''The Suitcase''

''The Suitcase''

A Story by Will Neill
"

After the sudden death of his father who owned a book shop in New York, Zachery Miller finds a Bible in an old suitcase. Written on the inside cover is an address of who it might have belonged to.

"

'The Suitcase'

A short story by Will Neill



For the first time in it's history ' Millers Book Shop' was closed on a Saturday afternoon. If you didn’t know about it you would never find it. I guess dad liked that way, some days we had so little customers I often wondered just how he managed to pay the rent. 'Don't worry so much Zach' he used to say ' God will provide', people would come and go, some browse the shelves and others would just sit and read in the old easy chair over by the window. He loved nothing better than to stand at his counter and rub the dust off some old classics, such as 'Tom Sawyer' and Moby Dick. It was just his excuse of course to have a good old chin wag with who ever may have been occupying the window seat. The conversation always depended on the book they were reading, and you could be sure he knew exactly what the content was. Maybe that’s why he loved them so much, and this place, books were his life.


I notice the rain starting, it runs down the window pane and gathers on the wooden sash that has long since lost it's coat of paint. Every thing inside the shop is rustic brown, or dirty white. Except for the front door, every year at Christmas he gave it a fresh coat of festive ivy green . Above it hangs a little silver bell that tinkles when opened. I guess that job will be up to me this year, but that’s not for another six months yet.

' Some day this will all be yours' he would point ' There is treasure on these racks Zach, and mysteries to solve' As I grew up he would read to me, acting out each scene with amplified vigor be it Captain Ahab of the whaling ship Peguod. Or Long John Sliver hopping around on one leg from Treasure island, complete with broom for a crutch. He made each one special in his own way. The easy chair hugs me like welcome arms while I sit in the dark and watch the rain get heavier, I wonder if a storm is coming . Slowly I begin to drift into an apprehensive dream. unfamiliar images flood my mind, blurred pictures of a woman, crying and calling my name over and over. For a while when I was younger they had faded but recently they have returned.

I asked Dad about my Mother on many occasions but all he would say was ' She died giving you life son'

is this her haunting me I wonder. After a while I let it be.


The shop begins to feel cold, my sleep has left me heavy headed. And the threat of a storm seems to have amounted to nothing more than a blustery rain shower.

I see a shadow approach, passing by the window, the rain makes it shape flicker like an old black and white film on the wet glass.

The silver bell tinkles as the door opens with a muted creak. It lets in the sound of the rain and the wind.

'Hello, is'a any one here?' the shadow asks. I recognize the voice. It's Toni Consello who owns the Italian restaurant next door.


'Ahh! Zachery my boy'

He has seen me sitting, ' I am'a so sorry to have a heard'a about your father' he says with a Brooklyn twang shaking his head, before I can rise he leans into me and hugs my shoulders. I can smell his cheap cologne.

' I missed'a the funeral today Zach, I'm'a so sorry' but'a my wife she had'a go visit her Moth-'

I cut him short, 'It's OK Toni' he lets me go, then he flaps his arms around beating them off the side of his body while sucking in air. Like an agitated chicken.

Toni is a big man, almost the same shape as the meatballs he serves with his 'world 'a famous Manhattan spaghetti' his hair is thin and limp with dampness.

'Really Toni, its OK'

He slips his big bear arm around my shoulder, 'Come' he says ' I mak'a you my world'a Fam-'

I cut him off again, I have no appetite for any small talk or over zealous condolences. 'Can I take a rain check Toni?' I lie. He looks offended, but smiles anyway. I ease him slowly to the door.

' What'a you gonna do now?' he asks.

I feel a sudden panic, I never thought this far ahead while dad was in hospital after his stroke. The constant visits and then funeral arrangements kept me busy.

'I, I, don't know'

' You wanna come stay with me for while' Toni frowns, he has caught me off guard with his offer.

' Are you gonna keep the shop open Zach?, Your Father would'a have a liked that '

'Maybe, I don't know' I watch his scowl get heavier as he c***s his head to the side. My doubts obviously perplexes him.

' A vacation' I blurt out, killing the pregnant pause that has formed between us.

'What?'

' I'm going on vacation, to see the Ocean' again he looks back at me silently confused.

'Oh, Okay that sounds lik'a good idea' he says ' 'I'll see you when'a you get home' He steps out into the rain, and waves without looking back. 'Chio' he shouts over the wind.

