18 April 2026: Moccasin Creek Bridge
Buddy Smith was driving along the narrow two-lane road listening to another weather report wondering when they would talk of rain. It had been nearly a month since the last rain fell, and he needed it before planting soybeans. After listening to another report on clear skies for the days to come, he switched over to the country station out of Mobile and sat back. It had been a long day, and he was exhausted but happy. His youngest daughter had delivered her first child the night before and he and his wife had spent half the night then all day with her and John, her husband.
He drove along the road unhurriedly, too tired to be in a rush to get home. He’d get there sooner or later, and he would take a long shower and get to bed for some much-needed sleep. He passed the Miller dairy farm knowing the crew was in the middle of their second milking for the day, then entered the section of road where the paper mill’s pine grew on both sides. It was a section of road to stay alert, for deer were constantly running out in front of people, damaging or totaling vehicles. He slowed and watched the road ahead, from tree line to tree line. The road curved, then dropped, following the grade down to Moccasin Creek where an old bridge spanned it. As he descended toward the bridge, he saw a red light off to the side, down near the creek. As he drew near, he realized the light was just above the waterline then he realized he was seeing a taillight.
“Oh no,” Buddy uttered as he sped up to get to the bridge, stopping just before getting on it. He put on his flashers and climbed out of his truck while taking out of cellphone. He dialed 911, something he had never done before, and listened to the ringing. One, two, three rings and a female voice came on.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“There’s a vehicle in Moccasin Creek upside down!”
“Sir, is the person still in the vehicle?”
“I…don’t know,” said Buddy making his way down the embankment through the brush that had been allowed to grow up. “I’m trying to get to it now.”
“Stay on the line and let me know what you see. I’ll inform police and medics to have them on the way. You are on 164 at the bridge over Moccasin Creek. Is that correct?”
“Yes, yes. Damn the Explorer is in the water; the passenger compartment is submerged.”
“I have medics and police on the way.”
“It’s Ben Nichols’ Explorer,” said Buddy as he waded into the creek. He was quickly up to his chest holding his cellphone over his head. He got to the driver’s door, laid the cellphone on top of the Explorer, and tried to open the door. He tugged and tugged until it finally opened.
Using the flashlight on his phone, he shined it on Ben Nichols lifeless body seat belted in the driver’s seat.
“He’s dead,” Buddy uttered.
“Sir, stay on the line, help is on the way.”
“But he’s gone.”
“Sir, get out of the water and wait for the police and medics in your vehicle.”
Jack Wiggins came out of the kitchen with two bowls of vanilla ice cream. He handed one to Lynn, his wife of twenty-two years, then sat down in his recliner to enjoy his while they watched the old movie they had seen on their first date.
“Kate said she passed that exam,” said Lynn.
“Which one?”
“The physics class; the one she had been so worried about.”
“Oh, yeah. Good for her, for I didn’t understand any of it.”
Jack’s cellphone rang and he saw it was from headquarters.
“Jack speaking.”
“Jack, there’s been a wreck on 164, at the bridge over Moccasin Creek.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Ben Nichols; they say he’s dead.”
“Damn. Okay, I’ll get dressed and head out there. I assume we’ll have the full regalia out there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, good. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
Jack ended the call and saw the questioning expression, one he had seen often over the years with him being the State Trooper for the north end of the country, an area that consisted of rural communities.
“Ben Nichols went into Moccasin Creek.”
“Probably drunk again.”
“Probably. Don’t wait up, this could take a while to sort out,” said Jack as he came to his feet. He looked at his bowl of ice cream that he had barely touched. “Here, you get to finish this,” he said Lynn, smiling so she knew not worry about him.
Jack drove at speed, lights flashing but no siren, because with it nearly ten o’clock at night, he knew few would be out in the rural countryside; most were turned in for the night or watching television before doing so. He drove down 89 until at the intersection with 164, slowed enough to make the turn, then accelerated away.
He passed Glenn Kirkland’s place, getting a whiff of the hog barns despite the windows up. He drove around the curves and along the gently sloping terrain until at the sharpest curve, the one at the point the road sloped steeply down as it came to the creek. He saw the volunteer fire department had made it and someone’s truck with flashers on sitting in the road on the opposite side of the bridge, knowing it had to be the person who found Ben Nichols.
Jack pulled onto the bridge and left the lights on as he climbed out of the Tahoe. Buddy Smith came into his headlights, wet from the chest down and visibly shaken.
“Buddy, you found Ben?”
“Yes, Jack. He’s still in the car.”
“Has anyone called Ryan Matthews?” referring to the only tow truck operator in the area.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, Buddy go back and wait in your truck and I’ll go find out,” said Jack in a calm tone hoping to get Buddy to calm down.
