When the Leaves Fall

By Mary M. Nyman

When the Leaves Fall is a story about drug abuse and recovery. Seventeen-year old Corey, controlled by peer pressure and addiction, develops the courage to change, which results in renewed and learning to take control of his life ... It all begins one morning in a cold, dark cave.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Self Publishing
• Release date: May 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781963746471

Mary M. Nyman

Mom's Choice Award winner for When the Leaves Fall, Mary M. Nyman grew up in Clarksville, Tennessee, and graduated from Wheaton College and Boston University Graduate School. In 1959 she moved to Wareham, Massachusetts, to teach and raise five children in a house overlooking Buzzards Bay, where she resides today.

Book preview

WHEN THE LEAVES FALL

WHEN THE LEAVES FALL

Mary M. Nyman

Writer’s Showcase

New York Lincoln Shanghai

Copyright © 2024

Mary M. Nyman

E-book ISBN: 978-1-963746-47-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-963746-48-8

 Hardback ISBN: 978-1-963746-49-5

All Rights Reserved. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is strictly prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

All reasonable attempts have been made to verify the accuracy of the information provided in this publication. Nevertheless, the author assumes no responsibility for any errors and/or omissions.

For My Children and Grandchildren

CONTENTS

Author’s Notes and Acknowledgments

PART I

CHAPTER ONE A Meeting

CHAPTER TWO Decisions

CHAPTER THREE Blue Monday

CHAPTER FOUR Anne

CHAPTER FIVE Escape!

CHAPTER SIX The Dance

CHAPTER SEVEN Trapped

PART II

CHAPTER EIGHT Officer Raymond

CHAPTER NINE Rescue!

CHAPTER TEN Hospital

CHAPTER ELEVEN Nightmare

CHAPTER TWELVE Steve

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Showdown

PART III

CHAPTER FOURTEEN A Visit With Corey’s Mother

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Letters And Dreams

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Guilt

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Mr. Sam

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Going Home

CHAPTER NINETEEN Facing Up

CHAPTER TWENTY Christmas

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE Resolutions

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO Looking Back

Author’s Notes and Acknowledgments

When the Leaves Fall is a fictional story about substance abuse and recovery. It examines what can happen when addiction takes over the life of a young person, causing him to become passive, devoid of feeling, and capable of criminal behavior. Corey, the main character, is in constant conflict with himself, struggling against the adversities he has created. His behavior and nightmares reflect his fears and the impact of substance abuse. However, because of the tragedies that occur, Corey achieves stature when he makes the vital decision to seek help. Through rehabilitation he learns to understand and respect himself. Ultimately, the intolerable and negative psychological aspects experienced during a four-month period are negated through self-discovery and the development of self-esteem. It is possible, he learns, to take control and find ways to lead a productive and happy life.

This book would not have come to life without the help of a number of people. Special thanks go to the following individuals: Blossom B. Tresselt, my mentor in this undertaking; Karen Cassidy, for her assistance in supplying information pertaining to rehabilitation; Attorney Harry Schmitt, for information regarding certain court procedures; John M. Daniel, for his excellent advice and guidance; Betty Shaughnessy, for her invaluable assistance and patience in preparing this manuscript; Scott Meredith, for his advice concerning plot development; Ms. Peltola and her students; my own children, and the many high school students who have been part of my life.

PART I

Oh wild west wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being.…

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere:

Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear.

—ODE TO THE WEST WIND

Percy Bysshe Shelley

CHAPTER ONE

A Meeting

When Corey woke up he couldn’t see anything. He felt suspended in a world of swirling mists and cold damp nothingness. He hung there on the edge of consciousness trying to remember, but the effort was exhausting. Gradually he lapsed into the comforting world of sleep again—until the stiffness of his muscles and the aching of his head brought him back enough to hear a mosquito buzz close to his ear.

He reached out to swat it, but his hand hit the slimy, jagged rocks above his head instead. The new pain jolted him. He rolled over, shuddering involuntarily from the chill, conscious now of the unpleasant feeling of his wet, mud-covered jeans and the irritating, incessant chirping of a cricket close by. Beneath him the ground was hard and damp. Then, a distant owl’s cry and the sound of water below drew his attention to the dim outline of the cave’s entrance. So this is where I am! I wonder what time it is, he said aloud.

In the darkness each small sound was magnified. His imagination soared. He saw himself in a forgotten dungeon, his teeth chattering as the rats nibbled at the holes in his sneakers. He tried to free himself, but the chains bit into his bleeding wrists and held him fast. Ugh! Gross! My imagination kills! Corey laughed. Now that he was wider awake his fears eased for a moment. Until he remembered the unpleasant events that had brought him here.

Memory is like video, he thought, lying there and trying to place himself in some frame of reality. How did I get myself into this mess? I’m seventeen and I ought to know better. Rewinding his tape, he pieced the events together. Thursday night he had met Steve in the alley behind Tanya’s Variety Store. Both of them were out of weed, which always made them nervous. Then Mr. Sam showed up and dangled four joints in front of them.

One more for the road, he taunted.

He’s so flip, Corey muttered. Give me a couple of joints and things seem easy, Corey sat up. I always owe that guy money, but what am I gonna do now? he exclaimed. Dishwashing can’t begin to support me, but neither can any other stupid job I get. Mr. Sam’s got us over a barrel and he knows it. (Knows it…. knows it…. knows it…. the cave walls echoed in response.) This job was supposed to be a cinch. Damn, I’m scared! Corey exclaimed, surprised at this sudden realization.

