A Legend Returns / A Storm Delay

An episode from my novel, "A Legend Returns"

                      A Legend Returns / A Storm Delay

Deputy Roy left the flower shop on his way to IU Medical. Seeing his sister for the first time since her shooting accident before being transferred from Sawyer Hospital, he wondered, how alert would she be.

As he glanced at the yellow roses in the seat next to him, he recalled how she received a similar bouquet at her senior prom. The sad part was . . . they were delivered by taxi. Kerry cried and said, “I was stood up!”

I suggested the yellow roses to her no-show. When Kerry found out, she screamed at me and said, “From now on, stay out of my business!” I only wanted to help.

IU Medical was about a half-hour drive from Angola. From the looks of the overcast sky, a storm was brewing out of the West. It was mid-May, the month Stueben County witnessed some of the most severe weather with the possibility of tornados.

As the wind increased, early leaves began to separate from their tree limbs, as they swirled about in the darkened sky falling victim to Roy’s windshield. They began to stick to the vehicle’s glass as they became saturated with the oncoming rain. The wiper’s struggled to remove them as they glued themselves like forming a puzzle.

Roy was concerned with the dark-gray sky mixed with a greenish tint as thunder and lightening decorated the sky with colors most associated with a possible tornado. He was driving straight into it, as his car began to rock violently making it difficult to control. He wondered, should I find a safe place for cover?

He noticed an abandoned farmhouse in the distance. It would be worth checking, knowing many of these old rural homesteads were built with a root cellar often used for a tornado shelter.

Roy pulled into the drive experiencing more Indiana red mud than dirt from years of exposure of pounding rain and high winds. The circle drive led him to the front of the house. The rain and wind was reaching catastrophic levels which made it difficult to open his driver side door. His rain gear was in the trunk, if there was time to put it on, the house would not provide any cover with both the porch and roof completely collapsed.

Roy took large steps around the house hoping to find an access to some kind of underground shelter. The foundation was overgrown with high weeds and unattended bushes making it difficult to see anything that resembled a cellar. The storm increased in intensity, and he knew he had to find cover.

As he continued searching, one foot broke through a rotted wooden flat structure. Underneath were concrete steps leading to a root cellar. Roy removed his rechargable Streamlight from his black pouch. He entered the dark, musty, stone foundation. He shined his light around as he swatted the cobwebs from his head and face, which were mixed with drops of rain trickling from his navy blue hat.

He took a heavy sigh as he listened to the sounds of the storm closing in on his location. Though all of the police training Roy received in various emergencies, nothing prepared him for a challenge against an angry mother nature.

The roar of violent winds and pounding hail were mixed with the thrashing of debris above the cellar. With the roof gone, streams of rainwater followed the missing boards and cracks of the weathered oak floor. Roy kept moving to keep dry.

Forty-five minutes had passed. As the sounds of the storm decreased, so did Roy’s pounding in his chest. He recalled as a little boy, a viscious tornado swept through Angola wiping out a family of five next to their home. That thought was interrupted with a welcoming sound . . . silence.

He walked up the concrete steps noticing the lighter sky with the remnants of a rainbow, a reminder that God and mother nature were on the same page. As he made his way to his squad car, his black boots sunk into the saturated ground leaving imprints. A trail of trees and limbs were scattered throughout the area, alarming Roy about the possible damage to his car.

Before he got into view of it, something caught his attention. A sunken grave marker which appeared to be exposed from the storm’s force of nature. He stepped closer hoping to make out the inscription on the face of a moss-covered monument. Roy found an old shovel with a broken handle to scrape the moss, which revealed spider-vein cracks making it difficult to read the lettering.

After much cleaning, he looked and followed the carving with his finger. Only a name and date of death was visible. To his surprise, it read – JOHN DILLINGER 1903 - 1934

Deputy Roy’s concern for the storm’s aftermath, was overshadowed by the gravestone bearing Dillinger’s name. This discovery could complicate Dr. Raines’s observation in his presence at Crown Hill Cemetery. Without knowing the identity of the body being exhumed, and the possible one Roy might have discovered at the old farmhouse, they would have to wait and see.

As far as getting Dillinger back to his time period before the day he was supposedly shot and killed, that day had passed. Their only concern - who was buried where.

As Roy walked to his car, he knew he had to get someone out here and do his own digging of this strange grave marker bearing the name of Dillinger.

As he approached his car, it was covered with small limbs and debris from the violent storm. Roy cleaned the sticks and leaves from his vehicle. There was a small crack in the windshield on the passenger side, but not big enough to obstruct his view for driving.

What would normally be a half-hour drive to IU Medical, fallen trees and debris across the road would extend his arrival. A few miles down highway 104, a yellow detour sign was redirecting traffic around a large oak blocking the road. This would add another holdup.