Cheating the Reaper: A Copper Horse "Tail"

“Let's be honest. I'm not sure you're the right man for Billericay.” The tall man dishing out cruel truth with his first two sentences sat before me in a tailored suit, his dark hair styled in such a way it was evident he took great care in his appearance.

The handsome man's commanding presence filled the room and threatened to sever the narrow thread of confidence I'd managed to weave during Bobby's and my frenetic trip south from Blyth. My former manager and adopted English father had warned me that Steve Rose, Chairman of Billericay Football Club, would push my buttons. I didn't realize that buttons were the only thing he would push.

Determined not to fold before Rose's cards had even been dealt to me, I rallied for Bobby's sake and all the sacrifices he'd made on my behalf leading up to and including getting me to this late evening interview. I thanked Steve for allowing me an interview, especially as it was under such unusual circumstances.

Rose ignored my flattery and cut to the chase. “Copper, the only reason that you sit before me now is that my time is worth money. Bobby is compensating me for this interview and I owe him a favor.”

His tone was as crisp as the collar on his starched white shirt. His silk tie, still knotted perfectly in place even at this late hour, made it clear to me that Steve Rose was in full control of his environment and wouldn't be deterred from his pre-determined course of action.

“I'm still grateful, regardless of the current circumstances and...”

Rose cut me off, “Copper, you are quite audacious to think you have the capacity to return to football management, especially considering your past.”

I felt incredibly small at the moment and questioned the validity of Bobby's unfailing belief in me ever since I'd called him out of the blue following my release from the mental institution where I'd been rehabilitated by a beagle named Boon and a psychiatrist named Dr. Winterbourne after losing my wife and soul-mate, Robin.

Taking a moment's pause to consider the reality of my current situation, it was tempting to give up and fold my hand now, keeping my losses to a minimum. However, Bobby warned me that Rose would be ruthless. Bobby had insisted on pushing me to the brink in his car for the past three hours on our drive towards London and then east. For Bobby's sake, and the love he'd shown me after my prodigal son routine, I tried regaining some control from my interrogator.

“Mr. Rose, I won't waste your time with lies. You hiring me would be a big gamble. However, judging by first impressions, you strike me as someone who is careful about the decisions you make with your life. I see my being here as no different.”

Rose took another lengthy moment to stare at me. He'd already done it twice since we were first introduced. In fact, Rose had been just as brusque with Bobby and even insisted he remain outside Rose's immaculate office and in the waiting area while I was to be interviewed. Bobby had no choice but to comply.

“I am what you perceive, Copper. I've also done my homework on you too. Therefore, I'll keep this short. I'm interested in two things. I'm interested in making money and I'm interested in being successful. To me, these two things are one and the same. Despite your unorthodox methods, you turned Blyth into winners and I'll expect you to do the same here. Now, again I'm expecting you to answer my question. Do you still have the fortitude to be a manager?”

Rose's hostile nature of questioning threw me off balance. How was I supposed to answer his question? I didn't even know myself. I'd been away from the game for well over a year. I'd watched managers with less skill than me get job offers while I rotted away in my loss. I had felt like a pariah and believed everyone had rejected me. My thoughts took too long to formulate an answer this harsh man might accept.

Rose stood up to leave and looked down his nose at me. “I thought as much. It's apparent you're not ready, Copper.” I remained seated in disbelief surprised by how quickly the interview ended. It angered me that I hadn't even had a chance to answer a single question, but what could I do?

Reflexively, I stood up and shuffled in the direction of his beckoning arm towards the heavy door he had opened. With my head hung low and my tail between my legs, I felt frustrated and ashamed for wasting everyone's time. However, after nearing Rose, I noticed his strong cologne. It damn near knocked me over, but I must have been so focused on other things to notice.

The overpowering aroma reminded me of an isolated event Robin and I once shared together when she was alive. We'd been in a shopping mall and one of the perfumers had stood in the aisle offering it to anyone willing to try it. I'd been about to accept it, but Robin had blurted out, “Don't think so, Miss. Only small men wear such a big scent.”

The perfumer had pursed her lips, flared her nose, and rolled her eyes at my wife before saying as derisively as she could, “Your man wishes he was man enough to wear it.” Robin stopped walking immediately and squared up to the perfectly coiffed woman wearing her stiffly pressed suit and tottering on her high heels.