The plan had been easy. The Stevensons, off to Pine Lake for the weekend, had ordered supplies from Tanya’s. The delivery van, driven by Mr. Sam’s kid brother, provided the boys perfect access to the house. All they had to do, once they arrived, was hide out in the woods until dark. Lucky for us the Stevensons are so trusting, Corey thought. They don’t seem to worry about security.

Anyway, Mr. Sam’s kid brother had made the delivery right before the Stevensons got home from work. As they left, Corey remembered hearing the screen door bang and the sound of their Blazer turning around in the driveway. Then all was quiet. What he didn’t want to remember was what happened next.

Since his memory often focused on a last joint, his mind spiraled back to Friday. He had gone to school rather than skip, in order to avoid any speculation as to his whereabouts. Afterward he’d gone down to the river. There was no one around, so he lit up and walked in the wooded area for a while to kill time. It was nice when it was quiet and peaceful and no one was around to make demands on him. Then, at four forty-five, he’d met Steve and Mr. Sam’s kid brother behind Tanya’s as planned.

The blind alley was always a good meeting place for smokes and for making plans. It ran at an angle to the street and it was closed in on three sides by high brick walls. At night it was dark and scary, like a cave. The only other way out was through the door into Tanya’s. Corey remembered entering the store, buying a candy bar, then slipping out the back into the van where the guys were waiting. Ten minutes later they were on Cobb’s Hill at Vanderstaay Place.

Corey relived the experience, as the van swung around the circle while he caught the brilliant oranges and gold of the late September flowers he loved. Fall colors. They are so beautiful, he thought. Then he remembered Mr. Sam’s kid brother edging the van up the steep driveway before giving the boys the all-clear sign. Moments later they had bolted into the thick, dark woods to wait for nightfall.

Later, they broke into the house through a window where Mr. Sam had loosened the screws while he was doing electrical repair work.

The take was pretty good. Enough, Corey hoped, to pay off their debt to Mr. Sam. They had taken the loot, escaped through the back window, then cut through the woods to the abandoned logging road that joined the highway a mile away. At this point they had gone in opposite directions.

And now, here I am, Corey reflected, while Steve’s at home in his nice warm bed, sleeping. And I’m not dreaming. He fingered the stolen stuff in his pocket. Then he fumbled for a match, and lit it. In his left hand lay the ZipLoc bag. Through the clear plastic he could see the strand of pearls and the gold rings. There was also a small diamond ring, like the kind his mother wore when she went out, and there was a man’s watch, the expensive kind with lots of dials and a couple of diamond chips. Corey lit another match. It was 4:00 a.m. I wonder where Mr. Sam is?

Corey had half a smoke left. Presently he lit up, and soon his tired, aching muscles relaxed.…He must have dozed.

Then, he awoke with a start, feeling cold and apprehensive. He sat up, shivering. Still no Mr. Sam. Carefully he patted his Army jacket. The ZipLoc bag was there, safe in its buttoned pouch, but he felt fuzzy. It ought to be morning by now, he muttered. Again he checked the time. Only 4:30.

Suddenly a branch snapped. Corey tensed. There was a sound of pebbles falling, then a familiar smell of cigar smoke. Mr. Sam?

Yeah, and in a gruff whisper, you got the loot? Mr. Sam inched down through the cave opening, pushing aside the honeysuckle vines that concealed the opening and intercepted the dim morning light. He slid down the steep, narrow path and switched on his powerful flashlight. His height and big frame overpowered Corey. Inwardly, the boy cringed.

The light did grotesque things to Mr. Sam’s swarthy face. As the beam shot upward, his face took on a ghostly pallor. There were cruel looking, angular lines and a fierceness Corey hadn’t noticed before. The dark eyes were flinty and cold. He’s really evil, Corey thought…. Suddenly he saw his soft, warm bed at home…. Distantly, he heard Mr. Sam’s voice. Then he felt the man’s vicelike grip on his shoulder. Well? Where is it?

The smooth, velvet tone of the man’s other voice calmed Corey. He’s clever, he thought, but his muscles tensed before he answered.

Here, Corey said, is what we found.

Mr. Sam squatted down beside him and aimed the powerful beam of his flashlight on Corey as he spread out a clean Kleenex and carefully placed the stolen jewelry on it. The pearls gleamed in the sudden light. The gold rings, the diamond ring and the watch were too brilliant against the cave’s darkness; the sight of them made Corey’s eyes hurt.

Where’s the coin collection? Mr. Sam sounded angry. "Didn’t you check the desk drawer? The one with the fake bottom?

No, Corey said, in a small voice. Were we supposed to? But why didn’t you tell us? Idiot, he was thinking. Why doesn’t he make things clear?

Suddenly, Mr. Sam stood up. He grabbed Corey by the shoulders. Menacingly he shook him, shoving him towards the embankment. Damn it, kid! Don’t you ever listen to directions? Then he backed off. Okay, okay, he said. It’s too late now. He wrapped up the stolen goods and returned them, carefully, to the ZipLoc bag. Then he placed the bag in one of his voluminous pockets.

I wonder if he has a gun in there too, Corey thought, abstractly. Slippery Sam’s temper really scared him but he made sure not to show it. Sorry about the coin collection, he said, lamely. And to himself, as he listened to the stream rushing below. Whew! Glad I’m not drowning down there.

This pretty much clears up what you boys owe, Mr. Sam stated. His voice sounded far away. Corey watched as he bit down on his cigar, dropped it, and crushed it beneath his heel. Savagely he kicked it down the embankment towards the rushing water. Then he pulled another Zip Loc bag out of his pocket and handed it to Corey. There were lots of joints in it. About a week’s supply for him and Steve and the kids they supplied; Corey calculated.

Wonder what we’ll have to