I close the door behind him while reaching up to stop the bell from ringing, it's sound hurts my memories.


The idea of getting away for awhile starts to appeal to me.

Dad was never one for vacations, he even hated shutting the shop at Christmas . The only day in the year it was ever closed-except for today of course. But I do remember he kept an old battered suitcase under his bed.

The thought of going into his room fills my stomach with a nervous emptiness, a small archway leads to the backstairs, they smell of musty books and damp wood. A single bulb lights the landing, the stairs creak and move under my feet as I climb. When I reach the top I ponder on why I tip toed , old habits die hard I suppose. The door is dirty white, the paint is cracked and peeling, just like the walls. A tainted brass knob lies crooked and loose, held on only by two rusty screws. My room faces his.

When I enter Toni's neon light flashes intermittent images of blue and red making the room seem to shudder, my refection shivers on the window pane, I'm still wearing my best black suit and tie, the desire to change never crossed my mind until now. Even in the semi darkness I can see the outline of the suitcase under his bed.

Nothing has changed since he left, the bed covers are still twisted and turned. His pillow is on the floor from where the paramedic placed it under his head that morning two weeks ago. The indentation still clearly visible on it. I can't look, I pull out the suit case by it's leather handle, dust swirls drift up into the neon light then float aimlessly in the cold air, something thud's inside it as I move to the door.

By the time I get it downstairs my curiosity is working over time .

It's smaller than I remember, the counter provides a perfect place to indulge my curio. I brush away a coating of dust with my hand, Scorched into the leather upper are three faded initials J.Z.M

'John Zachery Miller' I whisper. And as my voice fades into the room I swear I can hear a woman crying. A trick of the wind, of that I'm sure. I shrug mys shoulders to dispel such thoughts and return to opening the case.

The two flip locks are black and tainted with age, I ease them over left and right, both click open effortlessly to my amazement. My shallow breathing is interrupted only by the sound of the lid opening to reveal a leather bound book. A King James bible.

On it the gold inset lettering has long since faded with age and it feels cold and damp, dad was never a church goer but he did like to quote it when the need arose. But I have never seen him with this.

I begin to inspect it like an antique dealer, twisting, turning touching. It is impossible to know just how old it is. Maybe there is an inscription on the inside that may give me a clue to it's owner, I open it carefully, there was none other than a scribbled note in washy blue ink. This Book Belongs to . The name is gone with passing years, but a partial address is still barely readable. 51 Howard St. San Francisco California

Little doodles of stick men and flowers scatter the page. A child’s pencil drawings. There's no phone number.

I throw the book back into the case and begin to close it's lid, something stops me. 'What were you doing with this Bible Dad' I whisper ' Who did it belong to?' again I look at it. Once more my curiosity is hungry, its then I decide ' Seems like I'm going to California'.


I wake early after a restless night, not because of the rain or wind that seemed to last for hours but the anticipation of my trip across the country. I could of course stay and forget about what I had found, but I know I can't. I need to put my mind at rest as to who owned the bible, be they living or dead. Dad's old 89' Buick is parked out in the street, it looks like how I feel, tired and rusty. Somehow I don't think an eighteen year old car is going to make a three thousand mile road trip.

The Greyhound bus company run a cross country service that makes just a few overnight stops, Toni uses it all the time ' My wife' he shrugs ' Her'a Mama is nat'a so good, she maybe gonn'a die soon' he wink's and grins at me 'know what'a I mean Zach' she lives just outside of Nortonville Kansas. He knows some of the drivers, when I rang him I didn't mention the suitcase or book

'Leave it'a to me Zach my boy, I mak'a some calls' An hour later he had my ticket booked and waiting.

The bible is just the right size to fit in my overcoat pocket and I’ve packed just enough clothes for a four day trip, to be honest the suitcase couldn’t have much held more. Excitement and anticipation alleviated me out into the New York June sunshine. The air smells fresh and clean after last nights gales. I notice traffic is light on my street, the bus depot is across town, a half hour by yellow cab on a good day. I should be there by noon.


The Port Authority bus terminal is buzzing, people are rushing, talking, laughing, in an ocean of bodies. When the taxi dropped me on the corner of 8th Avenue and West 42nd Street mediamesh is advertising Keanu Reeves in 'The Matrix Reloaded', on the side of the terminal.