Jack walked to the end of the bridge and looked over the guardrail at two men bringing Ben Nichols’ body up in a basket stretcher, too dark to make them out with their headlamps concealing their faces. The stretcher was covered with a blanket showing Ben Nichols was dead.
“What have we got?” Jack called down to them.
“He drowned in his seat,” said one of the men. Jack recognized the voice, knowing it was Ethan Haywood, one of the oldest guys in the fire department.
“What do you think? Was he drunk and just ran off the road?”
“That is what I thought, but Frank said he was run off the road.”
“Damn,” Jack uttered to himself. “Why does he think that?”
“Jack, Jack, over here. You need to come down and see this,” said Frank Gibbs, standing on the bank of the creek near the back of the Explorer.
“On my way.”
Jack climbed over the guardrail and made his way down a path recently cleared by the guys wondering who would be considered a suspect. Who would hate Ben Nichols enough to give thought of forcing him off the road. The list was a long one, even for such a small community. The man was a belligerent drunk, abusive to all of those around him. His wife left him six years ago and moved to Virginia. The sad thing was how she left the boy behind, only twelve at the time, to endure his abusive father. The boy was eighteen and no doubt would become suspect number one, but Jack knew there was no way James Nichols could hurt anyone. But James closest friend, Chase Reynolds, would be a suspect too, for he had come to James’ defense often, the last time, sending Ben to the hospital for stitches.
Then there were the guys that Ben worked with in the lumberyard. Ben had been a cabinet maker until people got fed up with his drunkenness and gruff nature, forcing him to take a job at the lumberyard. How they put up with them he didn’t know, but Jack knew if it were not for Ben’s brother working there, he would have been fired long ago. But the four or five guys that had to work with Ben would be suspects too, for each one probably had a good reason, if only in their minds, for doing something to hurt Ben.
As he made his way to the base of the embankment, he wondered about Ben’s brother, Christopher Nichols. He could be a suspect too, for it was plausible Chris found out about Ben abusing the boy and took matters into his own hands.
Who else in the community that had crossed Ben in the wrong way? He couldn’t begin to know, but the list would be numerous but was one of them capable? Was it plausible they would force Ben off the road. He doubted it, but that would be up to the Sheriff to sort out. They would have jurisdiction if foul play was suspected, not the State Trooper’s office, thus relieving him of any part of an official investigation and all the conflicts it would create. But he knew he would be involved. He had to make sure the Sheriff didn’t go after the wrong person, not get in a hurry to close the case and go after the first good suspect, such as the boy.
“What have we got?” said Jack as he stepped up next to Frank.
“Look for yourself,” said Frank, shining his flashlight on the rear corner of the driver’s side. The taillight was busted out, freshly done by appearances, and on the edge of the white paint, black paint had rubbed off on it.
“Looks like a black vehicle hit him,” said Jack.
“And how many black vehicles are around here?”
“A lot, but only one that will have damage on the front passenger side.”
18 April 2026: The Nichols Home
“Chase, you should go before dad gets back,” said James.
“Not until he gets back and falls asleep. You know if he comes home with a grievance he’ll take it out on you,” said Chase, rolling to his side, propping his head on one arm, looking down at James.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Chase scoffed. “Me get hurt? Didn’t I whip his ass last time I caught him wailing on you.”
“Yes.”
“Then its settled. Besides, if he’s not back by now, you know his ass is on a stool at the lounge getting hammered.”
“Maybe,” said James.
“We have time.” Chase reached out and ran his fingers along James’ bare chest. He flicked them across nipples not yet gone down, then moved them downward as he leaned over to kiss James again. As they kissed, he toyed with James’ cock, made it stir, thicken and elongate until once again erect. It took so little of his manipulation to get James hard. A moan into his mouth and a push up with the hips were familiar, one of many ways James let him know he was ready.
He moved to the chest, tonguing the right nipple, then nipping it with his teeth making James shudder and arch his back. He stroked the cock and tongued and kissed the chest, then the stomach, feeling its undulations with James’ hard breathing.
“Chase!” James uttered as Chase descended on his cock.
Chase had learned over the last couple of months what really turned James on, what manipulation of the cock drove him insane. He did those things and more. He tugged on the tightening sac, then fingered the cum slick hole.
James was his, his alone. They loved each other, expressed in moments of intimacy that James could never utter any other time, too shy to do so. He fingered the loose ass and sucked the cock until James was pumping his hips to increase his pleasure. He kept up his ministrations, pushing James to the point of release. He wanted it. Wanted to take another load from the cock. He had taken so many, relishing each one.
