My Story! By Janelle Leppink

Chapter 1

Howard

A Night Without a Sound

The scratching on the window is what first awakened me. I walked to the window and looked out. When the bushes rustled I froze in my tracks. I listened for second sound and looked for another movement but none came. I walked back to my bed and slipped on my slippers and pulled on my robe. I walked to the hallway and I opened my bedroom door slowly. I walked into the hallway and slowly crept down the stairs. When I got to the middle step I cocked my ear toward the front of the house. Then suddenly the wooden door creaked open and I started to panic.
“I’m home,” my eighteen-year-old son called from the door.
I let my breath blow out of me. I had been holding it for that long second which felt like hours. I had thought they had tried to get me another time. I get so scared nowadays. Every creak, every sound puts me on the alert.
They had been at it for almost a year now. I must have been on to something. They had been following me and watching me like I was about to find something I wasn’t supposed to find. But I Howard Francis don’t know what is going on and I am going to find out.
***
Lawrence Lockington, the 86-year-old man, also known, as the husband of Annabelle Lockington was my friend. He was born on June 17, 1910 and was always a dear friend of mine even though most people believed that my great-grandfather had killed his wife 66 years ago. Yes that’s right my great-grandfather was the assumed assassin of a murder in the Mansion on Main Street. The murder mystery of the Mansion on Main Street was that on December 24, 1920 a woman named Annabelle Lockington was murdered in her bedroom during a Christmas party in her own home.
Let me tell you the story. Over 60 years ago a beautiful woman had a large fortune and mansion that took up a huge portion of her town. One night, she through a party that the entire town came to. She went upstairs to get more punch. When she didn’t come back down, her husband went to look for her. She was on her bedroom floor dead. Later it was discovered that some letters that had been sent by her mother who was killed in a work accident 10 years earlier, were also taken from the scene. It didn’t seem like a big deal until they found out that the letters had been stored in a safe with a complicated combination that had been broken into and wrenched open with a crowbar.
The question of how was she killed was still undecided. Some people think that she had opened the safe and that the chandelier that was shattered next to her body was what killed her. Others believe that a certain man named Jonathan Francis, who went upstairs soon after she went up there, was the one who killed her and took the letters. The only thing is, the day after the murder of Annabelle Lockington, Jonathan Francis was found hanging from a rope, the only source of truth, gone.
Here is the catch, Jonathan Francis is my great-grandfather.
***
You know when one of your ancestors does something wrong or are suspected of doing something wrong, you get to receive the punishment? Okay maybe you don’t but you get the idea.
I really lose my cool sometimes when people ask me what it is like to be the great-grandson of a murderer. That’s why in fifth grade when Joey Beckman told me my great-grandfather was a lying little sneak I punched him. I didn’t mean to, but I broke his nose. After that everyone was afraid of me. I knew that I needed to apologize but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I had no friends and I was miserable. Back then I was a gangly teenage boy with a low self-esteem and a hard life.
That gangly boy grew up to be a lawyer and a really good one at that. When I look in the mirror I see a tall, tan, black haired man with a suit on and solemn look on his face. I am single and I have been looking for a wife for some time now. I have a girlfriend and we are pretty serious. I got a divorce from my former wife, but I got custody of our only son, Brock.
That afternoon, I went to work early because the case I was working on was a very long and complicated one. I left a note for Olivia, my girlfriend, and rushed out the door. On the cab to work, I was thinking about things going on and such, when out of my peripheral vision, I saw a man dressed in all black watching me from the side of the street. I thought nothing of it and went on my way to work. At the time, I knew nothing of my enemies… they were happier times. I finished my day at work and got home at around dinnertime. I was exhausted and as soon as I got home I plumped down on the couch and turned on the evening news. Olivia got home soon after I did and sat down at the table to do some studying for her schooling. When she finally finished, she came to sit down on my lap.
“How was your day at work honey?” she asked me conversationally.
“Great,” I mumbled, “ where is Brock?” I asked.
“He went to a movie with his friends,” said Olivia turning to the television.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door and I got up to answer it. I was pleasantly surprised to see Lawrence Lockington standing, hunched over at my door.
“Come in Mr. Lockington,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too bored.
He chuckled, “How long have you known me, Howard? Just call me Lawrence.”
“Who is it honey?” hollered Olivia from the living room.
“Its Lawrence,” I hollered back. That is when I realized that Lawrence was still standing in the cold and I hurriedly stepped out of the way to let him in. I hung up his coat and we walked into the front room, just off the living room. Lawrence sat in the large armchair across from the large sofa sitting on the side of the room. I sat on the sofa and reached my hand down, instinctively, to touch the chest.
“So what brings you here today Lawrence?” I asked looking at the old man.
“Oh yes, well I just wanted to talk to you, that’s all,” Lawrence said, his voice steady.
At one point of the night, he and I got into a political discussion and there was some yelling, and then we were laughing and then crying, until the conversations were over and Lawrence walked out and was gone for the night. An hour later, after Brock got home from the movie with his friends, we all went to bed. As I laid there, trying to go to sleep, I thought about how much work I had ahead of me tomorrow.