I check my watch against the digital clock below the bill board, it is five minutes after Midday.

By the time I collect my ticket and fight my way through the crowds my bus is already boarding, the 286 express to San Francisco is large and Silver it look like a spaceship from Star Wars. Pink and black graffiti is painted along it's side that would remind you of a badly drawn tattoo. Behind the dirt encrusted glass mindless faces stare out at those who are still waiting to get on.

I am the last in line., The buses walk way is narrow and awkward, people stare as I move along.

I pick the only window seat that's left, and place my suitcase on the one next to me, I would prefer

to be alone for my trip, but moments after I sit an elderly woman makes her way towards my vacant seat. She is the epitome of any grandmother, no one looks at her as she sits beside me.

I notice she smells of mothballs and lilac water, I place my suitcase below my seat just as the engine vibrates into life.

' Are you traveling alone?' the awkwardness I feel when she speaks hangs between us, I am unsure if I can make light conversation for the entire journey. Nor do I wish to, but I feel the need to be respectful, that is what Dad would have expected.

'Yes' I smile lightly 'I'm going to San Francisco California'

'Any particular reason'

' I'm hoping to return a bible to it's owner'

' My, My, that is a noble quest young man, do you know who owns it'

'I'm afraid not, I found it in my Dad's suitcase, the one at my feet'

' And your father, He knows your going, right?'

I feel my throat stiffen and become dry. 'He's dead Ma'am, just a few days ago' is all I can muster as an answer. 'A Stroke'

'Oh' she frowns genuinely ' I'm so sorry to hear that' I notice her blue Gray hair catch a stray sunbeam through the buses window and it seems to light up like a halo.

The wait for my lump to lessen seems to take age's, ' it's okay, thanks' I at last manage .

She pat's my leg and adds a soft smile, suddenly I feel better.

' Please Ma'am' I ask, 'I don't know your name'

'Call me Nan, Zachery, everyone likes to call me that'

For the next two hours we chat and laugh just like it used to be with dad.

Our first scheduled stop is to be in Maryland at Odenton Marc Station, six hours from New York. 'Are you going to California Nan?' I ask her.

' Oh no' she say's quietly ' Just as far as Arlington, I have a small place there'

I watch her eye's drop, 'It's been so nice talking with you Zach'

' You remind me of my Father Nan' I whisper


' Why thank you Zachery Miller, I am so honored' this seems to break the conversation

Slowly I settle myself into a daydream that moves into an antsy sleep, images in sepia and polarized color float around in my lake of memories. Once again I see the outline of a blond haired crying woman, who is calling my name.

In the midst of my dream a strange voice begins to drift through me like a echo,' Young Sir' it says and I feel someone touch my shoulder, slowly my eyes begin to focus.

'I'm sorry sir, we’ve stopped' the driver is gently shaking me awake. .' Nan?' he looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. she's gone. But on the seat beside me the Bible sits open, inside its inner leaf I see some writing has been added below the old address- To Zachery love Nan, enjoy your Journey.

This makes me smile, I close the pages and slip it back into my coat pocket.

Odenton Marc Train station is a small facility that comprises a ticket office and a car park, the bus terminal is situated just across the road and is set out in a similar design. We have an hours break before we continue on our journey. The rest room facility at the north end of the car park is less than attractive it is an eighties remnant in a contemporary setting. And smells like it hasn’t been cleaned since then, is it any wonder most of the others have chosen to avoid it. Instead they drift off in little packs to seek their own diversions. I cant be fastidious, nature is calling. Inside the air is thick and heavy, there are two stalls each look like a doorway to hell. Screwed upon the wall above the wash basins the mirror is faded and cracked,

pornographic graffiti is smeared onto every clear space on the lime green walls and stall doors.


I begin to wonder have I chosen wisely, just as I contemplate that thought the door slams shut behind me with a bang. The shock stuns me ridged. For the next half hour I shout my self hoarse trying to draw attention, but I soon realize I'm too far away from the bus for anybody to hear me, and unless some one thinks about using this s**t hole any way soon I'm stuck here. Slowly I watch my time ebb away.

Luckily I had the sense to bring my suitcase with me, however the thought of eating inside this rest room fills me with a dry gag, but I'm hungry and I'm sure by now the bus has departed, and what little daylight I enjoyed from the small barred window has now faded to gray. Two hours have gone, along with my hope. The night moves in slowly, my only comfort I have to pass the time is the little bible in the suitcase. I can only hope that the light from my cell phone holds out till morning. I may as well use it for some spiritual enlightenment considering there is no signal.