“Chase…I’m going to cum,” James exclaimed, shoving hips upward.
Chase held his mouth on the cock, let James pump the hips until the cock flexed against the roof of his mouth, then gushed wad after wad of cum. He closed his lips around it to capture every drop, swallowing once his mouth was full.
James was still hard, always was after getting sucked off. It only aroused him more to have his load swallowed. In this state, James gave himself to Chase, legs raised for their intimacy to go to the next level. Chase held the legs behind the knees pushing them apart as he scooted up to the ass. He put his cock to the cum slick opening and entered James again, sinking half his cock inside him. With legs held apart, he began to fuck, to drive his cock into James’ depths. The cheap bed began to squeak, then tap the wall, a steady staccato tapping in rhythm with their fuck.
“Fuck me. Fuck me, Chase,” James begged.
James pushed the legs forward until pressed against the chest and the ass angled upward for his fuck. He held the legs down and gave James what he wanted. A hard driving pace, shoving cock into James’ depths until hips smacked against the upturned ass. He felt hands holding his waist, fingers digging into the flesh showing their desperation and desire. He gave in to it, allowed himself to fuck with such abandon the bed began to bang into the wall. Sweat beaded up on his chest and trickled down his face as his cock moved smoothly, slickly, in the ass.
“Fuck. Fuck me,” James pleaded.
Chase let the legs slip into the crook of each arm as he moved down on James. He moved against him, rubbing sweaty skin against sweaty skin, the heat nearly unbearable. He worked his hips, pumping his cock inside him as hands rubbed the sweat on his back, then cupped his ass cheeks encouraging him, urging him on, and he kept fucking and fucking until he needed to cum. Until he had to cum, unable to hold back another second.
“James,” Chase uttered breathlessly as he came inside him again.
Chase lay next to James; their breathing returned to normal. James touched him, ran a finger over his chest and up his neck until rubbing along his chin.
“You need to shave,” said James.
Chase sat up and rubbed his cheek against James’. “Don’t you like to feel my stubble rubbing against you?” he joked, making James laugh.
A knock echoed through the small house. Three hard raps against the door.
“Who could that be?” said Chase sitting up.
“What time is it?”
“It’s 11:50,” said Chase as he climbed out of bed and searched for his jeans. “Stay here and I’ll go see who it is.”
Jeans pulled on, Chase went to the front door and looked through the window that was so high he only saw the top of a man’s head. He turned on the porch light, unlocked the door, and swung it open to reveal State Trooper Jack Wiggins.
“Mr. Wiggins? What are you doing here?”
Chase could see it, first surprise to see him shirtless with jeans barely on the hips, then recognition of what he was seeing.
“Is James here? I need to talk to him about his dad.”
“I’m right here,” said James coming up behind Chase wearing just his jeans. The lean body sweaty and flushed.
“Can I come in?” said Jack.
“Yes, yes, come in. Chase, let him in,” said James.
Jack stood in the living looking at Chase and James sitting on the sofa. They sat close, too close just to be friends, and from the look of them knew he had interrupted something as old as time itself. Two people having sex. He knew based on what people in the area said, he should be shocked, repulsed even, by the idea two boys were having sex. The preacher at the Baptist church would no doubt condemn them for it. But he had seen lot over the years, from his time in the Navy, then on the force, and he was the last person who would cast judgment on two people seeking some intimacy, especially James Nichols, who deserved whatever happiness he could get.
“What about dad?” said James, bringing Jack to why he was standing in the Nichols’ living room.
“We found him at Moccasin Creek. He had gone off the road and flipped upside down into the creek. He drowned before anyone found him.”
“He’s dead?” Chase blurted out.
Jack didn’t know if Chase sounded surprised by the news or glad of it.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. James, I know you are seventeen—”
“Eighteen; he’s eighteen,” interrupted Chase.
“Eighteen. But do you have someone you can call? We’ll need you to come identify the body but that can wait until morning.”
“I could call my grandparents or Uncle Chris but—”
“I’ll stay with him,” Chase blurted out.
“You’re just a kid too.”
“I’m eighteen too and it’s not like we haven’t been left alone before.”
“Okay. James, I’m sorry to put you through this, but this is what needs to happen…”
When Jack left the small house on Garden Street it was after one in the morning. James had not cried or shown any remorse at his dad’s passing. Chase acted glad of it, and he really couldn’t blame the boy. He had fought Ben Nichols off James who knew how many times, once a couple of weeks ago that sent Ben to the emergency room for stitches.
