INTERTWINED

The cards had never been stacked in Rex Braggs favor.

Ron, Rex’s father, was a violent drunk. His mother, Sue, was a small quiet woman, as kind and loving as his father was vicious.

They lived in rural Bristling Heights; their house was the last on a dead-end dirt road. The closest neighbor being two miles away gave Ron freedom, he could perpetrate any vile act he desired. Ron Braggs’ biggest desire was to inflict pain, and that desire had proven insatiable.

Never touching their faces, clothing covered all signs of Ron’s atrocious acts, that along with forced smiles on rare public outings assured him that his secret would be kept well hidden. Had their smiles not looked genuine enough the beating afterwards would be brutal.

Their smiles were never quite genuine enough to suit Ron.

The day before Thanksgiving, 1957, began like any other. An unusually warm and sunny November, Rex had gone for a walk in the afternoon. He found peace listening to the water as it rushed over the jagged rocks of Bristle Creek. As he watched the flow, he often wondered where it led, and what lay beyond the boundaries of his limited existence. The quiet and solitude calmed him, he lay back soaking in the sun’s warmth. Watching clouds pass Rex lost track of time.

Rex’s heart sank when he realized his father’s old Ford was already in the driveway. Sue had tried to calm Ron; the boy’s chores were done and his homeschool lessons finished. "It was only a walk by the creek," she had pleaded to no avail. They both were served an extra helping of Ron’s rage that night.

Trying hard to appease Ron, Sue had made all his favorites that Thanksgiving Day, starting before sunrise. Ron entered the kitchen, slammed his half drank bottle of Jack and a shot glass onto the table, and sat down, "Get the food on the table already!" Sue hurried to get the remaining items set.

Rex washed his hands and face and quickly changed clothes after cleaning the chicken coop, which Ron had insisted could not wait another day. Rex entered the kitchen just as Ron slammed his liquor bottle onto the table.

Sue, in haste and exhaustion, dropped the bowl of mashed potatoes. It was obvious to Rex his mother needed to sit down, the beating the night before had surely left her unable to rest and without doubt in pain. Rex moved quickly intending to take his mother by the arm and help her into a chair, he would clean up the potatoes.

Ron had become instantly infuriated at her perceived clumsiness, jumping to his feet, "You idiot!" Ron backhanded Sue and she fell backwards. A trickle of blood appeared from a busted lip. "Look what you made me do," Ron seethed. He then stomped Sue in the abdomen, violently kicked her ribs, and Sue struggled to catch her breath.

Rex, who was twelve and growing into a strong young man, stood there in shock watching his father’s gruesome attack, his mother’s frail body looking shattered. Panicked, Rex picked up a butcher knife lying on the counter and in one swift movement, both hands gripping the handle and with all his might, sank the blade through his father’s back. It severed a lung. Ron crumbled to the floor and began to gurgle as blood poured from his nose and mouth.

Rex listened as his father struggled, felt only relief and a strange calm when he had fell silent. He stared transfixed; Rex had never seen so much blood! His mother’s groans brought Rex out of his temporary paralysis; he knew immediately he had to get help. Having no phone, Rex ran to the nearest neighbor.

Rex appeared at the Jenson house, blood-splattered and frantic. He had asked the woman who answered to call for help, told her there had been an accident, pointed towards the Braggs house, then quickly ran off. April Jenson called the sheriff who had immediately dispatched an ambulance and gathered deputies to join him in an investigation.

By the time Rex made it back to his mother’s side she could barely speak. Panic set in as Rex realized he might lose his mother, the only person he had in this world. He begged his mother to hold on, to not leave him.

When paramedics arrived, Rex was sitting on the floor clinging to his mother’s lifeless body.

A physical examination had found cuts and bruises in multiple stages of healing on the entirety of both victims’ torsos and extremities, however, other than the busted lip on the woman both of their faces were remarkably clear of abrasion and scarring. The obvious severe long-term physical trauma was documented as the worst case the ER physicians had ever seen.

Rex knew of no family; a call was placed to Children’s Services.

Rex spent almost six years at the home of Marge and Paul Henderson, a gentle natured couple in their early sixties. The couple remained childless after many years of trying. They had opened their home and hearts to fostering, and warmly welcomed Rex. Despite their love and encouragement Rex suffered with social anxiety and depression.

Public school was a lonely and unpleasant experience for Rex. He had landed in many fights his first few months. Bullies mistook his quiet withdrawn behavior as cowardice. It had not ended well for the bullies. Before long, no one dared challenge him, but no one talked to him either.

At eighteen Rex chose to leave behind the bitter memories and loneliness of Bristling Heights. He took money he had saved from odd jobs and bought a bus ticket. Marge and Paul had wished him well, told him to write if he needed anything, and begged him to visit. They never heard from Rex again.

Even a past as harsh as Rex Braggs’ had not prepared the young man for what awaited him. Even so, Rex had never looked back.