The battery dies at 4.30am, along with my will to stay awake.

As the dawn cradles the last of night I wake from a dreamless sleep with a neck ache from using my suitcase as a pillow. At first glance in the thin light I'm not sure what exactly it is I'm seeing, but standing at one of the urinals a stout man with a red checkered shirt under a sleeveless blue windbreaker jacket is staring at me.

I rub the sleep from my eye's expecting him to be gone before I focus again, but he's still there, his new york baseball cap has been moved further back onto his balding head. He reminds me of Homer Simpson and I half expect him to do his silly cartoon laugh.

'Are you Okay son?' is all he asks in a soft Kentucky drawl.

'How!,How- did, you get in here?'

I watch the big guy pull a frown as if I've asked him some really stupid question.

' Why thro the dawr of course' he laughs ' Let ole Blue help you up on yoh feet boy, my! oh my! what a dumb question'

He sticks out the biggest arm and hand I have ever seen on any man.

My leg's take their time to catch up with my brain as he pulls me up, they feel stiff an sore but I manage to stay steady.

'But it was locked tight, the, the, door-it-it-' I point at the opening gawking like a demented penguin. 'It Slammed shut'

The result of which only makes him laugh even louder.

'You need to beef yorself up boy, awl it needed was a good pushin'

Suddenly I feel about 2 feet tall.

'You look like you could use some coffee Kid, I got me a hot flask in my Semi's cab, it's just outside, come-on'

I follow him out into the morning sunshine he's so big his shadow envelopes me. ' How come I didn’t hear you pull into the car park just then, Mr Blue'

' Just Blue kid' he states back at me without looking 'I ain’t no Mister, an I's bin here all night, parked up round one A.M or so'


his revelation rocks me to a stand still and leaves me jaw struck, ' Where you headin to anyways kid' he asks.

' I ain't no kid' I call back as I stumble behind him ' Zachery Miller is my name, or Zach which ever you prefer'

His belly laugh at my bravado sends a feeding bird into flight and echoes round the empty park. ' Well Zach it's good to meet ya!' he bellow's with a smile, once more he sticks out the largest hand I've ever seen, and his grip feels as if he's crushed my fingers while he shakes my arm like a wet rope. His semi truck is well suited to his size, totally chrome except for the 18 black tires and blood red livery on its side, the morning sunlight seems to create an aurora around it, its so bright it hurts my eyes.

'What do you haul Blue?' I ask him as we reach the cab.

'Oh! just'bout anythin Zach, got me a load a car parts on this drayage, pushing all the way close to Tonopah Nevada, long haul yes sir!'

'Isnt that close to San Francisco?'

'umph!, I suppose so, is that where your headin Zach?'

I show him the bible and explain my story about how I aim to return it to who ever lives at the address, the coffee we drink together is more than adequate to bring me a much needed perk up.

When I'd finished all I had to say he slid off his baseball cap and wiped his head with his big bear paw like,

' Hop aboard kid, I'll take you as far as Tonopah.' I look at him side way's and he holler's out another big laugh ' Zach,'

For the next day and a half we cruise across country, passing through Ohio,Illinois,Iowa and Nebraska.

He never seems to sleep, we talk and laugh and only stop for toilet breaks, and supplies. We touch on Wyoming and scout Utah. Blue's big ole Silver semi seems to glide along the highway. The engine is so quiet you would swear it wasn't running. ' Don't you ever need to get gas Blue?' I asked him once when we stopped briefly at a station. ' Filled her up fore I left Zach, besides she run's smoother on love and will power' he tap's the side of his nose and lets rip with another belly laugh 'You get mah drift'


By early evening we have reached Tonopah city limits, Blue swings his truck alongside a rest room that’s behind a sparse gas station. The tires crunch into the loose gravel and the hiss of air brakes brings us to a shuddering halt. Blue's face no longer has his over sized grin on it , his mood feels plaintive.

'This is as far as I go Zach' he whispers with a nod. ' We're at the end of the road buddy'

'I'm gonna miss you Blue' I say with a heavy heart.