As he walked across the yard heading to his Tahoe, he had to admit he too thought James was better off without Ben. He had thought about it from the first moment he saw James a couple of years ago in Grace’s General Store getting a drink. The left eye was nearly swollen shut and bruises were visible on the neck and if not for the long sleeve shirt James wore, bruises would no doubt be visible along the arms and on the body. James had lied about what happened, saying he got jumped after school by some boys he didn’t know. He knew it was a lie and James knew he was aware of it, but with refusing to tell the truth, his hands were tied.
19 April 2026: Greenlawn Hospital, Allentown
Chase walked up next to James who stood at the back of his Civic staring at the back entrance to the hospital. It was where they were to enter. Where Sheriff O’Brian would be waiting for them.
“Come on James, let’s get this over with,” said Chase, and he reached out to take James’ hand but stopped himself. He knew it would embarrass James, such a public display, one he wanted to do all the time.
They crossed the parking lot and entered the cool interior where the odor of disinfectant filled the air. Sitting just inside the door was the Sheriff, who stood when they entered.
Chase looked up at the man who towered over them, six feet four inches at least, maybe taller. An imposing man who obviously made a good sheriff for the region.
“Which one of you is James?” said the Sheriff.
“I am,” James responded, stepping forward.
“I’m sorry for your loss and to force you to do this, but we need a family member to identify Benjamin Nichols.”
“I understand. Where is he?”
“This way.”
The sheriff led them to the door of a stairwell, going down to the basement level. As they rounded the landing to descend the last run of steps, the sheriff fell in next to Chase.
“You must be Chase Reynolds.”
“Yes, sir,” Chase replied, not surprised the man knew who he was for Trooper Wiggins probably told him.
“After James identifies the body, I’d like to talk to the two of you.”
“Okay.”
In the corridor, one lined with doors on one side, but only one pair of doors on the opposite side, the sheriff led them down to a door opposite the lone double doors, entering a room with a window in the door with Morgue in red letters on the glass.
Chase recognized the room, one he had seen in cop shows and in movies. A sterile room with stainless steel doors he knew was for storing dead bodies. The sheriff led them to a door in the middle down at knee level, and pulled it open, sliding out a tray with a body under cover. James stepped back.
“James, it’s okay. He can’t hurt you now,” whispered Chase.
Sheriff O’Brien looked up at Chase, taking note of the comment. He pulled back the cover and heard James’ gasp.
“Is this your dad?” said Sheriff O’Brien.
“Yes, sir,” James replied in such a low voice he could barely be heard.
“Do you need a minute alone with him?”
“N-n-n-o-o-o-o.”
It sounded almost like a wail, a cry of anguish from something injured.
“We need to go,” said Chase.
Sheriff O’Brian saw the anguish in Chase’s face, how he was looking at James then up to him, imploring him to put an end to this.
“Okay,” said Sheriff O’Brian, putting the cover back over Ben Nichols and closing him back into the cool storage.
In a small waiting area on the ground floor, Sheriff O’Brian brought the two boys bottle waters and sat down opposite them. There was no one else in the room, giving them privacy.
“I’ve got a few questions because there is a factor about your father’s wreck that is complicating things.”
“What about my dad’s wreck?” said James.
“First, I’d like to clear up a few things. Where were you last night between eight and ten o’clock?”
“I was home. We…I had dinner about eight thirty—”
“It was closer to nine and I was there with him,” Chase interrupted, admitted what the Sheriff already knew if he had talked with Trooper Wiggins.
“Anyone else with you?”
“No, it was just the two of us,” said James.
“And both of you were there until Jack Wiggin arrived sometime before midnight?”
“Yes, sir,” said Chase.
Sheriff saw it, the thing Jack had only hinted at. The two boys were more than friends. He sat back wondering if it was possible one of the boys was covering for the other. After seeing how rattled James was about the ordeal, his money was on Chase being his number one suspect.
“Sometime between eight and ten, someone forced your dad off the road, sending him into the creek. His Ford Explorer flipped over putting him upside down in the water where he drowned.”
“Someone ran him off the road?” said Chase. He looked shocked.
“Why would someone…” said James, his voice trailing off.
Sheriff O’Brian saw it, a recognition of what kind of man his dad had been, someone who made a lot of enemies, one of the fiercest sitting next to him for how his dad abused him.
“I guess I don’t have to tell you your dad made a lot of enemies. Jack thinks it could be almost anyone he had dealings, from co-workers to people who had traded with him over the years, to your mother, and…”
The Sheriff waited a second, got the two boys to look at him.
“The two of you.”
“I didn’t kill my dad!” James exclaimed and he reached out for Chase’s hand taking it.
“Nor I,” said Chase defiantly.
“But you’ve put him in the hospital,” said Sheriff O’Brian.
“After he beat the shit out James. I was defending James from the bastard.”