Robin's victim tried to stand her ground, but Robin toyed with her a moment, letting the tension fill the short distance between them before speaking to the petite woman, “Miss, I'll have you know that my man doesn't need to wear cologne because he's more than enough man for me. Don't you agree?” The woman's pasty, powdered face blushed pink after Robin had reached over to me and slowly groped my manhood over my pants for the perfumer's private display.

Robin had ushered me away from the shocked woman, laughing to herself while patting my bottom the rest of the way out of the store. When we were out of ear shot, Robin said, “I can't stand arrogance. It stinks. Don't ever forget this Copper.”

I almost had.

Rose stunk. He was arrogant. I remembered how Robin had leveled the playing field and I admired her for it. I'd been bullied. I'd been disrespected. I'd lost too damn much and worked too damn hard to recover some semblance of self-respect to be bullied anymore without standing up for myself. At Blyth, I'd never earned the respect of my fellow managers. It also took me a long time to earn the respect of the Spartan supporters too. However, from the onset and in my darkest hours, Robin and Bobby had always backed me even when I had given up all hope in myself.

I didn't have Robin anymore and I'd nearly lost Bobby too. Here I was again, facing a dog of a different breed with a bone I couldn't bear to lose. Boon, my therapy dog, flashed to mind and I channeled my inner instincts to fight my adversary in self-defense, even if it meant dying in the process.

What did I have to lose? The reality of my current situation is the only thing I risked losing in this moment of self-doubt was my self-respect. Hours and hours of mental health sessions with the unflappable Dr. Winterbourne had prepared me for the kind of adversary that Rose suddenly had become.

With a heave of my right arm I ripped the door from Rose's firm grasp and slammed it shut. I squared up to my accuser and spat, “Mr. Rose, I didn't come here to get abused by someone too short-sighted to not allow a man to take the measure of his words before responding. So, in response to your earlier question, Mr. Rose, I am audacious because when you cheat The Reaper like I have, you've f***ing earned a second chance at life. Don't you think?”

Chapter Two (01 July 2011)

“Copper, if you think I'm short-sighted, try to step outside your own myopic view and consider mine.” Steve Rose remained composed during my outburst, however, he'd left his office door closed. “I'm about to put my wealth and reputation on the line for a man with a dark past and a dim future. You are a liability and I'm trying to assess if you are worth the risk.”

Both of us remained motionless on each side of the imaginary line drawn in the plush carpet. I sensed I was on thin ice, but my sessions on Winterbourne's overstuffed leather furniture had prepared me for the mental battle that would surely ensue momentarily. I welcomed the challenge.

“Mr. Rose, I've already proven that I'm worth the risk once before. I won a league title and doing it while racking up a record number of points in the process. I've got Bobby Bell in the other room to vouch for me if you don't want to take my word for it.”

“I've done my homework, Copper. You won that league title on the legs of four reserve team loanees from Middlesbrough. Those players made it possible for you to be successful.”

“I was the one who inspired their daily pursuits as Spartans.”

“With all due respect, Copper, great players don't need to be inspired. They thrive regardless of the management. They inspire themselves.”

“Mr. Rose, I've learned that management determines the culture in which to cultivate habits, either good ones or bad ones. My staff and I created a culture founded upon habits that resulted in winning.”

“Copper, under your reign, Blyth was in the papers more for your antics on the pitch and off than any culture of winning upon which you might have stumbled.”

Rose's gauntlet stung, but I forged forward knowing that I still had a chance to convince him of what was required as long as we continued debating. “Mr. Rose, that might be true, but there are other managers who draw the media's glare away from the players and onto themselves so the players can concentrate on football.”

“According to your opinion, Copper, who might be a manager to whom you are referring?”

“The Special One, Jose Mourinho. He's never attended a media junket he couldn't spin in his favor.”

“Good point, but I'm interested in staying out of the papers. This isn't London, thank you very much. They can have all that drama there at those big clubs. This is Billericay. We are a small-time club with big-time aspirations and I won't tolerate that kind of media attention or any sort of sideline shenanigans for which you garnered attention with those fanatics near Newcastle.”