'Likewise' he replies. ' You take care of yorself naw ye hear'

I expect him to stick out his spade sized hand but he leans into me and gives me a back slapping bear hug that takes my breath away. I feel a salty tear force its way into my eye.

I grab my suitcase and coat from behind my seat and climb down from the foot plate, ' Tonopah is 'bout two miles that way' he points. ' It's bin good beein with ya Zach, I hope yoh find yoh way '

I lift my hand to wave but I leave it hanging in the air as he speed s away. His bellowing laugh echoing into the sunset. The silence he leaves is spacious.

A light rain begins to drift in as I begin my walk to town, the road is straight and even, a two lane black top that seems to sever the horizon. By the time I get to the main square the streets lights are on and are reflecting yellow light upwards from the wet gullies. Car's hiss by on the wet road, not many, Tonopah is a small town. My main thought is to get a bed for the night and change out of my wet clothes. A few neon lights flicker along my route advertising a drug store, a bank, restaurants and coffee shops. Typical of any small town in America. None seem to point to any hotels.

Tired and wet I sit down on my suit case and close my eye's briefly. The hypnotic sound of the rain and passing traffic sends my mind off into trance, In my chest I can feel my heart beating, my breathing becomes shallow and slow. Then the intrusion into my head that comes is frighteningly clear, the face of the blond woman her eyes wide and crying is so vivid. She screams my name and jolts me back into reality.

' Jesus Christ!' I hear my self shout, the shock of my instant incubus makes me fall from my temporary seat onto the wet sidewalk, the bible tumbles from my pocket and follows me there. For a moment I lay and watch as the night wind blows and flicks the pages, rain drops strike and stain the paper. Slowly they stop until two pages are left flapping like dove wings. The rain washes over my face and blurs my vision yet one line seems to stand out, raised up by the dampness.

Revelation 21:22 - And I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it . Slowly I begin to understand. ' A church' I whisper ' Of course, I can find help there'

Thankfully a passer by gives me directions to the only place in town that’s open at this late hour.


St Gabriel' s catholic chapel sits lost behind a newly built two story office block and shop fronts just four blocks from where I was sitting. The only thing visible from the road is its spire. By the time I reach its main door the rain has got heavier. A welcome mellow light from inside spews onto the three cracked steps leading up to the stained glass door. It throws a inverted mosaic picture of the crucifixion at my feet.

The heavy oak door creaks and groans granting me access, inside four massive stone pillars support an impressive lattice teak ceiling. I can smell the coldness of the marble mosaic below my feet, above my head four ornate crystal chandeliers sway lightly in the mild air. Contentment bathes my body, I feel safe, and dry. I choose the fifth pew on the right, the old wood feels warm below me as I slip into it. Once more my eye's feel heavy but I am reluctant to sleep. As time passes the silence creeps over me.

Images of Dad standing in the book shop, talking, laughing, filter into my thinking, then Nan, Blue and the Blond woman who is calling my name. I'm so wrapped up in my own thoughts I do not hear the door open , a gentle voice from behind me echoes round the chapel.


' Are you waiting for the priest?' an old gentleman asks me with a smile ' It's just that he wont be back till morning, one of the parishioners is very sick, he may be dying and Father Luke has gone to see him'

' No' I reply ' I just came in to rest from the rain'

' Oh!

' That’s not a problem is it?'

' No young sir, this is the house of God-all are welcome'

He ambles towards me, I notice his walking stick and the distinct bow of his right leg. Each step he takes displays pain upon his saddle bag face. The clack of his cane echoes around the chapel.

' Your not from round here are you' he asks.

' No sir, New York'

' What has you so far from home young man'

' It's a long story' I answer. Suddenly I feel the tiredness inside me.

' Well' he smiles ' I can see he has three teeth missing ' It's still raining hard outside, and I have no where else to be for a while lets say we have a good old talk and you tell me where your coming from and going to'

He leans onto his cane and puts out his left hand for me to shake, his grip is limp and cold.

' Zachery Miller, nice to meet you sir'

'That’s a fine biblical name young man' he answers, ' Just you Call me Aaron, Zachery Miller'

For the next hour as a storm rages outside I tell him my story of the bible and my journey so far, I explain how I wish to return the book to it's owner. About my dad , the shop in New York and the people I've met. He listens intently only interrupting to ask me to repeat things he may have missed due to -''My bad hearing''

' It's a noble quest Zachery' he says as I finish ' But what if the person who owns the bible no longer lives there?'