Anger not shown before, but also frustration. Was it for being accused or was Chase hiding something.
“What about your mother?” said the sheriff looking at James.
“My mom couldn’t be bothered to come back to do something like that. She doesn’t even care about me and—”
“James,” said Chase.
“What color is your Civic,” said Sheriff O’Brian, looking at Chase.
“It’s blue, but I think you knew that already,” said Chase.
The defiance was stronger, challenging.
“Do you know anyone with black vehicle?”
A scoff from Chase and a look of confusion from James.
“Should I list all the people in the region that drive a black vehicle for you,” said Chase.
Sheriff O’Brian smiled, knowing the point Chase was making. “I can make our guys work it out.”
“It was a black vehicle?” said James.
“Yes; it left paint on the rear corner.”
“Good luck with that,” said Chase, then he turned to James. “Are you okay?”
A nod of the head and James turned back to Sheriff O’Brian. “Can we go?”
“Yes, but we may have more questions.”
“Okay,” said James as Chase and he came to their feet.
Once outside, heading across the parking lot, Chase turned to James, walking backward toward his Civic. “Can you believe they suspect us?”
“Yes.”
“I know that it is usually a family member and all that shit, but seriously, do they not talk to people first, find out what kind of person they are. Anyone can see we’re not murderers.”
“But I do have motive.”
“Yeah, so do I, for that bastard hurt you constantly, but we didn’t run him off the road.”
“Who do you think did it?”
“How the hell should I know. How many people did your dad piss off or screw out of money?”
James knew his dad had done something to just about everybody he had dealings with. The Sheriff would have a long list of people to go through to find the one who ran his dad off the road.
20 April 2026: Betty Lou’s Diner
The diner sat on Highway 31 just outside Allentown, near McGee’s Bait and Tackle and Johnson’s Diesel Repair. Most of the customers were truck drivers, rural folk, and factory workers from the plastic plant north of town. Sheriff O’Brian pulled in and parked next to the black Tahoe with a cream-colored top and State Trooper spelled out on the front fenders. Jack was already at the diner waiting for him, probably with his second sweet tea sitting in front of him.
It was just after six in the afternoon, and the parking lot was over half full. Inside he heard the white noise of a busy dining room, and he turned to the left going toward the counter, where Jack Wiggins sat, nursing a glass of sweet tea.
“Jack, sorry I’m late.”
“You’re fine. It’s nice just to sit and relax a bit,” said Jack.
“How’s your day been?”
“Better than yours. Have you gotten anywhere with the Nichols case?”
“Just getting started. Do you know how many black vehicles are in this region?”
“A lot,” Jack replied, chuckling under his breath. There’s a black Tahoe in the parking lot right now.”
“I don’t think a State Trooper ran Ben Nichols off the road.”
“The crazy thing is…this State Trooper thinks he deserved it. The boy is better off. He doesn’t have to fear getting abused every evening.”
“Was it that bad?”
“I’m not sure, but it was bad enough. The night Chase Reynolds pulled Ben off James and beat the shit out of him; you should have seen what Ben had done to James. It was monstrous.”
“After talking to the boys, I think my number one suspect is Chase, not James.”
Jack scoffed and looked around at the sheriff. “Steve, are you nuts. Those boys didn’t do this.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“James doesn’t have it in him and Chase will not do anything to hurt James, and killing Ben would be a bridge too far.”
“I agree about James, but I’m not so sure about Chase.”
“What about people Ben cheated out of money or had to put up with his belligerence? There are a lot of people around here who could want that bastard dead.”
“We’re checking them. But back to black vehicles. We found out two co-workers drive black trucks, and there is a black Dodge belonging to someone rumored to have been stiffed by Ben and had gotten into an altercation with him last fall.”
“The Roberts boy. I know about that.”
“Do you think he’s worth pursuing?”
“A deacon at the Oak Hill Baptist Church, married with two kids, and a good job as the town’s eye doctor. No, I don’t think he did it.”
“Well, somebody pushed Ben Nichols off the road.”
“Yep, that they did.”
“Jack, my records search for black vehicles shows you have a black Dodge truck.”
“I do.”
“Did you run Benjamin off the road?”
The sheriff made it sound like a joke, but both men knew he wasn’t joking.
Sheila came up to take their orders, looking from Jack to Steve.
“Did I interrupt something?” said Shelia.
“The sheriff just asked me if I used my black Dodge truck to run Ben Nichols off the road.”
Shelia scoffed then laughed, making Jack do the same.
“What’s so funny?” said Steve.
“Jack’s truck doesn’t even run. The dumb son of bitch blew the motor up last year and has been repairing it ever since. Henry said the last time he saw it; the engine was nothing but parts laying out on a work bench.”
