West Otter Lake
Copyright© 2013 – Nicholas Hall
West Otter Lake – Chapter Thirty-Two - "We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams, wandering by lone sea breakers and sitting by desolate streams; world-losers and world-forsakers on whom the pale moon gleams: yet we are the movers and shakers of the world forever it seems." – (Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy)
My heart filled with distress, sadness, but still relief as I viewed the person now dead on the floor of the Lodge. Wesley was a hateful man, full of vileness, vengefulness, and vitriolic epitaphs and behavior, but he was still a human, a life which now ceased to exist, and, whether ill-conceived or blessed, he was my father and the father to my half-brothers. All of his hatefulness, his jealousy, his desire for revenge, efforts to paint us as losers and degenerates was to no avail. In the end, given all of the vituperative remarks, slanderous behavior toward us, racial and sexually perverse slurs by populations who could neither accept us or tolerate our very existence, we would prevail, for we were the movers, the shakers, the music makers who could make the world sing!
"Who is it?" Peter asked from very close behind me.
Turning my head, my nose almost brushed his three inch cut cock flanked by two uncut larger, darker ones. Yep, the Twins definitely inherited their cock size genes from the Thompson side of the family and not Johnson. They would definitely be equal to Ollie's "ginormous" length and girth if they continued to grow at this rate.
"I dunno!" muttered Treyvon. "It's some old with guy with a beard!"
"Is he dead?"
Poking a bare toe forward past me and giving Wesley a bit of a poke, Terell pursed his lips, nodded his head, and replied, "Yep – pretty much! Want to see him? I think he's starting to stiffen up though."
"No way," snorted Peter, "the only stiffs I'm going to touch is my own or yours!"
I looked past the boys at Loren and Craig. "I think your better get the boys upstairs and dressed. The law is going to want to talk to them about what happened. I don't think they really want to interview three naked boys, especially if that lady detective from the Sheriff's Office comes out." All I saw was elbows and assholes heading towards the stairs and their bedrooms as the boys beat a hasty exit.
I quickly called Ollie on his cellphone, hoping I could raise him since I really expected them to be asleep. He answered on the second ring. "Whatsup?"
I gave him a brief rundown and suggested he and Luis better motor on back to the Lodge since I thought it was going to get damned hectic here and we could probably use some help. As I rang off, I heard the first squad car's siren blaring as it neared our lane and then become silent as the squad raced down the lane toward the Lodge. It was soon followed by the Rescue Squad. Both braked to a stop in front of the Lodge where Craig was waiting for them. He led them inside to the Great Room where Wesley's crumpled body lay.
Thank God the deputy was Jamie Wilcox! The EMT's did a quick triage of Wesley and informed Jamie it was a job for the coroner. He was radioing for the coroner and additional backup, along with a couple of detectives when Cedric and Mae scurried into the Lodge, disturbed from their sleep by all of the excitement. With them awake and curious, I knew it wouldn't be long until the cabin guests and campers would be wandering up trying to kibitz on the drama unfolding. I prevailed on Loren and Cedric to head outside and keep everyone back and try to assure them, again, the sheriff's department had everything under control.
Another vehicle screeched to a halt in front of the Lodge and another as Roy Wilcox clambered from his DNR pickup and raced up the steps to the inside. A state trooper followed him as he entered, spotted me and shouted, "Where's Peter?" I pointed upstairs and Roy bounded up to Peter and the Twin's room. Jamie asked the trooper to secure the outside until more help arrived.
Mae stood quietly, looking at Wesley's corpse, clucked her tongue a couple of times, and finally said, "For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap," and turned away to go upstairs and join her grandsons.
Two more deputies arrived just as Ollie and Luis ran up from the dock where they'd tethered their boat. As they scampered in through the outside doors leading into the Great Room, the two newly arrived officers decided to try and keep them away and one grabbed Ollie by the arm.
Ollie looked at the hand on his arm, then up at the officer's face in a cold, hard, almost defiant stare and said quietly but firmly, "I live here- please remove your hand from my arm!" Luis stepped forward, muscles tightening in his shoulders and arms, prepared to do what he must to effectuate their entrance into their home and protect Ollie.
Jamie quickly interceded, vouching for the boys, before the situation could escalate! Ollie thanked him, shot a glance at the other deputy, walked over to where Wesley lay on the floor, contemptuously curled his lip, but said nothing. He stepped up to me, embraced me warmly and tightly, whispering in my ear, "You okay, Bro.?"
I nodded, comforted by my younger brother's presence and concern for me.
