The  Shelter

The construction of Trenton’s brand new bomb shelter had been a community project, it’s 200 residents had planned and financed the entire project.  They had a right to be proud of it.  Even Charlestown, ten miles away and ten times as large, had to seek State aid when building their shelter. Trenton was a proud village with patriotic citizens and law abiding families, so when their proudest achievement was in jeopardy, they were indeed concerned.  Someone had locked themselves in the bomb shelter and vowed not to come out until Sergeant Thorpe of the Charlestown Police Department came to arrest him.  Thorpe would come alright, that was without question.  You see, Thorpe had come to Trenton twice before in the past months.  His visits earned him the glares and the hatred of most, if not all, of Trenton’s citizenry.  An evil man who seemed to thrive on violence.  He had come six months ago after Billy Watson.  Billy was only fifteen, but he had stolen a gun from the Charlestown gun shop and Thorpe was obliged to recover it and arrest Billy.  At first, the townspeople were against Billy, after all, who was he to give Trenton a bad name.  He stole the gun and should be punished for it, they agreed, and Trenton was not going to hide him out or help him. What was right was right and Billy knew better. But then came Thorpe and a squat little red haired man with him.  Billy ran, as kids will do.  Thorpe didn’t even chase him.  He drew his gun and fired.  Billy was not killed, but the bullet hit his spine and he would never walk again.  Sure there was an investigation in Charlestown, but that did nothing to change anything, other that to put Trenton on the map as the place where the “unfortunate incident” occurred.  Trenton never forgot.  Thorpe came again, a month later, to arrest Duane Hodge for traffic tickets.  Duane went peacefully and Thorpe showed no signs of violence this time as he placed Duane in the back of the police car. Two days after Duane’s arrest, his wife received a phone call from Thorpe saying she would have to come up with five thousand dollars bail money, by the following week, to get Duane out of jail.  She tried her best to come up the money, and was doing okay, collecting over two thousand dollars in a little over a week.  She called Thorpe to tell him that she was trying to come up with all the money, and to please let Duane talk to her on the phone.  He refused to let her talk and said that if the money wasn't produced by the next morning, he would have Duane shipped off to the County Jail for at least six months.

After another day past, she got another call from the Charlestown Police Department telling her that Duane had hung himself during the night.

Now Thorpe was coming to Trenton again.  This time he had been asked to come by a stranger who was holding up in the bomb shelter.  Trenton was very concerned, to say the least, and very curious why someone would take over their new bomb shelter, and even more curious why he had asked for Thorpe.

Then a news reporter, from Charlestown, said the man in the bomb shelter was accused of raping a young girl in the south woods early this morning, and that he had come to Trenton to hid.  He must have changed his mind and wanted Thorpe to come get him so he wouldn’t have to face the good people of Trenton.

The news spread fast around Trenton and soon all 200 residents were gathered around the shelter, waiting for Thorpe.

A hush fell over the crowd as a black sedan drove up to the shelter and parked near it’s door.  Thorpe got out first, then the red haired one. “ So..that’s Thorpe” someone said.  “Look at the dirty bastard smile.” said another.  “ I wish it was Thorpe in that bomb shelter. This would be a good time to test it.”  Everyone smiled at the old one’s comment, all agreed of course.

Thorpe stood in front of the shelter, casting a large shadow upon the door.  Thorpe was tall and muscular and his voice was harsh and gruff.  He took over the scene immediately.  “Hey, you in there, my name is Thorpe, come on out of there and tell me what this is all about.  Come on now, I ain’t got all day!”

The shelter was silent.

Thorpe inched closer to the door, right to the edge of the shelter.

“ You hear me in there?  You got one minute, that’s it, one minute.  You understand?”

Then came a voice from inside the shelter.  “ I’ve changed my mind Thorpe, I’m not coming out, you ain’t gonna’ shoot me down like no dog....go away, I ain’t done nothing...go away and I’ll come out.”

Thorpe looked angry.  “Well, if you ain’t done nothing then come on out and we’ll talk about it.  What’s your name boy, who are you?”

The shelter was quiet once more.

Thorpe lit a cigarette and was now at the door of the shelter.

“Come on out boy, no one is going to hurt you....come on, lets talk.”

The townspeople could hardly believe their ears.  Thorpe was speaking softly, almost with kindness, like he meant what he said.

Then came the voice from the shelter. “I can’t come out, don’t you understand, I can’t...I’m afraid, I don’t want to die.”  The strangers voice began trembling and the stranger began screaming. “ Thorpe, damn you Thorpe, you ain’t gonna kill me like I was nothin’.”  All was quiet once more.

Thorpe looked at the red haired man and motioned for him to back the crowd up some.  Then he got right up to the door, speaking in a low voice. “Mister” he began between puffs off his cigarette, “ I don’t know you and I promise you, you hear, I promise you that no one out here is going to hurt you or shoot you or anything like that.  Come on out now, it’s startin’ to rain and I want to go home.  Don’t you want to go home boy?’

After a short pause, the stranger spoke, “Can I?  Can I go home Thorpe?”

“Sure you can.  Come on now before I catch a cold.  I’m hungry, ain’t you hungry too?  Come on now, let’s get out of here!”

Thorpe motioned for the red haired man to back the crowd up further.

“Come on now boy, I’m moving everyone away from the door.  You can come out and jump right into my car, okay?  Come on, let’s go, I’ll take you home.”

Finally the voice inside spoke again.  “Okay...okay I’m coming out.  You promised.  Remember, you promised you won’t shoot me.  Don’t shoot me Thorpe.”

“Yes, yes I remember, No one will hurt you, come on now.”

The giant steel door came ajar just a little. Thorpe took out his gun with his left hand and waited.

“Come now, it’s alright. Here’s my hand.  Take my hand boy.”

Thorpe cocked the hammer of his gun.

Suddenly the giant door swung open.

Thorpe looked into the man’s eyes, shocked, unable to move.

 “Hello Thorpe, I knew you’d come.  You shouldn’t have killed my girl Thorpe, you shouldn’t have raped my baby!”

Thorpe saw the blur of the man’s hand as he knocked the gun to the ground.  He felt the cold, overpowering grip around his throat.

No one saw the stranger drive the knife into Thorpe’s heart, again and again.  No one heard him scream.  No one cared as the red haired man ran from the shelter, and no one heard Thorpe's last words that were spit into the pool of blood he laid in.

John Malcolm Pouch 1980