“Fine, I won't act like a horse's ass in public. Besides, I'm a changed man and have that part of my life under control.”

“What makes you think that, Copper?”

“Because, finally, I'm comfortable in my own skin.” I flashed my scarred hands in front of his face. “These stitch lines remind me everyday of the painful past I'd tried destroying in every way manageable short of narcotics, unless you count Doctor-prescribed painkillers as drug abuse.”

Rose remained unflappable. “Copper, it's that part of your past that is most troublesome. I fear you will break down when life gets rough during the lengthy season. I won't tolerate those kinds of acts here at Billericay.”

“I promise you, those days are behind me.”

“They may be, Copper, but how am I supposed to place my faith in you with that kind of sordid past?” Ouch. Rose's frank nature was tough to take. He seemed to be the antithesis to Bobby Bell, the gardener, who'd had the patience to nurture me as I got my feet underneath me while I grew into my role as manager at that wonderful patch of turf in the northeast. I tried to change the direction of the conversation a bit.

“Look, Rose, faith is a matter of perspective. Why are you a chairman of a fully professional team in the Blue Square South? I think it's because you have faith that Billericay will grow into its role as a fully professional squad. Sort of like a person who dresses for the job they wish to have, instead of the job they have currently.”

“Go on.”

“Mr. Rose, you've said it yourself a short time ago, you are interested in making money and being successful. Since you've acknowledged that they are one in the same, it seems like you're spending money now in good faith hoping that your investments will make you substantially more money in the future, particularly if you can get promoted to the Blue Square Premier.”

“Yes, that's true, but what of it?”

I sensed that the tide had turned between us and I was on the cusp of a breakthrough with this steel-willed Chairman. “Mr. Rose, am I here more for my ability to make money than for my ability as a manager?”

This time, it was Rose's turn to hesitate for a moment too long. Therefore, I capitalized on it and pressed forward, giving him a dose of his own medicine that he'd given me before we squared off for our debate. “I thought as much because if you've done as thorough a job on your homework like you've claimed, then you must have discovered my ability to work on a tight budget.”

Rose finally broke his eyes away from mine and I knew I'd won a small victory as soon as he walked back to his chair and gestured for me to sit down in the other one across from him.

“Copper, please, come sit down. We have a lot more to discuss.”

The tension drained from my shoulders and upper back where the adrenaline rush had settled itself. I took my seat again and felt a lot more confident about the direction this meeting was taking.

“Copper, Graham Heathcote left this club in a mess. He'd brought over 24 players to this club and ran up the wage budget excessively. I'd agreed only because he'd guaranteed that we'd make it to promotion by season's end.”

I nodded my head and wanted to know more. Rose obliged.

“Of course, when it came towards the close of the season, his excessive wage budget had done one hell of a number on our bottom line. I couldn't abide the losses and forced him to sell off two of his key players to Nuneaton, who'd been promoted instead of us.”

I recalled how tough it was to lose all those players at Blyth when the wage budget far exceeded the income arriving in the club's coffers. Simply put, losing those players was the most difficult thing I'd ever done as manager. It meant chaos and was the catalyst of animosity between Graham Fenton and I.

“I assume that Graham Heathcote didn't take too kindly to losing those players?”

“It was the final obstacle to difficult to overcome and he resigned a week ago. Now he's at Dorchester, who sacked their manager after getting them relegated.”

Rose's news was unexpected. Bobby hadn't briefed me on the reason for the opening at Billericay, but now that I'd been told the truth, I had a clearer understanding of the direction Rose might want to go with his next manager.

“Mr. Rose, would you take a gamble on me if I could guarantee that under my leadership, we'd never lose to Dorchester as long as Heathcote remains as manager?”

I'd caught Rose's attention with that and, for the first time, I caught a flash as to what button of his I could push to make our battleground more equal. I pressed it harder, hoping for some advantage.

“Mr. Rose, can we admit that each of us has personal reasons for wanting revenge? And, if so, can we agree to pool our skills together to make them happen?”

Rose smiled, “Copper, I think you are going to have to agree to a lot more than that for me to gamble on you.”

Chapter Three (01 July 2011)

Over the course of another half hour Rose and I worked out a lot of issues and, eventually, we agreed on enough things for him finally to feel I was worth the risk.