“Oh, so your truck isn’t running.”
Jack smiled at Steve, nodding.
“Are you ready to eat?” said Jack.
“Yes, I had to skip lunch.”
“Shelia, we’re ready to order,” Jack called out.
Shelia laid her order booklet on the counter and looked at the two of them waiting for their order. She was late fifties, the mother of three boys and a husband who was disabled. She pulled her hair out of her face, putting it behind her right ear then held her ball point pen over the booklet.
“What can I get you?”
Shelia set a plate in front of Jack, then a basket with cornbread it. She set another plate in front of the sherif, then a basket with two small dinner rolls. “Can I get you something else?”
“I think I’m good,” said Jack.
“I’m good,” said Sheriff O’Brian.
Sheila hesitated to step away, then she leaned on the counter. “Are you discussing suspects for Ben Nichols’ murder?”
“Police business, Sheila,” said Jack.
“Some think it was his brother.”
“Damn, this place loves to start rumors.”
The sheriff laughed, then looked at Sheila. “Who do you think would want to kill Ben Nichols?”
She scoffed then shook her head. “Everyone wanted that bastard dead. What he did to his wife and now the boy. Jack, you should have done something already.”
“No one would make an official statement.”
“So, everyone around here should be a suspect,” said Sheriff O’Brian.
“Well, there is Wyatt Bradberry.”
“Wyatt?” said Jack.
“What about him?” said Sheriff O’Brian.
“Back in January, Ben was to do some work for him in his house. They were renovating and Wyatt wanted new cabinets in the kitchen for Cindy, his wife.”
“And what happened?”
5 January 2026: The Bradberry Residence
Wyatt came out of the bathroom on the second floor and headed down the stairs to check on Ben Nichols. He knew the man’s reputation. He was an excellent carpenter, and could build the nicest cabinets, if you could keep him sober long enough to finish the job. What he hadn’t realized was how much the man made him feel uneasy. There was something about Ben Nichols that was just unsettling.
At the foot of the stairs Wyatt turned to go back to the kitchen when he heard Cindy yell out.
“Stop!”
Wyatt rushed into the kitchen to see Ben Nichols pushing himself on his wife. He had her pinned against the base cabinets in a corner unable to get away from his advances.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” yelled Wyatt.
Ben turned, surprised, for he thought Wyatt had left. Before he could react, a fist flew into his face, knocking him back. Then he was being manhandled, dragged out of the kitchen and on the back deck. Wyatt hit him again, then threw him off the deck into the yard.
“Get the fuck off my property.”
“My tools are inside—”
“Fuck your tools; if you’re not out of my sight in thirty seconds, I’m calling the cops.”
Wyatt watched Ben Nichols walk toward his old truck, then looked around at Cindy standing in the door. He expected her to be crying, but she was angry. She was watching Ben, making sure he left.
“Cindy, are you alright?”
“Yes, he didn’t hurt me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was like that.”
“Just find someone else to do the job,” she exclaimed, then she visibly calmed and smiled at Wyatt. “You really bloodied his nose.”
Wyatt smiled at her. “And I bet that right eye swells shut.”
“My hero.”
21 April 2026: The Nichols Residence
James clung to Chase, held the body against his own as cock bore into his depths. He had never needed someone so much. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Lips moved from his right ear to his neck. Hands held his ass as cock moved inside him. It made him shiver beneath Chase despite the heat of their bodies rubbing together. Every touch excited him. Every rub of skin against skin was hot and sweaty, causing the contact to become slick. He moaned, then cried out.
“Chase. Fuck me! Fuck me!”
Chase nipped the right shoulder then kissed him again, their mouths open to each other, every inhale and exhale shared between them.
They fucked unhurriedly, no longer afraid of Ben Nichols walking in on them. They had all the time in the world, and they relished it, took advantage of it, fucking off and on all day. Chase’s parents knew he was comforting his friend, staying with him during this time of loss, but they didn’t know the extent of the boy’s relationship.
Chase rolled to his back and James straddled his waist and eased down on the cock. James moved on it, up and down, working his ass on it until his own leaked on Chase’s stomach.
“James,” Chase whispered as he put his hands on the thighs feeling them flex with James’ movement. He watched his cock come into view then disappear in the ass, over and over, as he felt how it increased his arousal until he wanted to cum.
“Cum inside me,” said James as he moved faster on the cock.
Chase sat up, hugged the lean body to his own, feeling the dripping cock slide over his stomach. His biceps bulged as he worked James on his cock, lifting the body then letting it settle down on his cock. Then he pulled him down all the way and erupted deep in the ass.
