IMAGINATION'S PLACE
FICTION
STRANGE HELP
By; Gerald A. Polley
All rights reserved.
Officer Dan Ray climbed the steps to the library of the state prison in
total depression. Entering he rapped on the door to the
chaplain's office, then rapped again. The library attendant came
over and said "Can I help you, officer?"
Dan snapped "NO!" and the attendant backed off a pace, giving one of
his "Whoa! You don't treat me like that!" looks.
Dan softened. "Sorry!" he muttered. "I'm having a very bad day. I
really need to talk to the chaplain! My daughter was raped. We
know who did it but the district attorney won't prosecute because he's
got a dozen witnesses saying he was someplace else. We don't have
enough proof. Sorry, didn't mean to take it out on you."
"Ow!" the attendant snapped, "Don't worry about it! Totally
understandable. Hmmm. Listen, I gotta check on something. Come
back tomorrow."
Dan could not believe this man's
reputation for violence. He always seemed so pleasant, so cordial, so
unassuming. He didn't have the dominating attitude of most
prisoners. His statement bewildered him, but he said "O.k."
"Oh, I'm sorry," the attendant continued, "the chaplain's gone for the
day. He's gone visiting somebody I hope doesn't kill him! I
tried to convince him not to go."
Dan
nodded and went back to work wondering the whole day. He visited his
daughter in the hospital that night, wanted to go find the piece of
garbage and kill him. The next day he went back up to the
library. The attendant came over and slipped a piece of paper
into his shirt pocket. "Call this number," he instructed.
"Tell them G gave you the number. Answer their questions.
They'll take it from there. Afterwards destroy the number.
You never heard of it, you know nothing of it. O.k.?"
"O.k.!" Dan muttered. He went in and saw the chaplain who was all
bashed and battered. His words were comforting. When
he got home that night and went to change he took the slip of
paper out of his pocket. All through supper he kept
fingering it, his wife and his other children watching him
strangely. Finally after supper his wife asked him "What is
that?" "It's a phone number," Dan answered. "It was given
to me by one of the inmates. He says they can help with
Joy. But I don't know. I really don't know."
His wife took his hand, led him into the livingroom, sat him down in
his favorite chair, and put the phone beside him. Dan dialed the
number. It was immediately answered. The voice had a slight
southern accent. "Who gave you this number?" it asked.
"G!" Dan answered.
"Where is G?" the voice continued.
"In the state prison," Dan explained.
"Who are you?" the voice snapped.
Dan explained. "Well, if G gave you this number it must be important. What is it Dan?"
Dan explained about his daughter. "I see!" the voice
answered. "G definitely knows who to call! O.k., we'll see
what we can do. Remember, you never called this number, you never
heard of it. Is that understood?"
"That's understood!" Dan answered. "How much is this going to cost me?"
"Absolutely nothing!" the voice answered, "Not a thing, just the
only thing we ask is when somebody's in trouble and you can help,
help. That's the way people repay us. We have other
resources. Give G my best. We miss him!"
"Certainly!" Dan answered.
There was a click and the line went dead. Dan hung up his phone
picked up his zippo, lit the piece of paper on fire, and let it burn up
in the ash tray. Two days later he was just putting on his
jacket when the phone rang. He picked it up. "Ray
residence!" he snapped.
"Dan?" came a familiar voice, "Captain Hollowell, state police!"
"Hello!" Dan piped. "How can I help you?"
"I'm callin' to help you," the captain answered. "I thought you'd like
to know. Joseph Harrison was killed last night. He came out of
his favorite bar roaring drunk, never got to his motorcycle. Hit and
run driver ran over him in the parking lot. We found the car this
morning. It had been stolen last night. Apparently it was
some high school kids joy riding. There was a high school dance
ticket on the floorboards by the front seat. Must've fallen out of
somebody's pocket. It might not be official justice, but I think
justice has been done! Your daughter gettin' better?"
"Yes," Dan answered, "and I think this will make her a lot better. Thank you!"
His wife looked at him questioningly. "What is it?" she asked.
Dan explained. "Don't question it," his wife remarked. "It
was justice! Don't question it! Thank your friend."
Dan nodded. When he got to work he went up to the library.
He simply held out his hand. The attendant took it, shook it,
smiled, and returned to his work. Dan walked down to the yard and
went into the commissary, motioning the head clerk over. "The
reverend hardly ever has any money," Dan remarked. "Get him a
case of those ice cream sandwiches he likes and give him one each
day. When that one gets empty get him another one. Charge
it to me."
"Not really supposed to do that," the
clerk remarked, "but nobody has to know 'cept you and me!
Owe him a favor, huh?"
Dan just smiled and
went about his duties. He met another guard coming down towards
the yard. "Jeff!" he questioned, "Didn't the reverend help you
find a doctor when your kid was sick?"
"He sure
did!" the other guard answered. "Everybody else had given up hope, said
they couldn't figure it out. That doctor knew what was
wrong in five minutes! You've seen how big that kid's gettin'
now! I consider he saved my boy. Why you askin'?"
"Just wondering!" Dan answered. "Just wondering!"
As he got near the office he looked up towards the library. "Who
in the hell are you?" he muttered, "Who in the hell do you work
with? Jesus Christ! Jesus, loving Christ!"
He returned to his duties but he found himself going to the library a
lot and asking advice on a lot of things, nothing to do with the
prison, but just things. The advice he was given was always good, it
was always very good! And he always wondered, he always wondered.
THE END
Click Here to go to The Reading Room where you can read more fiction and non fiction works by Gerald Polley.