While You Were Sleeping

That episode was titled "Getting settled in and then sent up country."

Andrew Townsend headed the next chapters with the words, "The devil and his minions met us in the jungle that day." He even underlined those words three times. Lieutenant Townsend and his men went head-to-head with battle-hardened men who had been fighting in that country for years, while they were young men who were drafted off the streets of America.

The fighting was constant, day and night. If the Vietnamese gave an inch of ground, it was because they didn't want it anymore. Lieutenant Townsend knew those people didn't take prisoners, and his men knew that if you were caught, you died fighting.

He brought back twelve of the thirty-two original men he took with him when the war ended for them. He took his papers when they offered them to him and left. He ended up in this town almost a year later, joined the sheriff's office as a means of employment and with the manipulation of the town council and almost everyone who voted for him, he eventually became sheriff.

Over time those, that came back with the sheriff tried to stay in touch. They formed their own group as they fought the demons they brought back with them. It is now called PTSD; it didn't have a name then, other than "get over it."

They all still looked at Andrew Townsend as their leader, and still referred to him as Sir, in spite of his continued refusal to be recognized by that title any longer. As the demons came to them all, he was there for every one of them, even when it became too much for three of them in the first year. Two took their own lives, while one simply walked out of his house and the life he had with his wife and disappeared.

With his connection to both the men and the help he could get within the police force, they found number three two years later, holed up in a tent under the sixth street underpass, dead from pneumonia. The group still stayed in touch as best they could, as one by one, the flame of life within them slowly extinguished and they passed. Where he could, Andrew Townsend would go to every funeral, meeting up with the dwindling few left of those who had returned.

The years passed until he finally stood over the grave of the last man he brought back with him. Private First Class Derick Holmes was lowered into the hole as his family and friends watched the man they had never seen before throw a rose in after it. When Derick Holmes' wife found out who he was, she hugged him; she even got her two boys to do the same. With tears streaming down her face, she thanked the man she never knew by name for keeping her husband alive.

When the sheriff went to protest, she would have none of it. When the children went ahead towards the car, Derick Holmes' wife told of the nights he would speak of the only man that gave them hope of ever seeing home again as the Vietnamese called into the darkness what they were going to do to anyone who survived. Within hours, one man was missing, taken into the darkness by the battle-hardened fighters of Vietnam.

It took time for command to send reinforcements to supplement the losses and push further into the countryside. When the reinforcement got there, they found men who were afraid to sleep, haggard and aged beyond their early years. Lieutenant Townsend was the man on whom those who were left pinned their own hopes of living through the nightmare. Little knowing that when they left the battle fields of the place, they all called Nam, the demons living in their heads came with them.

Derick Holmes' wife told Andrew that her husband would often cuddle up to her in the dead of night and held her tighter than was normal. She knew why and held him right on back. She also knew her husband would write a letter the next morning, and she looked at Andrew Townsend with love in her eyes, her hand went to his and she thanked him for keeping her husband alive.

Andrew Townsend left that funeral a humbled man. It also gave him something he had started to lose as each man he brought back had finally passed on: Real Hope, that although he was now alone, he did the best he could for those that had passed.

He came back to town and immersed himself into his job, and that's when he met Louise Gates. They arrived at the same place at the same time, she took one look at him and stopped, then stared really hard.

With a smile she held out her hand and said, "Louise Gates. Pleased to meet you, Andrew."

He smiled back and said, "I know; I've been your neighbor for three years now."

Her smile left her lips for a moment and a sadness captured her eyes.

"No, Andrew, you may have been next door, but you haven't lived there. You're coming to tea when you finish your shift. Just knock. I'll know it's you, so the door will be open."

*******

I placed the book gently onto the coffee table, humbled by a man I never met. Even when he resigned his commission, he never forgot the men he brought back. He faced a hell few could walk away from and stay sane, and as one by one, those few who survived succumbed to those very demons they sought to leave behind; somehow, Derick Holmes' wife had understood the connection between her husband and a man she only met at her husband's funeral. That meeting set the sheriff free of his own demons.