I look at him stunned, this thought never crossed my mind, but for some strange reason I am sure that someone will be there. Maybe because of the visions I have been having , the Blonde woman calling my name and lately an image of a black wrought iron gateway and a drive inset of tall fir trees lining each side up to a white house with a brown shingle roof.

' I must continue on Aaron, I've come to far to stop now , besides this journey has helped me in more ways than I could have imagined, if it fails then so be it'

For a moment I feel my shoulders drop, what if he's right. What if no one lives there any more, have I wasted my time with a futile pursuit.

' Are you Okay Zach' he asks, I think he's see's the seed of doubt forming inside me.

' Look, I have an idea Zach, my car is parked outside why don’t you take it and finish this, it would be my pleasure'

' I sorry Aaron I can't do that, you hardly know me, its not right'

He shakes his head and smacks his lips in irritation. ' Now you look here Zachery Miller you are a good boy, you take these keys and lets be no more said about it'

'But how will you get back' I ask him

'Don't you worry about me, when Father Luke come's he'll see that I get home fine'

Suddenly the excitement is full in me again ' Only if your sure Aaron'


' You hurry along now son, the storm has eased and it's nearly dawn, go and get that Bible back to where it belongs'

He nods with a silent smile, ' Go! , its the Green Buick'

I gather my suitcase and put the bible back into my coat pocket, Aaron watches me as I walk to the door, he leans onto his cane once more and raises his left hand ' You take care now Zachery Miller' . The pull on my heart feels the same as when my Father died, yet I only met this man a few hours ago. ' Good bye Aaron! its been a pleasure knowing you, and don’t worry I'll bring your car back' I shout at him, my voice echoes around the church, when I look back he's gone.

Sure enough just outside sits a 1955 Buick Super, it's chrome bumpers shining in the dawn light.

Its body work is in perfect condition. ' Old man, old car, seems about right I guess'-its not even locked.


Inside the upholstery smells of new leather they are a tincture of iodine, a roll on lip balm stick and a tube of skin cream litter the passenger seat. Used paper tissues are stuffed into the ashtray and a large floral duck egg booster cushion is on the drivers. The ignition key ( complete with white rabbits foot) slips easily in, and with little effort the engine settles into a soft purr. Its been years since I drove a stick shift but after a few stalls I manage to get moving, gradually I begin to fall into a uneasy confidence.

I turn onto U S 95 and head west out of town, in the light of day the Grey stone buildings look clean and bright. Old pioneer remnants and new structures mix together overseen by mild mountain peaks barely visible above the city roof tops. About 45 minutes later I'm cruising along the Alpine State Highway towards California.

I stop for gas in Fallon, and head on to Reno, the old Buick takes the road effortlessly. People stop and stare at this rare automobile passing, some wave at me, others just point. Either way I savor my notoriety.

On through Truckee,Auburn and Roseville. Sacremento's lincoln Highway takes me to Vacaville, a Typical small American town. The main street is narrow with bustling shops and people standing, talking, and enjoying the afternoon sunshine. The light is beginning to fade as I pass into Vallejo,Richmond then Berkeley-across the busy golden gate bridge and finally into San Francisco. A slight left in to Lombard street takes me onto Van Ness Avenue. According to the directions I get from a friendly cop I'm less than a mile from my destination. He draws me a pencil map on a scrap piece of paper, its show me heading through Jones Street then on to 5th Street.


Its about 8.45pm when I finally turn into Howard street, I begin to count the House numbers as I drive slowly along, 36, then 40, 45 to 50 then I see it fade into view just like in my dream a black iron gate with tall fir trees each side of the drive leading up to a white house with a brown shingle roof. I feel my mouth go dry as I pull the Buick to the side and Park. Gooseflesh rises on my neck and arms as I approach the gate, for a moment I hesitate, what if no one answers the when I ring the intercom. Should I just leave now and forget about everything. In that moment of indecision I remember what Nan wrote in the Bible, what Blue did for me and Aaron who got me to this point. I cannot turn back-not now.

I push the silver button and wait. It makes a muted beeping sound for what seems forever. I feel my shoulders drop with disappointment-it seems no one is home, I have failed.


Then just as I turn to leave a saintly woman’s voice comes over the speaker.

' Hello!, who's there?' she asks.

