The Untold Sin

9781483543031

Chapter One

The Past That Never Dies

The dream of jungles and bombs ripped Mel Price awake; he began shaking as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown on him while he slept. More than twenty-five years after returning home from Vietnam, Melvin Alan Price was still jolted from sleep by nightmares. Tonight was no different, and he sat in bed waiting for his heart rate to calm down. The alarm clock read 2:13 a.m.

He downed a Valium then rinsed off all the sweat in the shower. The dreams were always so real, and so haunting. They weren’t always about combat but in some way they involved the war: Vietnam’s jungles, people he knew from that time, the weeks before he’d gone over or coming home. Some weren’t so terrible; others were harsh...bayonets and foxholes, bullets and mortars, watching his buddies die.

Mel was the real deal. He’d seen lots of heavy combat during two years in Vietnam. He never talked about it or even thought about it much but the dreams always came back to remind him. The memories were the one thing that would never die.

Therapy, medicines, doctors, nothing totally rid him of the nightmares. Somewhere along the way, he’d realized he’d never be able to purge the dreams. They were a part of him; they were his past, something that would never let him free. Their terror and pain became a normal way of life.

He adjusted. He learned how to live with the night sweats and lack of sleep. As the years had gone by, the tragedy of those terrors had lessen. Perhaps he simply got used to them.

As he dried off, the Valium kicked in. He was ready to try for a few more hours of sleep. Before dropping off, he set the alarm for 7 a.m. If he didn’t, the Valium would keep him in bed the whole morning. On nights when the dreams stayed away, Mel started his day around six.

Lately, Mel had been setting the alarm a lot.

* * *

The next morning, Mel’s golden retriever Maggie was at the door. She was a little old and had gone white around the snout but still was in good shape. He let her out and made coffee before heading out to the deck. If he leaned over far enough, Mel could see the tall pole at the end of the driveway that flew an oversized American flag. The breeze wasn’t strong enough to lift that one but through a gap in the trees, he saw the smaller flag snapping on its pole in the field.

Beyond the mowed yard, Mel had deliberately left most things alone. The fifty-acre property was heavily wooded with oak, pine and maple. A few small fields bloomed with goldenrod in the fall, and mountain laurel rimmed the clearings with their dark foliage. Mel spotted robins and blackbirds in the mornings, while sparrows and owls put in an appearance near dusk.

His mother and father had left half their property to him and half to his sister Sue. She eventually sold her piece, opting for a home closer to civilization. A hunting club bought her acreage so no one was ever really around much except during hunting season. The rest of the year it was just him, Maggie and the occasional bear.

And that was exactly the way Mel liked it. Everything was perfect about his home, including the log cabin. He’d built the two-bedroom structure himself, installing French doors and wide windows to take full advantage of the views. By building the side into a hill, he kept the place exceptionally efficient year-round.

He was a lot like his father; he was good at building things and good with his hands. The skill had been passed down with the same care as any heirloom. His father had started teaching Mel at an early age. He learned quickly and showed a natural talent for it. Many of the older locals said his work outdid even his father’s. Although Mel thought his work was different than his father’s, he took pride in knowing that any talent he had was due to those lessons given so long ago.

The old barn that had come with the property had been partially converted into a workspace where he built furniture. Although it wasn’t a full-time occupation, he sold plenty of pieces through the hardware store he ran with his sister. People in the region had liked his father’s furniture so much they’d driven miles to buy it. These days they drove from just as far for Mel’s work.

He kicked his feet up onto the railing. Although the morning was still damp, the flannel shirt he’d thrown over his t-shirt kept off the chill. Jeans and work boots completed the outfit, pretty much his uniform seven days a week. Just because he was simply dressed, though, didn’t mean he was sloppy. The only thing in his closet that looked a little worn was the old Army jacket he wore in winter. His sister had given him a nice jacket one Christmas but he only wore it on special occasions, and then just to please her.