By daybreak, the endless procession of detectives, troopers, sheriff deputies, and hour after hour of questioning finally came to an end, for the time being, according to Jamie and Roy. Roy stayed with Peter throughout the calm, quiet, questioning; seeking to see if he would deliver the same answer each time he was asked the same question. Of course he would, it was the truth! Wesley's body was removed to the county morgue, awaiting an autopsy.
There was no doubt, if the lead investigating detective was correct, Wesley was an intruder, entering our home with the intent to inflict injury or possible homicide on one or all of the residents. A large knife, similar to those used to eviscerate deer (a gutting knife), was found just inside the Twin's bedroom door. The door frame and Wesley's clothing reeked of the wasp spray previously contained in the container Peter admitted using. A precursory examination of Wesley's body while it lay on the floor, revealed a small caliber pistol tucked in the small of his back and secured by his pants belt. The investigators requested, and we granted, DNA samples to assist them in their investigation.
The autopsy results revealed Wesley died from a broken neck as a result of his fall from the balcony. It further revealed two round scars on the cheeks of his face where, sometime in the past, a projectile appeared to pass through one side of his face and out the other. An examination of his lower extremities also revealed surgical scars and evidence of reconstructive surgery to one knee. The most interesting find was a small, steel ball bearing, similar to the ones the Twins used in their slingshots, embedded in his right ass cheek. Evidently it presented no danger to any organs, but did provide discomfort when he sat the coroner assumed, so it was never removed. There was DNA evidence on the pistol (kept in the evidence locker at the Sheriff's Department) linking Wesley to the weapon. There was little doubt, in the investigator's opinion, that Wesley was the perpetrator of the attack on me and Luis, gravely wounding both of us.
The Illinois State Crime Laboratory provided the ballistics report to our state police and linked the pistol and the bullets fired from it to the bullets extracted from Luis, me, and Reidel Thompson, leading them to conclude Wesley was responsible for the death of Riedel. Mae was saddened, but pleased Riedel's death was not part of some gang activity on his part. Ollie listened to the news stoically, hugged his grandmother, wiped her tears, and assured her all would be well.
I was torn what to do with Wesley's body once it was released by the coroner's office. I notified my aunts and uncle, requesting their suggestions, but to a person they failed to respond. Mae finally put my mind at ease when she suggested I bury him in the township cemetery where Grandmother and Grandfather Johnson were interred.
"He was their son," she said, "no matter what evil he committed. Conner, it's the right thing to do."
We were the only people present at the short graveside service for Wesley. His brother and sisters chose not to attend. How sad I thought! Wesley was to be buried, not next to his parents, but a couple of rows back. Our family stood the expenses of the funeral and the stone. I looked at our small gathering and considered the makeup of it; a gay white man and his Latino male spouse; two gay teenage boys, one African/American and the other Latino, deeply in love with each other; gay male African/American Twins and their Asian/American boyfriend; a gay white college graduate with a degree in Biology and his boyfriend, a white college graduate with a degree in teaching and; an elderly straight African/American couple who both suffered loss and then good fortune when they fell in love with each other. Each of us suffered some loss, denigration by others in society, isolation, hateful and physical attacks, and isolation, yet we found each other and formed our family, a family founded on the belief and realization we should accept others for what they are, no more no less and expect them to do the same toward us. West Otter Lake Resort and Campground was our safe harbor from the vagaries of a sometimes ill-mannered and dangerous world, a port in which to seek shelter from a storm-tossed sea.
The casket was opened for a brief time before the service and I ushered Terell, Treyvon, and Ollie up to it for a final farewell, however they felt. The Twins knew him not as a father, but as a mean, hateful man who tried to wreck our lives, so held little sorrow. As I explained, he was still their father, so "it was the right thing to do." There no mourning of a father, a loved one departed, only relief our family nightmare was over. Terell and Treyvon didn't linger long at the casket and scampered back to rejoin their grandmother and Cedric.
Ollie and I stood a moment longer; he and I had very distinct memories, not all pleasant our encounters with Wesley Conner Johnson, Sr. Ollie left my side, stepped up to the casket, reached into his coat pocket and placed something in the casket, saying "Enjoy!" and stepped back. I craned my head forward for a look and saw, placed neatly below Wesley's folded hands, about waist high, leaning toward his crotch, a jar of peanut butter.
Thank you for reading "West Otter Lake – Chapter Thirty- Two - "We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams, wandering by lone sea breakers and sitting by desolate streams; world-losers and world-forsakers on whom the pale moon gleams: yet we are the movers and shakers of the world forever it seems." – (Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy);
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