I lean in closer to the speaker, 'Hi there' I say, suddenly I thinks this may not have been a good idea.

' My name is Zachery Miller and I have come to return a bible I found in a suitcase in my Fathers book shop, this is the address that was inside'

After I say this the silence is so long I think maybe she has gone. Only static pours out of the intercom.

For a moment once again I think about leaving, a voice then crackles ' You had better come up to the house' the gates lock clicks then it opens slightly. Drive way lights come on just as I step in, they throw a mellow white glow onto the gravel path tenuously illuminating the tall fir tree's.

I feel the loose stones move and crunch under my feet, with each step I get more and more anxious of what may happen. Seconds pass and then I'm at the door, for a brief moment I check myself, flatten my hair and tuck my shirt into my jeans. But before I can finish the door opens, what I see next takes the power out of my legs. A nerve shock shoots through me making me lurch backwards.

Standing in the hallway light is the same blond woman who has been in my dreams calling to me, when she speaks I know its her. ' Please come in John' she gestures.

I try to correct her name error as we walk along a short dimly lit corridor ' I'm afraid you must be mistaken ma'am My fathers name was John, but I think I said I was Zachery'

She pays no heed to my excursive talking instead she leads me into a room where a large brown leather couch sits midway. She points to an adjacent chair ' Please sit' she asks ' would you like something to drink?'

'No-thank you' I decline. My eyes begin to scan the room, I notice a photograph in a gold frame sitting on a coffee table. Five people stand together smiling holding a baby, the more I stare the more I cannot believe what I am seeing.

Slowly I raise myself up from my seat and move closer, gradually their faces become clearer, I look to it then to her,then back to the photograph. She smiles at me and nod's.

' I, I, I-, know these people' I stammer. ' But how cou-' my mind is racing, looking back at me is my Father, the Blonde woman who is sitting with me, Nan beside Blue with his baseball hat and old Aaron with is crooked leg and cane. Behind them is a green Buick car. The same one I just arrived in.

' Who are you?' I finally muster.

' I think you know who I am John,-- I am your mother'

' But your supposed to be dead' I protest. 'Father told me you died giving birth to me'

'Is that what he said to you' she looks at me and places her hands in her lap, I watch them move nervously as we talk. ' The truth is he took you away from me' she says. I can see tears form in her eyes as she remembers the past.

Some where in my head I want to think she is lying to me, but I am compelled to listen. I want to hear her story.

'Father called you Beth' she smiles and nod's ' He never liked to be formal,- your Dad. It's Elisabeth Rose Miller'

' He never showed me any pictures of you'

' We argued a lot after you were born'

I move from my seat over to the photograph, she watches as I lift it up and touch the glass.

' He always had this dream of opening a book shop in New York, it was a fanciful idea to me, we had a new baby-you, and money was tight. For the first few years I thought he had given up on the idea, but he became restless, the arguments resumed. When you were three he said he wanted to go visit his mother and would it be Okay to take you along, I had no reason to refuse'

I point at the old lady in the photograph ' This is Nan, I met her on the Bus from New York'

' That’s your Grand Mother John, she's the one who must have given you the bible when you and your dad visited her, there is no way you could have met her on the bus, she died two years after you both disappeared. You see, she has been buried up in Arlington since then'

' And what about Blue?'

' That's your Uncle Bobby, my brother, everyone called him Blue. He drove a big Ole Silver truck across country, he loved you like a son. He burned to death in his cab after he lost control and crashed into a gas station just outside of Tonapah, said he was avoiding some kid who had ran onto the highway while his mother filled up her car'

Suddenly I feel sick. ' But I traveled with him, I rode in his truck' she looks at me as if I'm delusional.

' Blue and I searched for you both for years, your Father never got in touch with me since the day you left, and we never knew where you were. We tried every thing, It seems like he found his dream after all, how is he?'

' He's dead' her eyes close at my clinical revelation ' Took a stroke two weeks a go' her head turns into herself, I see the pain surface. ' I'm so sorry'

The silence between us hangs in the the air, I can understand now that she did love him, and me, but his dream was bigger than everything.

' And Aaron?' I reluctantly point back to the photograph, ' How do you explain the Buick'

' Aaron was my Father, he broke his heart when John took you away, just last night father Luke rushed to the old peoples home where he resided close to St Gabriel Chapel. Aaron passed away peacefully in his sleep, I got the call this morning. He always swore you would come back some day, he promised he would keep the Buick for you until you did return, seems like he got to keep his word'

' But what has happened is impossible, how can-' she cuts me short.