I'd felt like I'd made a deal with the devil as I'd been making promises I didn't know if I could deliver. However, the lure of having something to do with my life kept getting more tempting with each new concession Rose expected me to make. Before I knew it, I'd agreed upon a multi-year deal worth 1K per week. Also, I had to agree that I wouldn't terminate any of the existing staff's contracts because he wanted assurances that the players would be protected if he needed to pull the rug out on me if he felt that I was losing the plot.

Though Billericay had finished a disappointing 16th last season with Graham Heathcote in charge, Rose expected me to improve the team's standings to a respectable position. For that, I'd get to keep the wage budget unchanged, currently at 14.8K per week.

I was dumbfounded that Rose was allowing those kinds of wages, especially in the Blue Square South. At Blyth, I was forced to work with just under 5K a week. Rose was serious about winning trophies wasn't he?

Another aspect of club life that Rose was serious about was turning a profit. Under Heathcote's year long tenure, Graham had raised the expenditures 4K per week higher than before his reign. As a result of those bloated wages, Billericay had lost 300K and Rose was currently running in the red and he was serious about rectifying that situation by this season's end.

Suddenly, Rose's actions seemed justified in forcing Heathcote to sell those two players to Nuneaton a week ago. During our discussions, this topic came up and I'd agreed that he could sell of any players he saw fit to balance the books at season's end if I couldn't get Billericay promoted.

Rose seemed satisfied by the promises and guarantees he'd coaxed and also coerced out of me. I didn't want to agree to all the things he expected of his new manager, but a beggar can't be a chooser and a dog shouldn't bite the hand that feeds it. I was both a beggar and a dog and I knew my place as Billericay's potential manager was an act of grace I didn't deserve. I also knew that the price I'd paid to be Blyth's manager far exceeded anything expected of me in the future.

The truth of the matter was that I'd have given my firstborn son to get the chance to manage a football team again. Unfortunately, the reality of my deal with the devil was that I'd already sacrificed both him and Robin while I was an arrogant ass tilting at windmills under Bobby's tutelage.

If Mr. Steve Rose took the risk and gambled his club's future on a joker like me, then I vowed silently to do it differently this time. Winterbourne taught me to accept my past. Boon modeled for me how to live in the present. Bobby's unflinching faith in me radiated hope for my future.

What would happen to me was out of my hands. I'd done all I could to convince Rose that I was stable enough to lead his team into the future. Now I had to wait for him to mull things over. He'd asked me to step out into the office area and wait until he and Bobby finished discussing things.

Again, I'd agreed to his request. I shook Bobby's hand and gave him a quick wink as he stood up and passed me by to follow Rose back into the office.

Time slowed to a screeching halt while the two of them talked about things I could only imagine. However, the wait didn't bother me as much as I thought initially; must have been all that time living a spartan existence in Winterbourne's facility was somehow training for tonight. Rose's grandfather clock chimed loudly.

I checked the wall clock. It read 11:45 PM. Bobby and Rose finally emerged from his enclave and Bobby's eyes beamed. He rushed to me and embraced me, his own body shaking mine with the joy he couldn't contain. I held him and said nothing. There was nothing I could say to him for all he'd done for me since we first met in that Liverpool pub three years ago. I tried to convey all the love I had for him through my hug, but I felt it wasn't enough, never would be enough, and was far more than I ever could deserve.

Rose stood silently at his office door, allowing Bobby and I the time and space we required to express to each other what words failed to convey. A short time later, I wiped my eyes and followed Rose into his office. On his desk was a contract waiting for my signature. I looked it over and noticed that Bobby's signature was already on some of the lines.

It struck me as unusual and when I asked Mr. Rose about it, his eyes went dead before he said, “I informed you earlier that I wanted to be assured of your stability. Mr. Bell's signature is required because if you are removed from this position because your mental faculties prevent you from fulfilling your contract, then he is financially responsible to compensate me for your back wages and all other debts accrued by Billericay during your tenure here.”

I was gobsmacked. Mr. Rose must be the Devil Incarnate by insisting that Bobby sign a bull***t contract like that. Fortunately, I'd stopped short of saying it out loud, but I considered it with every fiber of my being. Rose was an abominable man clothed in all the finery of success. I didn't want to work for the man anymore. I wanted to wad up his contract, stuff it in his mouth, and choke him to death.