James lay on his back with Chase on his cock, working the ass up and down its length. Chase loved to feel him inside his body, bored deep into his hole. Chase didn’t have to ride James’ cock long for he was so aroused, he was soon pushing upward, as his cock spurt wad after wad.
They lay across the bed, a few water droplets still on their shoulders and back from the shower taken to rinse away the cum and sweat. They touched each other, kissed, then Chase rolled against James.
“Do you think the sheriff will find who ran your dad off the road?”
“No.”
“Do you think your mother will come back for you?”
James scoffed, then fell still. “No.”
18 April 2026: The Nichols Residence.
Sharon Faircloth sat in the street a couple of houses down from the one she was watching. It had been her home once, until beaten so badly she fled six years before. She had left James behind, only twelve years old, and it tormented her, made her feel ashamed. For three years she struggled to pull herself together and during that time kept telling herself that once she did, she would come for James.
At the time, she got word from home it appeared Ben wasn’t abusing the boy as he had done her, and she relaxed, thought that maybe, just maybe, Ben would be a good father even though he was an abusive husband.
When she finally began to get on her feet, getting a good job, an apartment outside Richmond, she told herself she could focus on her own wellbeing, that James was alright. She met Justin Faircloth, a dentist in town, a divorcee like herself, her divorce final just a few months prior, and soon found herself in a relationship she had only dreamed about up until that moment. He asked her to marry him and in May 2024 they tied the knot. She was happy for the first time in a long time.
Then she heard Bill was abusing James as he had done her.
She watched the house, wondering what she could do. James was eighteen and only weeks from graduation, then he would be able to leave, to strike out on his own. She saw Ben come out, climb into his old Explorer, and pull away.
Sharon started her car and pulled away from the curb slowly, letting Ben get down the road. She knew where he was going and didn’t feel an urgency to keep up.
She followed Ben to the lumberyard and wondered if it was a good time to confront him. There were other men all around, so hopefully Ben wouldn’t lash out at her.
She pulled into the parking lot and parked next to Ben’s Explorer, realizing too late, Ben was still sitting in it. She climbed out of her car and came to the front of it where she stood waiting for Ben to see her. He looked up, grimaced, then climbed out.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I heard you’re harming James and—”
“Shut your fucking mouth. You left and have no say in the matter. James is lazy, and disobedient, and needs a strong hand—”
“Bullshit. You’re an abuser and James is just another victim of it. Let him come with me, I’ll take him back to—”
“No, you won’t; James is staying right here. He’s mine. Not yours. Not get the fuck out of here.”
“I’ll call the police.”
“You do that honey,” Ben replied with such sarcasm it made Sharon step back. “You don’t’ have shit on me, so call whoever you like. He’s my son, mine, and I will not let you take him. I’ll kill both of you before I let that happen.”
Sharon stepped back again, suddenly terrified of Ben. She watched him storm across the gravel parking lot and into the sawmill section of the lumberyard.
“Sharon? Sharon Nichols?”
Sharon turned to see Emily Henderson, the owner’s daughter coming toward her. She smiled and waited until Emily was standing before her.
“Hey, Emily, and it’s Faircloth now, not Nichols.”
“Good for you. What are you doing here?”
“I came for James. I finally got my shit together and although I’m afraid, I’m too late, I came to try.”
“I guess Ben wasn’t discussing it.”
“No. Belligerent as ever. I guess I’ll just go back to Richmond and get an attorney to handle it for me.”
“Will James go with you?”
Sharon knew what she meant. She knew James had to think she abandoned him, and she didn’t fault him if he did.
“I don’t know, but he’s not safe with Ben.”
“Is Ben really that bad?”
“Worse than you know. I need to go; I’ve got a long drive before me and there is something I may do before leaving. Don’t tell anyone we talked.”
“Okay Sharon but take care of yourself and good luck with James.”
Thanks,” Sharon replied, then she went to her car and climbed in. She started it, waved at Emily, then pulled away.
22 April 2026: The Sheriff’s Station in Madison.
Sheriff Steven O’Brian sat in the conference room that was next to his office. It was where they met to go over cases that took time to solve, those that required solid police work to find the criminal. The dry erase board was covered with the Benjamin Nichols case. The basic facts along the left, down the middle a list of suspects, with notes that made one less suspicious or more so on the right. He looked at the list aggravated it was still so long. By now, most cases would be down to two, maybe three suspects, and most of the time the main culprit was at the top of the list. But this list was off. Something was missing.