Jenn Keller was a friendly 24-year-old assistant baker, happy and well adjusted. Jenn’s parents’ unwavering love had left her secure, never doubting her self-worth or in her abilities. Kind and generous, Jenn smiled with sincerity at everyone she encountered, always spoke encouragingly. Traits that most in the city of Caldwell lacked.

She rented a furnished one bedroom downtown. It was not the best of furniture, not the best of neighborhoods, but her apartment was affordable and only minutes to work.

Jenn had always dreamed of training at École Patisserie Académie, in Paris. Dreaming of owning a shop there, she and her mother, Ann, had talked often about strolling the streets of Paris together. Assistant baker at Catalina’s Café, a busy bakery and specialty coffee shop on 101st Boulevard, was far from that dream. Jenn felt fortunate, however, to be doing something she loved, and enjoyed every interaction with customers.

Not rich by anyone’s measure, Jenn’s parents had died in an accident and having not properly prepared had left Jenn with little once their affairs were settled. Her pay at Catalina’s barely covered necessities but she did well enough, saved what she could, Life was too short for regret.

Jenn briefly met her neighbor in #211 shortly after moving to Regal Oaks Apartments; a handsome man, early 50’s perhaps, always well dressed, very fit.

Running late for an opening shift she had almost run in to him, literally, in her rush. His intense gaze had seemed able to examine the contents of her soul, it threw her off and she fumbled for words, "oh, uhm, I was just, uhm," regaining some composure, "Hello, I am Jenn Keller, your new neighbor." He had just nodded, smiled ever so slightly, and proceeded down the hall.

His whole being exuded confidence, yet there had been something heartbreakingly sad in his deep blue eyes.

Alone on Thanksgiving for the first time, feeling lonely, Jenn baked. She wound up with half a dozen pies. Of the six apartments on floor two there was one empty, the other four occupants received a fresh baked pie. She knocked on #211, but the man she had ran into two months earlier did not answer. She left an Apple Pie at his doorstep.

The pie plate returned to her door a few days later, a green post-it attached with simply,

Thank You, 211.

Jenn began to leave baked goods regularly for her mysterious neighbor, no longer knocking, he had never answered. The basket always returned with the post-it stashed inside.

No one at Regal Oaks Apartments knew anything about the tall, salt and pepper haired man living alone on floor two. He never spoke and was only occasionally spotted, either leaving late or arriving exceedingly early. Except for the label SLADE on a postal box in the dingy entrance hall the man had remained a complete unknown for years.

On one of those early morning arrivals, Slade had run into his newest neighbor, an attractive young blond. Coming out of apartment #203, she had nearly plowed into him. Only inches apart they made eye contact, he found himself staring into her emerald eyes, lost for a moment, there was something about her eyes.

The whole encounter had been troubling. She had stammered for words, obviously as shaken by the encounter as he, then introduced herself, Jenn Keller.

He had not answered, simply nodded, forced a smile and proceeded down the hall.

Shortly after that encounter Jenn Keller had knocked on his door, a pie in hand. It was Thanksgiving Day. He had seen her through the peep hole, watched as she left the pie.

Such an unexpected kindness.

She left baked goods in baskets at his door regularly, no longer bothering to knock. Slade was grateful, as it was a pleasant reminder of his mother. He left a note when he returned the pie plate, and whenever he returned her baskets.

One evening, as he ate a Cranberry Muffin, her latest gift, it dawned on him, she had his mother’s eyes. Not the color, his mother’s eyes had been sapphire, it was... kindness.

After mailing two large envelopes, Slade waited for darkness then headed east for an alley located on the opposite side of town.

Slade had informed his boss Louis that he wanted out, naturally Louis had then insisted he complete one last contract. Slade knew the real target, there would be only one way out. As he approached, Slade made out three of Louis’ goons lurking in the shadows, he would take down as many as he could.

Slade would never return to Regal Oaks Apartments.

Rex Braggs had dropped off two manila envelopes at the post office on Franklin Avenue.

In one, addressed to the Criminal Investigations Unit, Caldwell Police Department, he had placed a small black notebook. On its pages were names, dates, and specific contract details. Detailed enough he hoped to put Louis and his goons away for life.

The other envelope had been addressed to Jenn Keller, Regal Oaks Apartments, #203, Caldwell. In that envelope Rex had placed twenty thousand dollars in cash, along with a green post-it,

Thank You, 211.

Rex then entered McColgan’s Pub where he drank three draft beers as he waited for sunset. He then headed toward Sixth Street. He had no misconceptions, the cards had already been dealt, not in his favor.

The obituary for Rex Braggs was extremely brief, overlooked by everyone in his hometown of Bristling Heights. In Caldwell, his home for the past thirty- seven years, no one knew Rex Braggs, the obituary completely unrecognized by the occupants of Regal Oaks.

Jenn Keller boarded flight #2418, headed to Paris, France. She sat staring anxiously out the small window. While excited to begin a new life, the patisserie school a dream come true, Jenn’s thoughts ultimately drifted to her neighbor, what had happened to Mr. Slade?

And why had he left her such an unexpectedly kind and extravagant gift?

Jenn had no idea, but was sincerely grateful,

Thank You, 211.