Out here, he had no need for fancy clothes. The crows didn’t care what color he wore and the deer weren’t going to refuse to nibble the grass if he wasn’t wearing a tuxedo. As he watched squirrels scurry through the trees, he wondered how any man could live in the city. The forest had no noise, no pollution, no people, no trucks or cars zooming by. Nothing but the birds chirping and Maggie’s occasional bark.

This, he thought, is as good as it gets.

Mel didn’t yet know that sometimes nightmares spilled into the waking world.

Chapter Two

Paradise Lost

From where the dirt driveway connected to the paved county road, Mel only drove about fifteen minutes before hitting the edge of town. Lake Town was the perfect New York village. Clean streets and wide sidewalks, artisan stores for the tourists, and local businesses mixed on Main Street. Restaurants, a gas station, the post office, a two-man police station, a small hotel, and a bed and breakfast sat together within a few blocks. When city people needed a break, this was the place to be.

At one end of the street was the local restaurant. It was a single-story building made of wood. Like the rest of Lake Town, it wasn’t terribly fancy but it had a fresh-scrubbed, tidy look. Mel stopped in almost every morning for breakfast.

As he walked inside, he spotted Clem at the counter. Although Clem was older than Mel, he’d been a marine in the Korean War. The two never talked about their combat experiences but they shared the unspoken bond between all vets.

A waitress came out from the back. Hi, honey, she said as she poured Mel a fresh cup of coffee.

How ya doing, Rose?

Better since you came to see me.

Mel gave her a smile. He’d always liked Rose. She was a bit younger than him with a trim figure and moss-green eyes. In another life he might have dated her or even proposed. But since returning from the war, he’d found himself on a different track, one that didn’t include a wife or kids.

The television over the counter was on, as usual. Mel really didn’t pay the newscast much attention until Clem bashed his fist on the counter.

I’ll be damned! the old man hollered. Them lousy low-lifes!

Mel froze. On the screen, people chanted and cheered in front of the Capital building in D.C. It was some sort of reunion for hippies. A CNN correspondent shoved his mike at the ringleader.

We never stopped the fight! the guy yelled. Vietnam and now Iran...we fought against the war before, and we fight against it now!

As he yammered on, the group behind him shook their fists and waved scarves. The leader talked about Vietnam as if it were yesterday, about how his generation changed the war and all of America. As the reporter wrapped up the interview, the man yelled, We’re still here and doing fine! Our hair might be a little gray but we’re hippies forever. Check us out at hippiesforever.com!

Clem shouted, Shut that thing off or turn the channel!

Rose reached up and hit the power button. Clem was acting mostly out of respect for Mel. Even after the screen went blank, though, Mel stared up as if in shock. Clem patted him on the back.

Don’t sweat it, he said. Some assholes never change.

Yeah, I guess so.

He reached for his coffee as memories roared back. Protesters and people who had something to say about the war had brought him a lot of heartache in the past. It had caused him a few problems when he’d come home from Vietnam. Not that he didn’t want people to express their views about the conflict. What the hell else had he fought for except that very type of freedom? Most of the time he’d just listened. In a few cases, though, people outright disrespected a veteran, himself, or America. Then there was a problem.

He even had a criminal record because of those people. It wasn’t a long record and no one around town held it against him. Everyone knew Mel was a good guy; they also knew not bring up certain subjects around him. But in the early years there’d been plenty of arrogant loudmouths running around to get him riled up. A few times he’d blown.

The first time was in the airport at New York City. He’d come home on leave and was, of course, wearing his uniform. The protesters were quick to single him out of the crowd. One man called him a baby killer and spat on him. That man ended up in the hospital and Mel ended up at the police station.

After being discharged, he’d only been home a few weeks when he and his father went to a bar to watch a football game. Neither one drank much but his father thought a few beers might smooth the uncomfortable edge his son had come home with. Even after a little lubrication Mel seemed out of place in the world, like he’d fallen out of step with normal life and couldn’t find the beat again.