Bobby clapped his hand on my leg behind the desk and squeezed my knee forcefully. I looked to Bobby to ascertain his motives for the hidden gesture. His nod beckoned my attention back to the contract. I followed Bobby's lead but glanced once more at Rose. He continued to stare at me without blinking and without revealing an ounce of emotion on his ashen face.

I felt paralyzed. The arrogance of the man sitting before me and the forgiveness of the man urging me on my right seemed to play an invisible contest of tug-of-war with my very being.

I fiddled with the fountain ink pen Rose supplied and wished Robin was here to guide me. She'd have known what to do as she could read people much better than I. I closed my eyes and concentrated as hard as I could, but I couldn't shake the feelings of evil emanating from Rose. However, I sensed the purity in Bobby's actions and knew that he'd never betray me, even if it meant putting his neck on the chopping block for me by signing the atrocious contract.

The loud chimes in Rose's office startled me and I felt a sharp pain in my right index finger. Looking down, I realized I had accidentally poked it on the sharp tip of the fountain pen and was bleeding. I went to wipe it off, but Rose slammed his hand on his desk and hissed, “Are you signing it, or is the deal off?”

I took one last look at Rose's black eyes and saw nothing, but knew what I must do. I spat the words at Rose, “F**k it! What have I got to lose?”

I signed the contract, my blood mixing with the ink on the dotted line while the clock chimed midnight.

Rose swiped the parchment away from me with a flick of his wrist and said, “It is finished.”

Goosebumps broke out over my entire body.

Good gracious! I never expected that kind of reception on the opening few posts. I'm a bit overwhelmed by the praise as there are many quality writers on this forum. However, I do thank you for the comments. I've been wanting to write more about Copper, but didn't know if it would be as well received as the first two, especially so soon on the heels of Roy Jones' story. It's nice to know that Copper's still liked by many of you readers. I hope the rest of the story measures up to the expectations you expressed here. If it doesn't, well then it won't be the first time I've disappointed other people (wink). Cheers!

Chapter Four (02 July 2011)

Rose stood up, his presence more towering than I recalled and swept all the signed documents into his leather briefcase. The efficiency of his motion was disturbing, but not nearly as awful as his fingernails.

How could I have not noticed them before? Unnerved by their length and shape, I just wanted to get the hell out of his office and breathe some fresh air. Not only did his office stink horribly, it had become sweltering in the claustrophobic room.

I led the way and walked beside Bobby, still beaming and radiating a good vibe despite the fact that my skin still crawled. Rose glided along behind us hardly making a sound on the carpet and when we reached the door, he was suddenly there to open it for us.

Finally making it to the relative safety of the outdoors, I avoided all eye contact with my new boss. I knew that to be a sign of utter disrespect on my part, but I was in no mood to be cordial, despite being given a second chance I never deserved.

“Copper, I'll expect you here first thing in my office tomorrow. I'd like to introduce you around and prepare you for how you'll be expected to handle the media.”

I nodded and hurried towards Bobby's car. Bobby stopped and made some more small talk with Rose, but once I was at the car, I latched onto the handle and threw myself inside, clicking the seat belt secure across my chest as fast as I could. “Come on Bobby, get away from him.” I whispered.

Rose's eyes followed Bobby as he made his way to the car. However, once Bobby moved toward his side of the car, Rose's eyes locked onto mine and I froze, unable to tear my gaze from his boring into me. I couldn't breathe and broke out in a sweat.

Bobby slammed the door shut and started the engine. It wasn't until Bobby pulled away from his parking spot and turned the vehicle toward our left that Rose was forced to break his visual embrace.

I shuddered.

Bobby asked, “So, what do you think of your new boss?”

“I hate him.”

“Really? Why? He's not the most personable, but he's definitely not a liar.”

Oh Bobby, I thought, he's most definitely a liar, but he's a really smooth one. Dear God, what have I done. I wished I could hold Robin, more for my sake than hers and feel the security her loving embrace offered me. Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen.

Rose had me over a barrel and somehow, he'd managed to put Bobby there too. “Bobby, why in the world did you sign that contract. It's much too much responsibility. How can you be so sure of me?”

