Phoenix

Prologue

Phoenix

Book 2 of the Grave Misgivings series

by C. E. Sundstrom.

Copyright C. E. Sundstrom 2015.

Prologue

Autumn 2001.

Tuesday Morning.

Salem, New Jersey.

A crisp bronze leaf drifts slowly to the ground. Its movements are uncertain, almost hesitant, as if it has a clear premonition of its fate and is desperately trying to prevent what is about to occur. Swaying, turning, pausing then continuing on its lonely journey. Finally it reaches its inevitable destiny, falling gently on top of the hundreds of similar leaves which cover the meandering curves of Oak Street on this fresh Tuesday morning. The leaf lies silent, without movement, seemingly resigned to the fact that there is no hope. Its journey has concluded. It is simply the natural cycle of life. Born, live, die. No living creature can expect to cheat death. No living creature ever does.

A sound reverberates, drifting in and out, as it is carried on the gentle breeze. At first it is indiscernible, an indistinct mish mash of voices. As the breeze grows steadily stronger, the sound becomes clearer. It is the joyful sounds of children playing, running, riding and getting up to limited mischief. This sound is the reason why properties in this particular suburb are so highly sought. Demand always far exceeds supply. This is a street where neighbors smile, wave and stop to chat; a rare thing in this day and age. Oak Street is a prime example of why people move to Salem, New Jersey. It is close enough to commute to offices in New York but safe, predictable and serene. It is America's best kept secret; a place where kids can grow and live safely and their parents can sleep, fully at ease, at night.

Joe Hawkins lives in one of the older buildings in Oak Street. Though he has spent several thousand dollars having the house re-clad in aluminum about six years ago, the basic structure of the building remains the same. It is nearing one hundred and fifty years old.

During the re-cladding, he insisted that the structure of his house remain completely untouched. In fact, he was so concerned about his precious house that he positioned his rocking chair on his front lawn every morning at seven o'clock precisely, waiting for the builders to arrive. He would sit there silently, glaring over the top of his newspaper, as the workers went about their business. In his own distinctive words, he was making, "Damn sure" no damage was done to his precious home during the re-cladding process.

Joe's one great love in life is the preservation of useful old things from by-gone eras. On a good day, he will joke that he aptly meets that description too. On most days he certainly feels like a relic from another time. He gains a sense of strength, of defiance, when he encounters old relics. It is like they have found some sort of magical way to endure the ravages of time and thus should be applauded and respected for their unintended longevity. He spends his free time scouring through markets, rummaging through yard sales and the like, searching for his next treasure to acquire and reclaim from the now disinterested world. It is a hobby that he finds very liberating, helping to keep his mind from dwelling on past problems for which he has lost the opportunity to remedy. Though resigned to the fact that he cannot change the past, his mind can't help but revisit and replay situations over and over again, situations which could have had more favorable outcomes if only he had been more diligent, more pro-active. At the end of the day, rehashing the past simply leaves Joe drained and hollow. Sadness overwhelms him as he relives each tragedy which has befallen his life. Collecting distracts his mind, grants him a little peace from a chaotic and spiteful world.