Torn (3 page)

Grabbing on to the shelf, Darius slid it from the wall. When he did, his face went pale.

Jesse definitely could have been titled the ‘Demolition Man’. He carried a large pic
k
in one hand while toting a can of gasoline in the other.

“Jesse.” Bret followed him. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of the…
ants.”

“B
y what? Burning down the house?
”

“Bret, the house is fifty feet away.”

“Yeah, but those cars parked on the street aren’t. We are so getting fined.”
S
he st
opped
on the top step, refusing to go further down.

Jesse stood on the sidewalk. “Where?”

“There.” Bret pointed.

“Bret, I can’t see. Tell me where.”

As if courting danger
, Casper raced down the step, pointed, and then raced back up.

“Thanks.” Jesse grumbled then shook his head. “I see about ten ants.”

“There’s more,” Bret said. “Underneath the sidewalk.”

“
Well, we’ll find out. But first.
…” Jesse began dousing the section of sidewalk with gasoline, then
ran
a small trail away from it.

“What are you doing?”

“Bret, if there are gazillions of ants, I want to be ready when I lift this.”

Bret didn’t believe he was ready.

Curiosity brought her close enough to see him and prove him wrong. Jesse placed one end of the pick into the crack in the sidewalk, and his huge frame heaved up the section. The concrete
slammed
back
wards onto the ground
.

“Holy fuck,” he exclaimed. “Bret, look at this. Casper, take that picture.”

Bret inched closer;
so did Casper
.
Remaining calm momentarily, Casper took the picture.

He repeated his earlier sentiments. “Holy fuck.”

The
small two-foot section exposed
more
than dirt. It looked like black
moving quicksand underneath where the concrete once lay
.

“Just tell me they are
mixed with
the dirt. Right?” Bret inquired.

“They have to be. Let’s see.” Holding the pick, he placed it downward. He didn’t hit soil, it sunk. “Oh, my God,” Jesse exclaimed. “They have to be at least two feet deep. At least.”

Bret screamed when
,
thick and fast, the ants blanketed
their way up the
pick.

Jesse dropped it into the masses of ants, then jumped back and grabbed the gas can. He dumped gasoline as he diligently flung ants from his body. Faster than the ants, he cried out for the hose, lit a match and tossed it in the ant pit.
He secured himself away from th
e flames, but not without his legs being
covered
by ants.

He remained unnervingly rational. Bret on the other hand couldn’t even squeeze the nozzle on the hose. Luke took over in hosing down Jesse.

The street got quite the show. Bret, Casper,
and
Andi were screaming. A small roaring fire was ablaze on the sidewalk, all while Luke hosed down Jesse. Someone probably thought Jesse was burned, because the paramedics were there within two minutes.

The fire department showed up directly after and put out the little inferno. Just w
hen they were about to
chastise Jesse, they saw how many ants were on
the sidewalk and floating about and changed their minds.

They
looked into it further. They put out the fire Jesse started, but then after labeling it
contain
ed, they ignited more flames. Because the ant farm didn’t descend two feet like Jesse claimed
;
it measure
d a
depth of five
feet
.

Some would argue her case, but Bret stood firm that she was a hypocrite in the truest form. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Primarily, her grossly exaggerated self-description was based on her career. Three nights a week, midnight to five, Bret worked as radio talk show host on a huge Christian
b
roadcasting station, delivering biblical advice and quotes to
live
by in regards to viewer problems and daily events. Did she know The Bible that well? No. She hada kick butt producer who was fast on the keyboard with an awesome Biblical program.

She wasn’t th
e religious woman she portrayed; she had
a strong belief and faith in God, but just not staunch.

A mother young in life, she considered herself blessed. If asked
,
motherhood was the one thing she did correctly.

Her personal life…
another story.

She divorced the father of her children when the twins wer
e born but didn’t meet Jesse until
years after.

Jesse Long was
,
without a doubt, an oxymoron—in Br
et’s eyes. Long for a last name…s
hort on thinking.
He was b
ig, strong, and at times
almost
handsome. His physical attributes were what attracted her to him right away, that and his weird sense of humor. It wasn’t his level of intelligence. Jesse operated on a different level than most when it came to brainpower application. Reading wasn’t something that he did.
H
e
never
claim
ed
to be an Einstein, which was an endearing quality. If a task was at hand, he thought obscure
ly
and slowly
before he did
something. He listed things in his mind. Plotted them out. He tried to eliminate mistakes before they happened. Jesse’s b
iggest problem in life
was his
tendency
to speak before thinking. Bret claimed he never put that thinking cap on straight,
because he’d spout forth or act o
n his emotions first.