It took me a week to go anywhere near those books again. I did some research, but it felt like I was only stalling the inevitable. Andrew Townsend and his men stood no chance on their return. The mood about the war in Vietnam had changed, and it had become very unpopular.

When the last page yielded its thoughts and my hand closed the cover for the final time that evening, I knew that I had no choice. The book was covered in a cloth and placed gently into a newer and sturdier box, my hand trembled as I picked up the next book and peeked once again into the life of Sheriff Andrew Townsend. This was a man I had come to admire and greatly wished I could have met him in person. Since reading his diaries, I already knew his thoughts.

My fears were groundless, it seemed. The rest of the diaries were day to day stuff and about the growing friendship between Louise Gates. To my shock, I also found that before the war the sheriff was actually a carpenter. He had followed the family tradition in that respect. When his new friend and neighbor found out, she commissioned him to do some work for her on her side of the duplex.

It was then that the diary got dark again. People watched as the sheriff would go into the widow's house alone. When Louise Gates heard the rumors, she went to church that Sunday as always, only this time she walked to the front and looked out at the congregation.

She shamed them all. She was a respected member of the community and she was being talked about like a common whore. Not even the minister could look her in the eyes as she ranted at the congregation, none of whom had the courage to challenge her or stand and walk out. Finally, with nothing left to say, she sat down and the sermon began. Some left quickly after the service, others stopped to apologize to Louise Gates.

What made me spit my drink across the room was when I turned the page to read that Louise Gates did indeed have designs and deep feelings for the sheriff. She had, in fact, lied in God's house to protect the sheriff and her from the gossip mongers.

As I read on, I found something that would forever change my life.

It was in the last of the books Andrew called diaries. Louise Gates knew her own mind and used Andrew's skills as a carpenter. She took him into a room, walked to the far end and slapped the wall.

"I want a door here Andrew. Find out where it is in your house and build us a door, I'm not having this town dictate to me what I can and can't do. I'm a widow because my husband died five years ago. Why does that mean I have to go without sex from now until I die?"

Andrew looked at the widow Gates and made a huge mistake: he joked about her honesty. "You want to have sex with me?"

Her eyes grew wide and a flash of anger followed her words.

"Don't be ridiculous, Andrew, since you woke up, you're a hunk of a man. I want you, but I have a social standing, both amongst the people of this town and those within my family. I expect to be fucked royally for my patience in waiting for you. Build us a door, Andrew."

Andrew Townsend took two weeks to make the door, he hid it well, because he built a closet to hide it in: both his side of the house and the widow Gates's side got a closet that hid the door from all, even those looking for it, intentionally or by accident.

*******

That's when I dropped the book. I even knew what room they used: it was the only one with a closet that was floor to ceiling and fixed to the wall. Opening the door revealed nothing but empty space and I started to breathe a sigh of relief, until the palm of my hand went to the back of the wardrobe and I just knew what lay the other side of this very solid piece of highly polished wood.

I remembered that Andrew wasn't just a carpenter, he was a master craftsman. Andrew also spent his life protecting people, from the soldiers under him to our own little town, and he had been protecting Louise. The catch that undid the door was only on one side: hers. He knew what he was doing, and he planned to protect Louise Gates and himself.

I walked over to my cellphone and phoned my brother.

"Callum, I need you to find out who owns the house next door and buy it for me."

It was difficult keeping secrets from him and I didn't want to. I needed time to process everything, this new development in my life needed some deep thought. If what Andrew wrote in his diary was true, the lock for the door was only on the widow Gate's side of the house. The consequences of someone moving in and finding the door left me open to possible charges. I could show the courts the diaries, but they weren't mine to show.

Andrew Townsend left them in the attic for me to find. I wasn't stupid. I knew he did. I just wished I could understand his reasoning. This couldn't be made public; this was Louise Gates and Andrew Townsend's life, their personal life, and I wasn't going to be the one to bring that life into the spotlight, regardless of them both being dead. They were together, and for Andrew, finally at peace. Hell would freeze over before I allowed that secret out.

