Ghost of a Chance Ch. 12

Tom arrived at the spot he had chosen: the park bench, its steel frame and wooden slats worn over the years, but still there marking the spot where their 'invisible, naked adventure' began.

He knelt down behind it and dug a hole with a small garden trowel he had in the trunk; he used it often to clear away the weeds and overgrown grass from Brenda's tombstone. Once the hole was deep enough, Tom pulled out the last thing he removed from the house before destroying it: a small metal cylinder with a snap latch to hold the lid on. Popping it open, he stuffed in a folded piece of paper on top of the items already inside, then sealed the canister. He snapped on a small padlock through the latch loop, sealing its contents until someone else found it and broke it open, then dropped it in the hole.

Tom felt lighter as he pushed dirt over the container and pressed the hunk of grass sod back into place. His heart was starting to warm his chest in the cool night air, and his smile felt a little easier to put on his face.

Tom stood up from his handiwork and realized... it was done; his final obligation fulfilled, as promised. Before he left the bench, he stared up at the stars and smiled.

"It's over, Brenda," he whispered into the night, "See you soon... I love you." Then he glanced at the stop where the cylinder was buried and said, "Good luck."

He walked quietly back to his car, making plans to move his stored belongings into the new apartment complex he had invested in years before; a peaceful plaza where senior citizens could go shopping, participate in activities, and enjoy their remaining years in comfort. The best part for the tenants was that they didn't have to pay any rent; Tom refused to budge on that despite Wendy's insistence. They only had to take care of some of the utilities and any groceries and necessities they needed, any maintenance that was needed would be funded by a special trust fund set up in a stock portfolio that was doing quite well. But their rent was 'zero', and it would remain that way as long as he lived since Tom owned the building.

Driving away from the park, Tom didn't think of what he did as 'quitting', but rather 'passing the torch' to the next person who discovered a small container behind a little bench in a park. He couldn't wait for his next 'adventure' to begin, that being a quiet, senior citizen enjoying his golden years without the responsibilities of his younger self, or the Ghost... and idly wondered what kind of 'adventure' awaited the next recipient of the gift he was given long ago...

***...thirty-seven years later***

"Make sure you put that equipment back in the right place and all the cells are changed for tomorrow! Don't screw it up, again!"

The young man looked at his boss with annoyance and fear, "I didn't screw it up the first time; I told you that!"

"Yeah, whatever," the hulking man said, waving a dismissing hand, "Just get it done and lock it up, Dorek!"

After all of the crew left for the evening, Derek slammed his work helmet down on the locker room bench in the makeshift changing trailer. He hated the nickname his co-workers tagged him with; they only called him that just to be the pompous jerks they were.

"Assholes," he muttered as he stashed the digging and cutting tools into their proper storage slots, recharging them for tomorrow's duties. Once done, he changed out of his work coveralls and into his street clothes.

Banging his locker shut and closing off everything its contents represented for another day, he left the trailer and walked out to the rows of earth moving and power lifting hover vehicles parked along side of the main construction site. One by one, he checked to make sure each of them was plugged into the fusion generator that recharged their fuel cells, plus the extra cells in the storage racks.

"I wasn't the one that was on duty when the cells weren't charged two days ago," Derek mumbled, "Hell, I wasn't even on site; that fuck-up Rico was, and they pinned it on me because his daddy owns the business and I'm the 'new guy'."

It had been just like high school and college: all the 'cool' kids targeting him for whatever reason they saw fit, despite his 6'-2", muscle toned body. Being shy and having not much confidence, he didn't muster any kind of defense against his tormentors; a self esteem issue that started with his overbearing father when he was growing up. He was a nice guy and realized that what some people said might be true: 'nice guys finish last'.

At least he still had Mary, his girlfriend from college and now fiancé. The construction job he worked at now was earning him money for their planned wedding and honeymoon along with the money from her job as a credit teller. And from there... who knew what the future would bring.

That worried Derek a lot. His job earned him good pay, but it wouldn't last forever. The park they were now in the middle of tearing up would be finished by the end of the summer; a restoration project dedicated to a gentleman that donated some of his fortune to it on behalf of himself and his late wife after he passed away three years prior. Derek felt it a shame that he never had the chance to meet and talk with the generous man; to him, he sounded like a really nice old guy.

After the new 'Pierce Park and Recreation Plaza' was complete, there was no way of knowing what kind of contract job offer would come up, and even if it did employment wasn't guaranteed; especially now with the whole work crew using him as their 'excuse' for anything that went wrong and making him look bad in front of the bosses.

"It's not fair," Derek continuing his mumbling rant, "I'm not doing anything wrong. I do my job right, I earn my pay honestly unlike some of those clowns that work 'under the table', but I'm the one that gets dumped on. Been with the company for four years, and I'm still the 'new guy'."

Derek kicked away some loose rocks dug up from his earth mover on his part of the site, still grousing, "I'm not asking for much; Mary and I never do. All we want is a chance to make it in this world... all I want is to stop being a 'target'." He dug up another rock from the loose ground with his boot toe as he walked to his mag-lift car kicking at it and looked up at the twilight sky, saying, "When is it going to be my turn? When am I going to get a chance?"

Derek kicked the stone towards a pile of unearth soil where the old rusted bench he pulled up this afternoon used to be... and it hit with a metallic clank.

"What the Hell was that?" he asked himself, doing a double take upon hearing the noise. Derek walked over to the pile and searched the area where the rock hit, digging through the crumbling soil and hitting something solid with his fingers. Uncovering it, he discovered a tarnished metal cylinder; its lid clasped with a small lock.

"What's this; a time capsule, or something?"

Derek took his sonic driver pick out of his pocket, the only tool he used at the site that was 'his' and worked at the lock while he walked to his car. The old rusty lock squeaked with age as it unlatched itself.

Smiling, Derek reached his vehicle sitting on its magnetic-repulsor half spheres and got in setting about opening the container. The metal latch let out a small squawk as he flipped it up with some effort and grunted as he managed to twist the lid out of the rusted lip of the old can.

He looked and reached inside... and pulled out a piece of paper. Real paper, not the synthetic kind that some people still used even in this day and age, but actual paper made from wood pulp; the kind that Congress was trying to ban the use of with part of a conservation bill they were working on this year.

Derek peered into the can again when he heard something rattling at the bottom, and then tipped the contents into his palm: two gold rings with some kind of old writing etched on their inside curves.

"Why would anybody bury rings?" he asked himself.

He spilled the rings back into the container, setting it in the seat next to him, and carefully unfolded the aging faded paper, and read...

'...My name isn't important.'

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Stay tuned for the next adventure from the keyboard of CaptainKirk - "Through the Looking Glass".