Were they happy in
their
marriage? In a sense. They lived their lives as they
should. Aside
from her sons, the only other male that played a predominant role in Bret’s life was Chuck. In fact, Jesse introduced them. Chuck worked as a newspaper reporter for the Johnstown
,
Pennsylvania paper, but he was originally a disc jockey there. Chuck’s career record wasn’t the reason Jesse introduced him to Bret. Chuck was the brother of someone Jesse worked with. Since Bret was ‘Divine’
,
the top advice woman at a Christian station, this coworker asked Jesse if Bret could help Chuck. Chuck had recently lost his wife and two daughters in a car accident.

Jesse obliged in the introduction and the rest was history. The friendship was in its third year. Bret and Chuck didn’t see each other nearly as often as they communicated through email and the phone.
They had
a strong friendship.

The ant incident left her itchy and unable to nap before work
,
and Bret was anxious to get to the station early to access the resources the radio station had. Howe
ver, she got caught up in an on
line chat with Chuck.

“Shit,” she typed. “I gotta go. Show starts in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be listening.” He typed back. “I have to drive to Erie.”

“Careful,” s
he jotted, then quickly signed off
as
her producer entered the room. “Hey, David,” she said.

David gave
her
a sideways
glance and
odd
look. “You okay
?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bret waved
her hand. “Just had a really strange thing happen today. That’s all. I wanted to look up some stuff on our resource center, but I got caught up with email.”

“If you need me to
help
, let me know.”

“I will. I’m probably going to ment
ion it on the air. Maybe one of
the listeners knows something.”

“What is it?”

“Ants.”

David snorted a chuckle. “Ants. Ok
ay
.” He whistled. “I’m going in the booth.” He pointed backwards then walked out.

Bret shrugged off his
‘I could care less’ attitude
and planned what she was going to say.

The show started as usual: Music to news, then finally the actual ‘talking’ portion began somewhere around one AM. Ab
out that time of night, listener calls were minimal
, and Bret was able to give attention to anyone who happened to be awake. Never did the lines illuminate with passion.

It was Monday, the slowest night of the week, and
there hadn’t been a single call.
Bret glanced at the board,
and
all twelve lines were blank. Coffee in tow, she began.

“All right, and we’re back. Before
I started taking calls tonight, I want
to share something with my listeners, in hopes that maybe some of you may have had similar experien
ces, or can explain this. Today…
today was weird for me. I won’t mention what led up to the incident, but wait until you hear.”

Then Bret
shared
the horrific tale of her ant trauma and the outcome.

As promised, Chuck Wright had his radio tuned into Bret’s broadcast. If asked, Chuck would always say that Bret brought a smile back to his life after his tragedy. She made him laugh the way she gave her God
ly advice. Chuck knew Bret well
which made the show
that
much more enjoyable. He found humor instead of finding God the way that his family had hoped. It helped him and his attitude was better than the ‘God wh
o?
’ outlook the forty-two year old man had when his world came tumbling down.

Chuck was multi tasking—as he called it—speakerphone on, driving, half listening to Bret, taking notes.

Chuck snickered.

“Who is that talking in the car?” George, on the phone, asked Chuck.

“That’s the radio. My friend Bret. She’s talking bugs or something.” Chuck said. “God, I hope she doesn’t dedicate another hour segment to lice again.”

“Why? Make you itchy?” George asked.

“Me? No. I’m black. Black people don’t get lice.”

“That’s right,” George said. “Hey, don’t you think it’s ironic? She’s talking about bugs, you’re going to Erie for that story.”

Chuck blinked and stuttered
as he responded
, “Um, yeah. Yeah it is.”

“What
is she saying
about bugs?” George questioned.

“I don’t know. I’ve been talking to you.”

“Maybe it’s related.”

“Doubtful,” Chuc
k said. “I mean we were just on
line fifteen minutes ago. She would have said something if it was that big.”

“Why don’t you listen? You never know.”

“I can do that. I’ll call you when I get to Erie.” Chuck disconnected the call and reached for the radio. As soon as he did, he heard it.

“The colony goes down at least five or six feet deep.” Bret said. “They haven’t a clue how far width
-
wise. Can
you
believe that many ants?”

Chuck had to stop
himself from slamming on the brakes
as he drove d
o
w
n the highway. “Shit.” He hurriedly hit the turn signal, while speaking out loud in the car. “Yeah, Bret. Uh, I would think that was something you would tell me.” Shaking his head, he pulled over. Lifting the phone, Chuck dialed the direct number to Bret at the station.

David answered.

“David, this is Chuck Wright. Is it possible to speak to Bret, or to put me through to her show?”

“No can do, Chuck.” David said. “Her lines are lit up. She has a ton of calls about this.”

Chuck exhaled. “I thought so. Hey, do me a favor.”

“If I can.”

“Oh, you can. I know you type up
the caller name, area, and reason for call. Can you save me a log of all that?”

“Why?”

Chuck grunted. “It goes with a story I’m working on.”

“Y
ou’re working on a story about a
nts?”

“Amongst other things.”