Two days later my brother phoned me, and the news wasn't good. He had dug as deep as he could but all leads stopped at a lawyer's firm in Charleston. They flatly refused to discuss anything to do with their client and put the phone down on my brother when he asked them to give him a price for the house.

After a brief conversation with him and promising to keep him in the loop, I hung up. I knew what I had to do, I needed to make sure the lock would never open. I had to get into the house next door and turn the closet into just a closet.

*******

Even though it was my back yard and wasn't overlooked, I still wore black. A sweat started to form across my forehead and doubts about doing this started to increase. In the dim moonlight I approached the fence with a great deal of apprehension, I wasn't a criminal and yet I was doing this.

Lifting myself onto the fence was the easy part, Andrew Townsend built that fence, it was solid enough to take my weight as I hoisted myself up and slung a leg over, balancing myself. As I hung more precariously onto the fence, a cloud moved away from the moon, and it, too, added its full light to my crime.

With a deep breath and with a "here goes nothing" thought, I lifted myself up, ready to pull my leg over, and that's when my hand slipped and my body dropped back onto the top of the fence. The urge to howl with pain was almost overwhelming. Only the fear of discovery and going to jail as a bed partner for my new cell mate Bubba held me to silence. The excruciating pain shooting up my body from between my legs should have been a wakeup call to my actions. The tears running down my cheeks should have also emphasized those very thoughts.

It truly felt that one of two things were forever broken, and the sane part of my mind refused to decide what I wanted to lose. My arms once again pushed against the fence, trying something, anything to relieve the agony of my actions.

My attention had been on my sorry state for too long; the degree I was tilting towards the widow Gate's side of the house only came to the forefront of my pain-fogged mind when the tilt towards her garden became inevitable. That's when I toppled off the fence and landed on my back, looking up at the full moon that seemed to be mocking my every attempt.

I also found out something else about Louise Gates while laying on my back: her love of roses. I landed smack in the middle of her fucking rose bushes. I thought my bruised and battered private parts bore true witness to my inane stupidity. Now my body screamed the agony of a death by a thousand rose thorns. If there was a part of me that was left unscathed by this night's torture, I'd yet to find it in the moons full and mocking light.

I had no idea how long it took me to peel myself off her roses while I silently cried. I guess the best laid plans of idiots only get what they deserve. Pulling the last thorn from my body, I walked my sorry ass out of Louise Gates back yard, deciding that if the secret door was ever found, then I would have to face the trouble head on. I just couldn't go through that again.

As my hand pulled the back gate to her garden once again closed, the breeze picked up and I froze for a moment. With the evening's breeze flowing through the bushes and trees around me, it really did feel like someone was laughing at me.

Not that anyone did, but to anyone brave enough to pass me at the moment, I looked like I had been pulled through a hedge backwards. Between the mud and the blood, my clothes where only good enough to be thrown away once I managed to get them off. The need for a long bath and antiseptic for the rose thorns soon after was going to be the priority at the moment.

As my door closed and my mind was on my bath, the only thought that allowed it to make itself known to me was: it always looked easier when they did stuff like this on television.

I guess I'm more a lover than a fighter, and that thought filled my battered body heading for the bathroom. With the intense pain of my private parts, now throbbing in my underwear, I doubted I would make much of a lover. At least until the swelling went down, that is.

As my body soaked, another thought occurred to me. I sat up just a tad too quickly and winced, once again. In two days' time, Al Henderson and his crew would be doing Louise Gates, as well as my lawn and flower beds. Someone was going to notice the trampled roses, and when he knocked on my door and it was answered by a man who looked like he had just gone three rounds with Mike Tyson, the jig would be up.

After my bath, it was decided by a party of one that I wasn't there. I would be at the family cabin in the mountains while doing research for my next book. With my head firmly in my hands and deciding that my prison cell friend Bubba was so going to own me, I decided to get the hell out of Dodge, and quickly.

