Fifth Wheel

The Fifth Wheel:

Frank Diamante: Protagonist

Evan Diamante: Frank's older brother

Krystal Diamante: Evan's wife [Slavic, blonde, slim, leggy]

Amber Syn: Fiance of Gerald [Latin, dark hair, honey eyes, curvy]

Gerald Cotton: Evan's best friend

This is a story for The Art of Falling writing event. Thanks for the invite. Another long one that I hope tickles your fancy and pulls you in. Please vote and comment.

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The Long Weekend: Autumn 199X

"I can't believe Karl's gone," my brother Ethan said.

"I know. I just heard about it on the news," I said.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Evan asked.

"Just last month. I was in town and called Karl when my plane set down, and he seemed eager to hang out."

"Did the three of you get together? Did you meet his latest wife?" Evan asked. "Cops and wives don't last long, it seems."

"Well, you see, it is like this," I began.

"Oh my god, you fucked her, didn't you?" Evan exclaimed. "Yeah, you slept with Karl's wife, again."

"That isn't fair. Karl's second wife came onto me while he was off training for the SWAT team."

"You are incorrigible," Evan laughed. "I hoped Karl didn't find out before he died."

"Are you sure you want me there, considering?" I asked.

"Considering what?"

"My plus one dropped out last minute," I said, disappointed.

"You are always welcome, Frank," Evan replied. "We are family, and I know the long hours you have been putting in lately. Besides, you tell the best stories around the campfire."

"If you are sure, great, I'll meet you there," I said before hanging up the phone.

It didn't take me long to pack. The last item on my list was my dad's lucky hat. It was old, worn, and faded from its original deep sapphire, but the luck remained. I popped it on top of my head, set the alarm, and headed out. I reached my grandfather's place four hours later. Holiday weekend traffic was a bitch, and it did not help my emotional situation one bit. Once I left the highway, my neck and shoulders began to loosen some. When I made the last turn at the main gate, fatigue became anticipation. Unless I was mistaken, Evan must have had the path up to the house repaired. The potholes I remembered from my last visit had been mended. At first glance, the old house had seen better days since my grandmother had passed away. It was no wonder my grandpa had lost interest in coming out here or maintaining it. I walked around the outside of the building and found the doors and windows intact. A closer look revealed a mended roof, guttering, and a new backdoor. Had Evan been doing some upkeep while I was out of the country? It seemed likely. I was glad no one had broken in since my last stay here with, oh what was her name?

"Julia, Jamie, no, Jewel," I muttered as I unlocked the front door. "Jewel of the pierced nipples and flat tummy." I found the interior free of dust and freshly cleaned. The faint scent of floral cleaner still lingered in the air. "What the hell?" The bright yellow sticky note on the television explained everything.

Carol hired me to put this place back in shape. According to the signature, we had Mirabelle to thank for the tidy cabin.

"That saves us time and effort. Thank you, Mirabelle, and thank you, cousin Carol."

It took two trips to carry supplies from the car to the house's refrigerator. One more circuit and I set my luggage near the double-sided stone hearth at the center of the living room. A second yellow sticky informed me that we had a clean chimney if needed. This time there was only an elegant M to mark the author. Were there other notes around the house? My thoughts returned to the present and the chilly temperature outside. If the weather turned shitty, we could build a fire in the fireplace. Just in case, I went to the tool shed, sharpened the wood ax, and went to work. I gathered kindling first and then attacked the woodpile nearby. As I chopped wood, I imagined all the people on my shit list. Though I was tired, my stress evaporated like so much mist. I was on my third load of wood when my brother and his best friend arrived. Accompanying them were my brother's wife and his friend's fiancé. I recognized the leggy blonde as she stepped out my brother's wife, Krystal.

"Hey, Frank," Krystal called out. "Firewood?"

"You can't tell stories around a fire without firewood," Evan added.

"Just in case," I replied. "My dad was a stickler for preparation. In case the weather turns to shit, and if we want a campfire, we are good to go." Krystal walked over to my car and peeked through the window. Why?

"Um, Frank, nice rear seat modifications," Krystal said. "Are those... oh my, that is naughty." Krystal winked at me as if we shared a secret. Not the beginning I anticipated, but it was harmless fun. "Moo?"

"Moo? I don't get it," I replied.