Bobby chuckled warmly, “Dear Copper, you might not be assured of your abilities right now, but I promise you that the man I've rediscovered the past few days is still a man who is a force to be reckoned.”

I couldn't do anything but smile at Bobby's unwavering faith and hope that it would be enough to chase away the doubt I'd had in me.

Bobby and I drove to the nearest accommodations and checked in for the night. Of course, he picked up the tab and ordered us a round of stiff drinks to celebrate my future. “To Copper...and second chances...”

I nodded and buried the drink, allowing the burn to wallow in my throat undisturbed until it subsided. Then, I swallowed and clanked the solid glass onto the wooden surface beneath it.

I hoisted the bottle and poured each of us two more shots, “To Bobby, a man too noble for his own good.”

We belted those down too.

After our third, we'd settled down and the conversation carried itself onward in effortless waves of goodwill until we were both slurring our words and it wasn't just because of the alcohol. It was really late and according to the watch on his wrist, it was four hours until I'd need to be back at the club ready to face my future whether I was fully prepared to face my fears of Rose or not. Bobby's financial security demanded it.

We went to bed and, underneath the covers, I tossed up a prayer into the ethos begging for protection and guidance in the morning. Then, on a whim, I checked the bedside drawer to see if the missionaries had left a Bible. Fortunately, they had and I clutched it tight, hugging it to my chest in hopes that it might protect me from an evil I didn't understand.

The phone rang and rang and rang some more. I heard it, yet didn't comprehend what was required of me. Eventually, I became cognizant enough to roll over and pick it up. The front desk was ringing me as we'd requested the night before.

I fell out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. My scarred hands hadn't adjusted to the signals my brain sent to them and they fumbled about with the various faucets and managed to nick my throat while shaving. The blood pooled in the bottom of the basin turning the shaving cream a shade of red it hadn't been since the hospital.

Angered by my poor concentration the thought materialized that Rose might notice it and think me unstable. My paranoia woke me up fully and the rest of the morning routine went without mishap.

Bobby and I ate breakfast together in relative silence. However, we agreed that he would not drive me to the club as it might cause complications if a photographer noticed him driving.

The front desk called for a taxi and each of us knew it was time to say the farewells neither of us wanted. It was a dreary gray day and rain was imminent. Bobby was the first to move and hugged me tight. Like a father on his son's first date, he'd reached into his wallet and pulled some more cash from it. Forcing it into my hands, he insisted I take it and pay him back once I got my first paycheck.

Too ashamed to argue, I'd agreed. My wage was doubled from what he'd been able to offer me when I managed his beloved Spartans. However, the other amenities he'd offered me instead far outweighed any monetary compensation Rose could offer me.

The taxi arrived and I began to thank Bobby for everything he'd done. He interrupted me and requested, “Copper, you and I both know that words will fall short. Therefore, let me suggest that the best thing you can do to express yourself is to work your ass off and manage the hell out of that team this season.”

I laughed, but he continued. “I'm serious, Copper. You weren't the only one who never got the recognition they deserved. I was hurt too. I brought you to the club, you led it to the title, and then I let you down.”

“Bobby, stop. You didn't let me down. Let's admit it. I couldn't cope. I thought I'd lost it all when I'd lost Robin and our unborn son. My journey has been a long, dark journey, but that is in the past. My future is now, isn't it?”

“I sure as hell hope so.” Bobby winked and wiped the tear off his cheek. My voice choked on our final goodbye, but I held him tight and when I let go, I managed to give him a thumbs up and climb into the taxi with the clothes on my back.

I watched Bobby until I couldn't see him anymore, but the entire way I felt nothing but warmth emanate from his kind eyes.

Chapter 5 (02 July 2011)

The warmth I felt from Bobby quickly disappeared to be replaced by a bone chilling one when I arrived at Billericay to meet with Mr. Steve Ross, my new boss.

He'd made arrangements prior to my arrival to make sure the office was cleared and prepped for my use with a computer on my desk and a secretary outside my door. I asked him if I could post the copper horse nameplate which Bobby had given me outside my door, but Rose denied me outright offering only, “It doesn't promote a proper image for the club.”