I got up in the morning and went downstairs to get the paper. I was too tired to sit down and read it so I tucked it under my arm and went upstairs, to take a shower and get ready for the day at work. When I got upstairs, Olivia was already up and dressed.
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” she asked me, as she finished flat-ironing her hair, and unplugged it.
“Sure, do you want this?” I asked holding up the paper.
“Yes,” she said and snatched it from my hand and gave me a peck on the cheek. “See you downstairs,” she whispered as she playfully tugged at my hair.
“See you,” I said. I walked to my dresser and took out my clothes for the day. I wore the same boring suit and the same boring shoes everyday. As I finished towel drying my hair, I looked in the mirror and put lotion on my face. I smelled the coffee aroma coming from downstairs, so I hurried and finished putting on my shoes and socks.
As I walked down the stairs, I heard Brock walk out the door for school and yelled too late, “Love you son!”
I sauntered into the kitchen and saw a plate of toast and eggs with ketchup on it… my favorite. I sat at the table and saw Olivia washing Brock’s plate and cup.
“Anything interesting in the paper?” I asked as I put on my reading glasses and looked down on it.
She whirled around, her blonde hair swirling in a halo around her head.
“Howard! You scared me!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, sorry.”
“The front page story is about that little pawn shop on Main Street that got robbed again,” she said, turning to the sink.
I started to read the front page, but the picture seemed incomplete. Something was missing.
“Did they tear something down over there?” I asked questionably.
“Not that I know of,” Olivia said as she turned around and came to the table. “Show me.”
I gave the paper to her, and pointed to the spot that I thought something was missing from.
“Oh that’s the billboard for McDonald’s was torn down last week.”
I suddenly realized what seemed different. The large mansion that was over 100 years old was now showing. It used to be hidden by that large billboard and nobody ever thought about it being there. That was Annabelle Lockington’s mansion, and Lawrence Lockington’s current home.
I completely disregarded it until in the background, I saw a man. This man was holding a rake and had a very crooked look on his face. I immediately recognized him as the groundskeeper of the Mansion on Main Street. Every time I had met him, he had looked so cheery and happy. I wonder what was bothering him…
I glanced at the clock on the microwave and hurriedly stood up.
“I’m going to be late if I don’t get going,” I said running a brush through my hair one last time.
I kissed Olivia goodbye and left to go to work. I was driving along the back roads because the freeway was jammed, but really I wanted to drive by that old house on Main Street. The look on the groundskeeper’s face was really troubling me, and I didn’t know why.
I had just gotten off a case for lunch when I got a phone call from the hospital that my father was staying at. Now of course the only thing I thought was that my father was dead. But luckily enough, all the receptionist wanted was to tell me my father wanted to talk to me as soon as possible. My great-grandfather was at the back of my mind until my father got sick. I started thinking about how when my father died he would see my great-grandfather in heaven. I couldn’t wait any longer to go see my dad so I asked for a recess from the case I was working on and I rushed to the hospital as fast as I could what with the traffic! When I got to 257 Lakewood Avenue I finally was free of the hustle and bustle of the city. I was now on a quiet back road to the hospital.
I got there to see him about two hours before he died. He was really looking awful. The purple bags around his eyes were sagging almost to his cheeks. When I got there we had the usual greetings but I really wanted to know what he needed me for on his deathbed.
“Come sit down son,” he said quietly.
I went to him and knelt beside his hospital bed.
“ Could you hand me the glass of water over there?”
I picked up the glass cup and handed it to him. He sipped it slowly as if he were collecting his thoughts. I was starting to get impatient when he finally said, “ My whole life I have tried my hardest to clear your great-grandfathers name. To clear the name of the Francis family.”
I was listening intently now.
“ I want you to carry on the work I have started and to finally clear the name of Jonathan Francis,” he wheezed, “ I have a paper in the back of my dresser drawer that has all the information that I have collected in my lifetime. I want to take it and continue my work.”
I was completely stumped. I knew the story of my great-grandfather but I had never known that my own father had worked diligently on a long since solved mystery. “But, didn’t they find the evidence that grandpa was guilty?” I asked. I didn’t want to go against the law.
“No, no that groundskeeper did it! I know it! But I just have to prove it.” He ranted, wheezing louder than ever, “ Howard you promise me you will clear the name of Francis! Promise me!”
“I promise dad!” I had never seen him so excited before now. Once I said that, he sat back in his bed and took another sip of water.
“Like I said, all you have to do is get the paper in my drawer, do you understand?” he asked, his eyes glowing like stars.
“I understand,” I said, but I still was very confused about the whole thing. Why would I continue the work? I had my own life and I had my own plans. Why couldn’t my father tell one of my brothers to do it? I was so irresponsible! How could my father trust me with the name of the Francis family?






Chapter 2

The Discovery



The only thing I inherited from my father’s house was a large chest and a small wooden cane. My brothers are so selfish. Of course! I got the paper from my dad’s drawer! Although I was really interested in what could be inside that old black chest, I had other problems on my mind. I had a son who was in his senior year of high school, and a huge case that I was working on so I kind of put my father and the Jonathan Francis case in the back of my mind. The chest sat on my living room floor for almost three months. How was I supposed know that just by having that chest sitting there was a recipe for disaster?

Tell me what yout think! Suggestions, critique and complimants appreciated! Thanks!