"That ugly blue hat you are wearing," Krystal said with a gentle laugh.

"Oh, MU, this was my dad's," I explained. "He graduated from Miskatonic University."

"Never heard of it," Krystal said.

"A small ivy league school on the east coast. Miskatonic is smack dab in the middle of the coastal city of Arkham. Way back in the day, it was a whaling town. Now it is like the fifth or sixth largest seaport on that side of the country."

"Carol hired a local woman to clean up the place," Evan said as he opened the trunk of his car. "Did she show up?"

"Mirabelle has been here," I laughed. "She did a great job on the first floor. I haven't checked the upstairs."

"This place looks nice," Gerald Cotton, my brother's best friend and boss, complimented the cabin. Gerald's family was old money from New England. His family hailed from a well-off exclusive community not far from Arkham. A little place called Dunwich. Gerald had cut his teeth as a stockbroker and had done so well for himself back east that he opened his own business here. He hired my brother a few years back as an accountant, and the company had soared.

"Come on in and stretch your legs," I offered. "There is beer and soda in the fridge."

It didn't take long to settle in and lay claim to sleeping arrangements. I took the couch while the others settled on the second floor. I began cooking lunch while the others carried their belongings from the car to their bedrooms and supplies into the kitchen. Nothing marks the beginning of a great weekend than the smell of cooking bacon. Evan joined me and took over the counter to my right. He began mixing pancake batter, and stories began flying.

"So," Krystal chuckled. "You are the one that got my husband into gaming."

"Yes and no," I admitted. "It was the neighbor's kid that ran that game. A great way of meeting the new girl on the block. She was so damn cute." I tried to count how many times I had seen my brother or Krystal since high school. Nine times, maybe ten, and each time things got awkward.

"She was," Evan agreed. "What was her name?"

"Um, it was so odd," I said as I pretended to dredge up memories. "Desdemona! That was it." The young lady that haunted my dreams and far too often crept into my waking life. "But everyone called her Des."

"Yeah, she had those dark blue eyes," Evan recalled.

"They weren't blue. Des's eyes were violet just like Elizabeth Taylor's," I argued.

"The same old disagreement," Evan laughed. "I remember her as a gypsy, you know, raven black hair, those blue eyes, and curvy in all the right places."

"Should I be jealous?" Krystal asked jokingly.

"I take it," Amber broke her silence. "You remember her differently, Frank." Amber Syn was a nice counterpoint to Krystal's tall slim build. I guessed her height at about five feet two inches, Latin good looks, and voluptuous. There was just a hint of an accent that I found attractive.

"Yes, her hair was burgundy, obviously dyed, and when the light hit it, the highlights danced like living flames," I described my first lust. "Des could have been a model with her good looks."

"What was your first taste of roleplaying like?" Amber asked.

"Great if strange," I replied, and Evan nodded in agreement. "We found out later just how different it was from standard rules. Everyone was allowed to pick one primary statistic to define our character and get the maximum of eighteen."

"I wanted to be a wizard, so I got intelligence," Evan excitedly jumped in. "Karl took strength for his fighter. Let's see, Brian was our thief and chose dexterity. Chuck played a cleric and got wisdom, and Greg was our other fighter, and he claimed constitution."

"I was in the kitchen with mom fixing snacks and returned to find I had been allotted the last stat, charisma," I recalled. "Eh, it wasn't too bad. I was decent in a fight. When we rolled our other stats, I ended up with 15's and 16's across the board. I was the second wizard in the group. Though, I did multiclass as a thief later on. My hook for the campaign was as the face man when we dealt with merchants, nobles, that sort of thing. We got the best prices, missions, and even a parcel of land at one point."

"He complains, but overall he had the best character in our party," Evan said. "What did you call yourself, oh yeah, the spell thief. This campaign was the first edition, and so there wasn't anything like that, but Des let him run with it."

"Sounds like fun," Amber giggled. "What is that look for, Evan?"

"Well, it is just weird," Evan began. I set out the bacon to drain as he continued. "When I look back on that campaign and how our lives worked out, never mind."

"Go on," Krystal urged her husband. "Tell them I think it is cute."