One drunk guy missing both his legs had parked his wheelchair near the bar. When he started yelling about the war, Mel grabbed a beer and walked over. They talked for nearly half an hour. Eventually the wounded man calmed down and Mel rejoined his father.

The man’s friend, clearly way beyond his limit, staggered back to the table. You want a beer? he asked.

The wounded man shook his head.

Wazzamatter? You too good to take a beer from me now you got some new friend? He reeled over to Mel.

Hey, man! He waved his drink and sloshed it everywhere. I’m a little loud and rowdy. Do you think you can calm me down?

Mel ignored him. The guy in the wheelchair yelled, Let it alone!

No! I want to hear what this man has to say that’s so important.

Mel’s father shifted nervously but his son never blinked.

See, the drunk yelled, no wonder we’re losing the war. These guys are cowards!

Mel swung his mug and cracked it across the man’s face. The drunk dropped to the floor. Two men who had been snickering at the scene charged over. Mel rose out of his chair swinging.

By the time the police arrived, it was done. The bar was in shambles, mostly because of all the people who had tried to break it up. Mel was taken to jail; his father bailed him out and drove him home. When they got home, Mel went to bed without a word to either parent. Before shutting his door, he heard them talking.

He seems so strange now, his mother said. He’s our son but....

I know. His father sighed heavily. Tonight he didn’t show any emotions at all. No fear, no joy, nothing. Not until that idiot came over. Then...hatred. Pure hatred. I never seen anything like it before.

Well, she said, at least he didn’t lose.

Honey, I think our boy has changed more than we’ll ever know.

Although they were clearly concerned, neither mentioned their thoughts to Mel. His mother was too grateful he’d come home at all, and his father simply never asked about the war.

Mel wasn’t about to bring up the horrible things he’d seen with either of them, or anyone else. As the years passed, they got used to his strangeness. And although Mel got used to the images that were constantly in his mind, he never really felt at ease. It was as if he spent his life waiting for the next combat, the next time he’d have to kill.

* * *

As Mel headed out to his black Ford pickup, he couldn’t stop thinking about the interview. The more he thought about the hippies, the more the anger chewed at his belly. As he drove the few blocks to work, he managed to stuff the feelings into some dark corner with all the other anger and frustration that had built over the years. Finally he was able to focus on the shop.

His mother and father had been hard-working country folks who built the business over a lifetime. Mel and Sue continued to stock farm tools and feed as well as everyday items: chewing gum and kite string, hunting boots and sneakers, bike tires and candy bars. Since it was the only place in town to buy much of anything, they stocked it all.

Over the years they changed the store a little to appeal to the tourists. Sports equipment appeared next to the coveralls and sunblock sat on the shelves with giant spray bottles of bug repellent for livestock. The decision to cater to both proved more successful and the business was as stable as any mega-mart.

Sue was glad to see him. Although shorter than Mel, she was tall for a woman. The few extra pounds she’d put on after childbirth didn’t distract from her beauty a bit. After a little small talk, Mel unloaded some small pieces of furniture and set them up in the display area at the rear of the store.

He then went to the office, a cave-like space without windows, to take care of some paperwork. He didn’t come out again until late in the afternoon when his nephew arrived. At fifteen, Brian was nearly as tall as his mom and still growing. He helped Mel man the business until six when the shop closed. That left Sue free to run errands and get supper started.

Mel had always enjoyed a special bond with his nephew. The two of them got along well, in part because Mel treated him as if he were older. It had been Mel’s idea to have Brian work at the store. He came in after school, only between sports seasons and only if he kept his grades up.

Brian had been ecstatic to have a paying job. Now that I have a little money coming in, he’d told his mother, "maybe I can afford a girlfriend or two.’’

If you start getting all kind of girlfriends, she laughed, we might have to fire you!

That day after Sue left, Mel suddenly remembered the hippie website. Since the store was empty of customers, he said, Brian, I’m going into the office. If you need me, give a yell.

Mel disappeared into the tiny room. Excitement surged through him. He couldn’t wait to see this website. Probably a