*******

I phoned ahead to my brother; he told me I was always welcome, even if I did get there at an ungodly hour. He left a key under the plant pot by the door, I knew the house, but Tessa still insisted that she would leave the spare bedroom's light on. At four that morning I was pouring myself into bed, and I decided to come clean to Tessa and Callum later that evening, when they both got home from work.

Through the day I tried so hard to think of a beginning. I needed a start to this insane conversation; after all, I was also attempting the find a way into a house that wasn't mine to keep a secret that wasn't mine. My mind was still miles away when there was a dull thud. Tessa was standing in the hallway looking at me, her bag now on the floor.

"What the hell happened to you?"

My first thought was to tell her, standing and walking to her then picking up her bag meant that thought was now on hold. "It's not as bad as it looks and I would prefer you both to be here when I tell you."

Her mouth still had that "O" look to it, her eyes took on a shine then, and a smirk lived on her lips.

"Oh, this is going to be a doozy; it concerns that house doesn't it?"

My cheeks warmed and she squealed and hugged me before skipping off towards her bedroom.

"Okay, I'll wait. It's going to kill me, but I'll wait."

My brother married well. I loved Tessa, not only like a sister, but one of my best friends. A few minutes later and changed into casuals, she wandered out of her bedroom and made us both a coffee. That smirk never left her lips. I shuddered to think what story her mind was making up, because she sure wasn't going to believe the one I was going to hand them both when Callum got home.

Over dinner, I started from the beginning and told my story. Tessa leapt from her chair, pumping her fist and said, "I knew it had to be that house."

My brother was the more sober one. "I'm your brother as well as your lawyer. That's all that's stopping me from calling you a dumb fuck right now. What the hell kind of reasoning can you attach to breaking into someone else's house like that?"

Meager though it was, my reply became, "I never got as far as the house. I gave up all hope when I peeled myself off the roses."

The laughter coming from the open kitchen only made me blush even harder.

While they lived, Louise and Andrew lived the life they wanted to live, and away from prying eyes. Since the hidden door took care of the house, the subtle design of my garden meant it wasn't overlooked by anyone. Their time together wasn't only restricted to the house. They were both gone, and I was going to be left with the fallout. I could always move I supposed.

Callum got up and went to his home office to make a few calls. Tessa quickly sat down again and wanted every morsel of what went on, again. As if my embarrassment hadn't been laid bare already, she wanted a re-run. Even as we discussed option and tossed them away, the situation in the light of day became more and more hopeless.

Even pulling down the closet, which I was very reluctant to do, as it truly was a work of art and I liked it so much, it would still leave the door staring at me and would, of course, leave me to explain to the builder why it was there in the first place.

Louise Gates's reputation would be in tatters; she was a pillar of our community right up to the day she died, and I wasn't about to put a dent into that reputation by telling the town that both she and the Sheriff were intimate for years after she herself stood in front of a church full of our townsfolk and called each and every one of them out, over the rumors certain individuals were spreading about her and Andrew Townsend.

Both Tessa and I were still talking when Callum came back. "Well, bro, your day just got worse. I've just got off the phone to the lawyer's in Charleston, since I know you're loaded I told them my client offered to pay them twice the independent valuation of the house."

I don't know how, but I could feel myself sinking further into my chair.

"Not only did they refuse the offer, but they told me that when they spoke with their client about your initial interest, one of Louise Gates relatives has undisputed ownership of the house and has decided that she and her daughter will be taking up residence."

Tessa burst out laughing, and I just stared at my brother. The urge to cry came to me, we talked well into the night, yet still came to no solid decision, even sleeping on it didn't show any ray of hope at my situation. Callum had an early appointment that morning so Tessa and I sat and talked through our breakfast, she was just about to leave but was interrupted when my cell rang with Al Henderson's name flashing on the screen. I hated my cell phone right about then. Al told me that he was standing in Louise Gates back yard and looking at a destroyed rose bed.