How could it not? I thought to myself. However, it wasn't my call. It was Rose's. There were a lot of things that were Rose's call. The entire staff had been handpicked by Rose, including the scouts and assistant manager. All of them had been given three year contracts, at least, and all of them were from England.

I wondered how many of them were on contracts similar to mine, but knew better than to ask. All of them were genial with me, especially the assistant manager, Dale Doyle.

During a short conference with him, Doyle shared he was 36 and preferred running a 4-4-2. He also liked it when Billericay attacked, but he could balance it out when required. The best way he thought to stop the opposing team was to close them down quickly, thus we needed to have some players who could play a high tempo game.

In my head, I thought that might be a good way to go, but I would have to see the players in action to determine if I felt that would be successful. Time would tell and I would be meeting with the players in an hour's time. Doyle and I determined that he and another first team coach, Matt Fearn, would be leading training for the first week or so until I got a better understanding of what was best for the team.

Judging by Billericay's 16th place finish last season, it seemed obvious that goalkeeping was an area of weakness for this squad. Without crucial training methods employed, the other ten in front of the keeper would suffer if the man between the sticks was weak. I had an idea of who I wanted to come to join me, a friendly face if you will, but I would need to run it past Rose first.

My secretary, Sara, found Rose and told me he was outside prepping the field for the media introductions. I could find him there.

I hurried out to the stadium and, in the daylight, realized that Billericay was in even worse shape than Blyth. The stadium was not as large, but it held a decent number of supporters. The pitch was torn up plenty, but I'd learned that it was easier to play on then it looked.

Rose appeared suddenly at my side and caught me by the elbow. I flinched as I'd not noticed his approach. He smiled, but his dark eyes lacked the associated emotions. “I understand you need to see me, Copper?”

“Yes,” I frogged out. “I was thinking that the team needs a coach who can train the keeper.”

“Fine. Consider it done. Do you have someone in mind, already?”

Startled by how easy it was to convince him, I blurted out the first name that came to mind. “Robert Ferguson.”

“Ahhh, the Scot who was at Blyth with you?”

How did he know? I hadn't told him a thing, nor had he any reason to know that name from a hole in the wall. Twice in two minutes, he'd startled me and goosebumps broke out again unwillingly.

I couldn't speak, but nodded affirmation.

“I've already taken the liberty of calling Mr. Ferguson. I've offered him a contract, a single year contract, assuming you last that long. Like you, he's not been employed since Blyth sacked him after you departed.”

It was too much to comprehend at the moment. How could Rose possibly have anticipated this? He must have read the look on my face because he added, “You seem surprised. I informed you last night that I do my homework.”

That was an understatement.

“By the way Copper, I thought Mr. Ferguson would be a good choice because it's always good to have someone allied with you in battle, don't you think?” His thin lips parted and his perfectly aligned teeth shone in the sun a bit too white for what I thought normal.

“Will we know when we might be getting a confirmation from him?” It was the best I could come up with on short notice to regain some control over the situation.

“Yes. Later this afternoon. By the way, you won't be speaking much at the media gathering. Please leave that to me. You are limited to saying that you are grateful for the chance to work again. That is all. Do I make myself clear?” Did Rose's smile turn icy or was that my imagination getting the best of me in a stressful situation? I had to admit, getting back on this horse after falling off in June 2009 was more unnerving than I'd expected and, actually, I felt grateful for Rose's edict to be in control of the media. I wasn't ready to share much of my past for obvious reasons, but the media doesn't seem to care about privacy now, do they?

The cameras flashed so much my head hurt. I don't know how the celebrities can stand all the photos they endure on the red carpet at the posh Hollywood events they are expected to attend. I only had a single cameramen present, but he'd taken enough photos you'd have thought that the paparazzi had me cornered coming out of a dance club with an underage girl on my arm.

Rose, as promised, fielding most of the questions, especially the ones relating to his gamble on me after vanishing even from the obscure world of part-time managers. “Mr. Horse will make a fine addition to this team. He's a proven winner who can work on a tight budget and I'm sure he can work with his veteran support staff to help us progress forward in a sensible way up the tables.”

I recited my lines when it was the appropriate time and the media interview was over. Finally, the ordeal was done and I was no worse for wear. Rose caught my elbow again and ushered me to the dressing room where the team was preparing to take training.