"Fine," Evan said exasperatedly. "We all took after our primary stat after that. Take me, for example, eighteen intelligence, and I excelled in school and my career as an accountant. Greg was the hero in our little group. He earned two purple hearts before he passed away. Karl was a cop and a damned fine one at that, and Brian, the gold medal winner in karate, and you see his commercials all the time for his school. Lastly, there is Chuck, and he was a Catholic priest living in Las Vegas. So, you see, it feels like we embody that concept."

"There are only three of us left out of the original six," I said. "Karl died yesterday."

"A thief murdered him while he was off duty," Evan corrected me. "He was walking into a liquor store while the robber was leaving. He fired once, and it hit Karl in the chest. Poor guy bled out before the ambulance arrived."

"You said three were left," Krystal said. "What happened to the others?"

"Greg was a marine, and he died on a mission. I think it was South or Central America. There are rumors it was a black op gone bad, but the government won't release any details. Chuck committed suicide five years ago and did not leave a note. Whatever was bothering him, he kept to himself," I said. "Just me and Evan and Brian left now."

"You said Chuck was a Catholic Priest, and suicide is a big no-no, isn't it?" Krystal brought up frowning. "What could push him towards eternal damnation?" I just shrugged, and Evan remained silent.

"What about you Frank," Amber asked, trying to lighten the mood. "Has your charisma played a part in your life?"

"Are you kidding? His effect on women is legendary," Evan bragged.

"If that is true," Krystal began with a mischievous smile. "Where is your date?"

"Her husband didn't take off for the weekend with his buddies. They had a fishing trip planned. Instead, he stayed home with her," I said as I poured syrup on my pancakes.

"Damn Frank," Amber exclaimed nervously. "Just how many women have you slept with?"

"I don't know," I replied sheepishly. "Low end of three digits, yeah, that sounds about right." The table fell silent, and four pairs of eyes regarded me. "Eat up, or your food will get cold."

"Fuck man," Gerald cursed. "Over a hundred, you can't be more than your early twenties."

"I just turned thirty," I said, and they looked from Evan to me and back again. We were born a year apart, but Evan looked his age while I appeared closer to my tweens.

"Yeah, he is well preserved," Evan said. "Mmm, bacon."

The awkward silence held until I began sharing stories about the cabin my dad had passed down to us and how our grandfather had inherited the land after a distant relative died. Grandpa designed and built the house himself as a gift for his bride. They split their time between the big city and this place, good times. Evan took over and talked about the fishing trips and hiking we did as kids out here. The thousand or so acres were suitable for hunting, camping, and there was even a cave on the property somewhere. I never had the time or the nerve to go looking for it. Spelunking had never been high on my list of things to do. I stood and gathered the dirty plates and utensils.

"Oh no," Krystal argued. "You two fixed the meal. The least I can do is wash the dishes."

"You can wash, and I'll dry," Amber offered with a smile.

Evan, Gerald, and I grabbed our jackets and stepped outside. I reached into my jacket pocket and removed the pipe and tobacco pouch. I unzipped the leather case and let Evan sniff the contents.

"Sure as shit ain't tobacco," he snickered. "You always did have the best stuff. Purple, what is that?"

"It is an import from Brazil called the King's Weed," I explained with a wicked grin. "A pastor from Boston imported it back in the early nineteenth century. He started life as a pilgrim and discovered this in the rainforest. It was a bitch to get a parent plant to grow my own."

"Let me guess," Evan said as I loaded the pipe. "The pastor found it near a step pyramid."

"Bingo," I chuckled. I drew out my lighter and started the party. One deep lungful of smoke later, and I passed it to Evan. Gerald eyed the pipe enthusiastically. He took his turn, and after his first taste, we were friends. I was in the process of reloading when the ladies joined us.

"I thought I smelled something," Amber purred. "What is that? I've never had that before."

"Half an hour," I muttered dreamily. "Yeah, maybe sooner, judging by your height and weight."

"Sooner? What are you talking about?" Gerald asked.

"You'll see," I laughed. "Set the pipe and lighter down there afterward. I am going to take a walk. It is going to get loud pretty soon, trust me. I will collect the pipe and lighter later."