' Who are we to try and understand the power of love, there are more things in heaven and earth than we can ever comprehend, be thankful John Zachery Miller that they loved you enough to guide you safely home'

I slump back into my chair and shake my head silently in a bemused agreement, ' I guess!'

'Give me your Bible John' she says to me ' I want to show you something'

I take it from my pocket and hand it to her, she opens it up to its back, slowly she peels away the linen cover, threads snap. Secreted behind is a small photograph, a copy of the same one that’s in the frame.

' How, how, did you know it was there?'

' Nan sowed it into your bible just after you were born, she was making sure you were always never far away from your family'

For the first time,in a long time I feel emotions rise inside me, I cannot hold back the tears, the tears for the loss of my dad, and for Nan, Blue,Aaron and finally meeting my Mother. I want to hold her, feel her love and her arms around me. Slowly she moves to me and we caress, I can smell her, memories of a childhood flood back in a torrent of feelings. We part still holding hands and sobbing together.

'What, what, now John Zachery Miller?' she asks me.

' Maybe, may-bee!, I'll open a book shop in San Francisco'


Will Neill. 2013































© 2014 Will Neill


Author's Note

Will Neill
This is quite a long story, but I wanted to give you the sense of a long journey just as Zachery is experiencing. If you wish to read it please dont skip,- now! for those who are smart there is a hidden story running through this. See if you can figure it out. If you are right I will let you know. If not, read it again. have fun and enjoy the story.

My Review

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Reviews

this is quite a ride, Will!!! very good story telling. as usual. I thought it was too long and almost didn't read it. I'm glad I did.
as for the hidden story, turned out I'm not as smart as I thought I was. is it, by any chance, religious? because I've never read the bible. that's my excuse.

Posted 9 Years Ago


Woody

9 Years Ago

all right. the religious part, I'll never guess so I'll pass.
spirits of dead relatives coming.. read more
Will Neill

9 Years Ago

Nothing mysterious he was called after his father....John Zachery Miller, but his father only choose.. read more
Woody

9 Years Ago

I feel I'm back at school, squirming under the stern look of Mrs Angelini. I can still hear her "tsk.. read more
That was quite an adventure Zachary went on…makes me think of phrase we say as people go on journeys "Godspeed" Well Done Will !

Posted 9 Years Ago


Will Neill

9 Years Ago

Thanks Renne, I am happy you enjoyed the journey.....did you figure out the hidden story?
Will
Renée

9 Years Ago

heading back for another read..still working on it ( ;
This is great Will. The prose are beautiful. For me, it read just like Faulkner. It's very sincere and heart warming.

Posted 9 Years Ago


Will Neill

9 Years Ago

Thanks Shane, keep well my friend.
Will
Will Neill

9 Years Ago

P.S, did you figure out the underlying story. The clues are there, to date no one has figured it out.. read more
I love reading stories. Particularly the kind that's filled with a sense of love, warmth intertwined with the aura of mystery. As i read this story, I knew that i would love it. Though i could see there's something hidden in the desire of both the father and the son to open a book shop, I cant really say what it is. I wish you can reveal this concealment.
The story could be formatted better. There are minor errors that seem to hinder the perspicacity of this lovely story (I too struggle with this).
You have done an amazing job nonetheless. Thank you very much for sharing this touching story :).

Posted 10 Years Ago


Will Neill

10 Years Ago

Anixia, thank you for reading 'The Suitcase'-yes it is a long story, please forgive the minor errors.. read more
anxia

10 Years Ago

Now that you gave me a clue, I cant wait to discover the mystery!! Thanks. And you are welcome :)read more
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Eva
This is a beautiful story.

Posted 10 Years Ago


Will Neill

10 Years Ago

Thank you Eva for taking the time to review my story.
Will

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Added on January 12, 2014
Last Updated on January 12, 2014
Tags: death, books, love, family, journey, travel, paranormal, ghosts

Author

Will Neill
Will Neill

belfast, United Kingdom



About
Will Neill is an award winning Irish author, poet and amateur musician; Born in Belfast in the late fifties. Will has established himself as a prolific writer all over the world for both his prose and.. more..

Writing
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A Story by Will Neill