Free Rosalind by Stephen Paden Page B

power, sure, but it that wasn't his prime motivation. Those things were nice and they made his life at home easier, but there was a hunger that was consuming him. A hunger for power, but a power over something or someone.
    He tried running for mayor in 1958, but when Sheldon Buckle won the spot, he took to the cellar under the hill by the edge of the cornfield and seethed. He hung a boxing bag in the damp room and punched it until his hands were raw. It didn't help. How could he have lost to Sheldon Buckle of all people? Wasn't he a respected and loved businessman? Sheldon owned a damned grocery store for crying out loud! But he gracefully shook Sheldon's hand that day, and took to the cellar that night. Susan had noticed this retreat and remembered what he had said to her that evening next to the cornfield. His ambitions, which she had so dearly loved, were effectively cut short. It was nearly impossible to be elected after an unsuccessful run at office in Whispering Pines, but John assured her that they still had the tire business and that people would always need tires.
    While Susan was relieved that John's frequent visits to the cellar had declined over the past year, she could still see that there was something lingering in his mind that sometimes twisted his face into something horrible, and he would go back to the cellar for hours, leaving her in the house to wonder. But the next day, he would always come back to being himself.
    She could tell that this was one of those nights. He would go for a drive after it had gotten dark. But instead of using the car, he would always pull the old truck out of the barn. He assured her that he just wanted to keep it running and the best way to do that was to not let it sit. She would have been embarrassed to be seen in it—the paint was scratched to hell, the tires nearly bald (which she always thought was ironic), the front window wore a long crack across the entire glass—but he only took it out at night. She was thankful for that, at least.
    The last light of day had followed the sunset and John grabbed his coat and went out to the barn. Susan heard the monster roar and then backfire and then when she went to the window, the headlights trailed off down the driveway. He turned toward town and the truck disappeared from her sight.
     
     

Chapter 16
     
    John put the truck in park and killed the ignition. The light was absent in this particular spot and there weren't many houses on this road. If someone came by, he could just say he was looking at the stars or something. He still looked at them whenever he could, but instead of seeing them as equals—as comrades in the great plan—he now resented them. They were there and he was here. He eyed the girl in the window of the house that rested a few hundred feet off the right side of the road. He'd come here often since Susan had told him about her. At first it was out of curiosity, to get a peek at the fiery, young red-head that came to town only a month ago, seemingly out of nowhere. Sheriff Hanes, in his ignorant wisdom, neglected to provide Susan with any details about the young girl, her last name, or her connection to the family that had died in the fire, but John knew the town like no other. He had delivered tires to damn near every house in the county. So when Susan had told him that the young girl was staying with Nancy Fletcher, he knew right where to go.
    He grabbed a cigarette from the pack, lit it and rolled down the window. The smell of smoke and oil from the engine made him queasy at first, but it settled in his lungs and became something familiar and calming. He had been here before, but the street was different. And it was a different house and a different girl. His appetite and ambitions had changed—changed into something darker—and if this shitty town couldn't see him for the star that he was, the young women he stalked would.
    He had to be careful. This new girl was different. She had the at tention of the