1. James Nichols.
2. Chase Reynolds
3. Sharon (Nichols) Faircloth
4. Wyatt Bradberry
5. Jason Graham
6. Roger Hickman
7. Possibly an unknown suspect
Looking at the list, he went over it again in his mind. James didn’t seem the type and if he and his boyfriend were to be believed, he was home and in no position to do it. Then there was Chase Reynolds. At times he truly believed Chase was the one, but when he replayed their encounters, it created doubt, and if they were together that night, then neither James nor he could have done it. But damn, if Chase didn’t have motive. In the right circumstances, justifiable motive. If Chase had killed Benjamin while attacking James, then it would be justified. He would have testified as such and knew Jack Wiggins would have too. The facts surrounding Chase and James clouded over with his suspicions, but it was all for nought, because James didn’t own a vehicle and Chase’s Civic was blue and undamaged. He had considered theft, someone stealing a black vehicle, but there were no black vehicles reported stolen in the region. Not one.
He looked at Sharon Faircloth. Jack had thought she was in Virginia but, coincidence of all coincidences, she was in town on the very day Benjamin Nichols ended up in the creek. She had plenty of motive. From what Emily Henderson had said, Benjamin had refused to let Sharon take James, going so far as to threaten to kill them both if she tried. Certainly motive. But he had talked to her on the phone and learned she was in Greenville, South Carolina that night staying with her sister before heading home. The gas and food receipts supported Sharon’s story and her car was silver, not black, so he had already crossed her off. He knew his deputy clung to her as the main suspect, coming up with outlandish scenarios that had her sister using her credit cards to make a false trail while she waited for an opportunity to drive Benjamin off the road. It was a great story, full of intrigue, and suitable for a movie, but the facts spoke otherwise.
Details. Pesky little details, but details that if followed correctly, should lead him to his man…or woman.
Next was Wyatt Bradberry. The man had a good reason to kill Benjamin for messing with his wife, but nothing else pointed at him doing it, down to the red Dodge truck he drove, or the blue minivan his wife drove, both with no damage.
The next three names were co-workers, men who had to work with Benjamin, and in interviewing them it was quickly obvious not a one of them was sorry to hear Benjamin was dead. They considered him a menace at the lumberyard, and no amount of skill and knowledge in woodworking made up for his belligerence. They hated the man, but to go so far as to kill, not likely. Two of them even drove black trucks, but there had been no damage to either of them.
He was at a dead end and unless something came up to change some facts or give them a new suspect, the case may go unsolved.
“Hey Steve, still staring at that board?” said Ryan, one of his deputies.
“Yes. We’re at a dead end.”
“I still think that Reynolds boy did it.”
“But we have no proof and his car is a little Civic that is the wrong color.”
“His dad drives a black Chevy truck.”
“True, but it has no damage. It hasn’t pushed an Explorer off the road.”
“So, no justice on this one?”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Steve, coming to his feet. “Is there any more coffee?”
“Yes, I just made a fresh pot.”
“Good man.”
“You know, it could have been someone passing through, maybe as intoxicated as Benjamin Nichols, and they got tangled on the approach to the bridge.”
“I’ve considered it, but no body shop in the region reported any black vehicle with the type of damage we’re looking for, and those we do have reports, we have the accident reports putting them anywhere but, on that road, when Benjamin Nichols was force off.”
“I guess the case will be suspended.”
“Looks like it. Now let me get that coffee.”
3 July 2026: State Trooper Jack Wiggins’ Residence.
Jack sat on his back porch reading the report from Sheriff O’Brian. With no new leads and all leads that had been pursued leading to dead ends, the case is put on suspended status. If new leads were to surface, then the case could be reopened, otherwise, everyone would be moving on to other more pressing cases. He wasn’t surprised by the outcome, had been expecting it, because all the suspects were innocent. Not one had verifiable evidence against them. He wadded the report in his hand, considering it over.
Things were as they should be now. James Nichols was living a happy life, set to go to college in the fall, the same college that Chase Reynolds would be attending. Benjamin Nichols had been cremated, according to the wishes of James and Jack could only assume what happened to the ashes.
Jack stepped down from the porch, put the report in the trash bin, and headed toward the barn. He needed to mow grass but that could wait. He had another project to return his attention. His truck was waiting on him. He had not touched it since the case with Benjamin Nichols began. He unlocked the padlock and slipped it from the hasp. He glanced back wondering how long Kate would be gone, then swung open the doors, revealing his truck. The tailgate faced him and he moved along the driver’s side until he was at the front. He stood still and looked at it. The hood was up revealing the 5.7-liter V-8. It had been balanced and a hotter camshaft put it in. It ran like a top, perfectly smooth and when floored it would shred the rear tires. Then he looked at the passenger side, the bent bumper and damaged body color panel between it and the headlight, that shockingly had not got busted when he forced Benjamin Nichols off the road.
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