Lester of Two Evils

A Loss for Words

Lester pedaled his bike up the final hill towards home with his sweatshirt tied around his waist. The threatening rain clouds from earlier that morning had drifted south and, despite it being October, the day was warming quickly under a bright blue sky.

The fields on either side of him were abuzz with activity. Large green tractors scooped up long rows of dried cut grass, leaving a trail of hay bales behind. These were then tossed onto the back of slow-moving trucks by a bevy of farmhands, ensuring their livestock would have feed for the coming winter.

The girls had said goodbye at the last junction, deciding to take the road to Mae's house. They promised to meet Lester in the library basement after dinner. He'd watched them go, Mae chattering away, while Amanda nodded in most of the right places, even though Lester suspected she wasn't fully listening. Were they becoming friends?

As he slowly climbed, accompanied only by the steady hum of machinery in the distance, Lester mulled over the morning's events. Their attempt to uncover the meaning of the symbol from the paper had left them with more questions than answers. The stairway to nowhere. The long-lost aunt. The hidden grave. How were these connected to The Council? The strange clues left by his great-great-grandfather were like breadcrumbs in a maze, each one drawing them deeper into the heart of a twisting puzzle. How far could they go before they wouldn't be able to find their way out?

Cresting the hill, Lester was beginning to think Amanda was right about his inability to leave well enough alone when he was shaken from his thoughts by a familiar voice.

"Good morning, Lester!" Ben Titus called, stepping out through a gap in the tall grass that ran along the road's edge. He wore his usual navy blue work uniform, the pants of which were wet at the knees, and leaned heavily on his homemade walking stick.

"Hey, Ben," Lester said, coasting his bike to a stop. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"Oh, just dropping off some flowers for Molly," Ben said.

Glancing behind the old postmaster, Lester saw a white cross sticking out of the ground at the base of a large oak tree. A small vase of pink dahlias sat beside it.

"I see," Lester said, unsure what else to add. He knew Ben's wife was no longer alive, but they'd never spoken about the specifics of her passing. He also knew what wooden crosses by the side of the road meant.

"I usually leave them up at the cemetery, but now and then, I bring a few down this way. Don't really know why," Ben said, looking out across the field. "Maybe it's because this was the last place she was alive."

"It was an accident?" Lester asked. Then afraid he might have stepped too far into his friend's personal life, he quickly added, "I don't mean to pry."

"Nonsense," said Ben. "I'm the one that brought it up. Anyway, it's okay to talk about it. Most people in town would prefer to pretend it never happened, but bad things don't just go away because you ignore them, Lester. Believe me; I've tried."

Ben took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"It was almost twenty years ago," he said. "Hard to believe it's been so long. Sometimes at night, I still think I hear her sleeping next to me. She was a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman with a wicked snore," he added, with a weak smile. "She'd been out volunteering at the senior center. She was always quick to lend a hand to a good cause or someone who needed help. Things ran late, and it was dark when she headed home."

Lester followed Ben's gesture as he pointed.

"When she came up over this hill, a boy, a little younger than you are now, ran out of this field and into the road. She didn't have time to stop. It was hit him or swerve into these trees. She never could stand to see anything get hurt. Especially the littlest things in life."