan shook
his head, his lips pressed tightly together. “No.” “You don’t
want to see another counselor?” Captain Lawrence shrugged his shoulders, and
tapped on the desk with an index finger. “Frankly, Sergeant, if this would
ever come back to bite us in the butt, I’d like some documentation that you’d
went to a shrink or something for anger management. If the guy you brought in
was as drunk as you said, he’ll probably never remember a thing about this
whole episode, but you never know—” “I’m not
coming back,” Dan interrupted, his tone respectful but firm. “Are you
talking about a vacation or…” “I’m
talking about something more permanent,” Dan said hoarsely. “You’ll have my
two-week notice, effective immediately, on your desk after I get back.” The
captain’s brows met in a knot of puzzlement. “I’m not firing you, Dan. You
don’t have to quit. I’m willing to work with you until you get through this.” “I know.”
Dan took a deep breath, and then continued in an earnest voice. “And I
appreciate that, Captain. I really do. But I know me, and I know I can’t get
past this here in the city. I need to go home.” With another heavy sigh, he
nodded his head in determination, sure of what he had to do. “I’m going home
to focus my anger. “I need to
go chop some wood.”
Thank you so much to the lovely
ladies who helped me by editing this story, Steph H, Mal, and Ronda. You
ladies are the berries! Beulah, the name of Dan’s
truck, was what I had called my beloved To see Kaye’s date with Dan,
read The Cameo’s “Why
Do Fools Fall in Love?” And for the inside scoop about the
man who stole her from Dan, tune into the Jix MB. *wink* Dan’s other dates have
special significance as well. My dear editors, I hope you enjoyed your cameo
at The Cameo. {{{HUGS}}} My dad had a big work horse
named Luther, who was truly a gentle giant. We have pictures of me as a baby,
sitting atop Luther’s neck. Dan’s horse was named after him. When I was about
nine or ten, I had a chestnut Morgan named Lady, which is why Luther was a
Morgan. I felt Mercury was the
perfect name for Jim’s new horse. I’m sure Jupe is still hanging around the
Manor House Stable, but I decided an accomplished rider like Jim would need
to keep a young, spry horse around, hence Jupiter’s half-brother being
purchased. I know when my dad is particularly pleased with a horse, he’ll
purchase other horses from that same bloodline, so this isn’t far-fetched. I greatly enjoy expounding on
Dan and Regan’s relationship. They had a difficult beginning (as I’ve
hinted), and I hope to give even more background in the Through the Fire
Trilogy, which focuses on the Regan/Mangan family history. Mr. Maypenny is patterned
after my grandfather, who is in his upper 80s and still getting up at the
crack of dawn each morning so he can go outside and tinker with his
assortment of backhoes, dozers, and various other equipment. Who’s Michelson? I was hoping
you’d ask… Stay tuned! For the curious, “Stygian”
means infernal or hellish, and for the context of that particular passage it
is highly symbolic. There’s major foreshadowing there, people. Yes, Regan always does say, “I mind my own business and don’t tell anybody anything that
doesn’t concern them.” A MAJOR “thank you” to my dear, dear friend Steph for
helping me write the scene between Dan and the drunk. Without her, it
would’ve sucked rotten egss. You rock, my dear!!! The phrase, “Book him,
Dan-o,” was from the show “ Curious about Dan’s history?
Good! Go back and read my Through the Fire Trilogy!
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