Twenty minutes later, the first orgasmic cry sliced through the air. It sounded like Krystal, but it could have been Amber. The overgrown path brought back memories. Before grandpa passed, we would visit him, and he took Evan and me for walks on the property. Grandpa knew every inch of this land. I remembered him pointing out a lightning-struck tree or the perfect spot to view the lake when the moon was full. Dad built a shrine on that spot to house his father's ashes. The sundial design seemed appropriate as a memento of the man we loved so dearly. The path led to the secret garden, the prize location built for grandma as her special place. Wild ivy nearly completely obscured the stone wall surrounding the flower garden. I perambulated around the exterior twice before finding the door and the fake stone holding the key near it. The key turned easier than expected. The door opened without effort as well. When I examined the lock and hinges, they had both been oiled and recently. Had Mirabelle come out this far?

"Oh, my god," I exclaimed. Someone had weeded the flower beds and snipped off dead blooms from the remains in a nearby bucket. The trellises and climbing roses lined one corner. Maybe it was the weed, but I wept to see that someone had put so much love and time into this. Autumn touched the blooms but come next spring, and this place would be glorious to behold. "Grandma would approve. I need to show Evan and the others gram's secret garden."

Wait, there was something about the garden, something grandpa brought up before he died—secrets within secrets he had said. What would I do if I wanted to hide something but have it found by the right person? Clues, he'd leave hints about its whereabouts. I walked the paths looking for anything that might point the way. Ten minutes later, nothing stood out, so I examined the interior of the outer wall. The ivy that concealed the exterior also clung here as well. I pulled the creepers free of the stone, and while it was slow going, I discovered the first of the six markers. I made a mental note of the signs and the order I found them in. There was no clear beginning to the sequence.

"Yes!" A female voice echoed from the house. I laughed and wondered who it was. If I hazard a guess, Amber since Krystal is more restrained in her vocalizations.

"Fuck me! Harder damn it! Fuck me like you mean it!" Krystal screamed. I take it all back. The King's Weed strikes again. The mental image was fun to contemplate, and a smile curled my lips. Then I remembered the night I got the call. Evan was out of town, Krystal was too shit-faced to drive, and it was raining. I went to the rescue, and it changed her life. For me, that night became a deep dark secret between Evan, Krystal, and me. I think Krystal inspired the drowned puppy look as one of my favorite kinks from then on. The bartender had taken her keys while she stubbornly stood outside during the downpour. Her clothing clung to her, and the white blouse was practically transparent. Thank god she wore a bra that night.

I pushed the memory of Krystal from my thoughts and focused on the symbols I had uncovered. One of them was vaguely familiar. It was worth checking out, so I left the secret garden, locked it behind me, and made the long walk to the family crypt. The vault was two stories and surprisingly full. The lower level held the oldest coffins. Each had been sealed away and marked with marble plaques. If I remember correctly, one of those older panels had a mark similar to the one I had found in the garden.

As a child, I snuck out and investigated the crypt after dark. The crescent moon dimly lit the ground level of the structure. I brazenly found the furthest spot from the door and sat down. On a dare from Evan, I turned my flashlight off. All it took was the weak shaft of moonlight, a gentle breeze, and the skeletal limbs of a nearby tree to launch me into the night screaming. A faint memory of the strange leaf carved into a granite plaque rekindled my curiosity. Were the two carvings the same? I wondered if I could find it in the tomb as I walked. What did it represent? Could it be a map marker? If, and that was a big if, did the six signs physically mark the location of something? My grandpa had erected the secret garden, so what could be so important that he went to the effort of carving them?

Moonlight painted the shadowy landscape granting a sinister quality and stirred childhood recollections. I recalled the nightlight I needed when I was young. While Evan had given me grief over it, he did not possess the imagination I did. He saw the room as it was, whether it was well lit or shrouded in silhouettes. In contrast, my mind created formless menaces that moved at the edge of one's vision. The vile monsters feared two things, the light and my father. They fled unconditionally from both. I smiled despite my uneasiness remembering the times dad rescued me from the beasties.

"You are lucky," dad would say. "These are simply weak shadowy things," he continued with a stern face. "Auspicious for you, I have placed protective wards to keep out the older, more powerful beings of the unlight." Of course, I asked him what was unlight. He spun a tale of a terrific unclean spirit born of darkness in the shape of a great spider whose silk was composed of the void or unlight. The trick worked. Why should I be afraid of meager umbral things when the mother of all nightmares lurked outside waiting for the dark of the moon. I learned later that he had borrowed the idea from his favorite author, Tolkien. His love for fantasy inspired me to read the first four books and the prequel.