Entering the facility, it was clear that the team wasn't quite certain about their new gaffer. The eyes turned toward me, Rose nodded acknowledgments and whistled loudly. The room fell silent immediately.

Rose's voice turned honey-sweet and his voice carried across the close contained quarters. “Gentlemen, this is Mr. Copper Horse, your new manager. I can assure you that the level of expectation won't drop. If anything, it might elevate.”

The entire room remained silent as if they were transfixed, either by fear or paralysis. It didn't matter to me. Rose was reciting the first part of my rehearsed speech. Not word for word, mind you, but close enough it was as if he'd read my mind. He continued on for a solid five minutes, explaining how things might be with me in charge.

This was the third time in as many hours that he'd predicted the course of my events and so, when it came time for me to speak to the team, I had nothing to say. I waved, said hello, and asked them to resume prepping themselves for training.

So much for a triumphant first impression.

Chapter 6 (02 July 2011)

When the training session ended, I detained Doyle and asked if he felt the team needed any areas of improvement. He believed the team was strong enough to avoid relegation, but that wasn't good enough for me. Something needed to be done if the team would satisfy my personal goal of proving to the rest of the league that I was a manager deserving their respect. The only way I felt I could do that is to make Billericay a promotion contender, like I had done previously at Blyth.

I asked Doyle if there were any players who he felt were dead weight. Doyle told me that Hector Mackie hadn't played in a single first team match the previous season. His contract was up for renewal, but Doyle suggested we let it run out.

“Consider it done, Doyle.”

I also considered how it would look to Hector Mackie. I hadn't even welcomed him to the club and, already, I was dismissing him and shuffling him off because it was more important I show Doyle some support, especially as much of my success was dependent upon a staff I had no say in bringing to the club and was forced to keep with me for as long as I managed to stay in charge.

Dismissing Mackie bothered me, but I'd learned a few things about professional soccer during my spell at Blyth. Instead of feeling bad about releasing him, I'd adopted a personal philosophy that it was the club's fault we hadn't done better in helping him contribute to the team.

Mackie had spent all those hours on the training pitch in service to the team and helping others improve, but never got the reward of suiting up and playing for the first team for any of the sixty matches Billericay had played last season. Where had Billericay let him down and failed to help him improve? It was time to admit that we'd failed him and wish him the best in searching for a club who could help him make a difference. Life is too short to be a spectator. I'd make sure to tell him that tomorrow morning when I'd officially sever our professional relationship.

Doyle hadn't mentioned the midfield at all, but as I'd watched the team carefully, I'd felt that the midfield needed to be beefed up substantially. I needed players who could connect the back line to the front line and who could produce quality chances happen for our attackers, whether it be with their creative passing or taking some of the pressure off the attackers by accurately shooting from long range.

I didn't know who would be willing to come to Billericay and play for me, but the lure of full-time wages surely would help.

I was in full concentration mode while eating a snack and scouring other teams' rosters on the Internet when my skin started to crawl. I looked up from the screen but didn't see a thing and went back to the web page in front of me.

A few minutes later, my skin prickled again. I darted my eyes all over the room but still saw nothing. The room was completely silent, but it was more silent than normal. It seemed like it was eerily silent, as if the room had become muffled in some way.

I sat stock still and pretended to look at the computer screen again. But it was pointless, my mind was distracted trying to cope with the unsettling feelings.

There! Off my right shoulder, my heightened senses felt a breeze of cold air. I flinched and felt it again, this time on my left. I had the impression that something was moving about the room immediately surrounding my desk, but I never saw a thing. I could only sense it's unnatural presence.

I burst out of my office with my heart pounding and slammed the door behind me. Sara screamed because I'd scared her and two other people in the immediate vicinity looked over to see about the sudden commotion. All I could do was apologize and act as nonchalant as possible.

I asked Sara if she could locate Rose for me. She said he had left for the day. I requested she get him on the phone, but she hesitated, uncertain if she should complete my task. Annoyed with her indecision and still affected by my fear, I'd insisted she connect me with him immediately. She nodded and tentatively tapped the dial, waited a moment, and connected me to his home number.

“Copper? What is it? I'm not at work for a reason. I'm on my time now and I'd like to keep it that way, do you understand?”

“I'm sorry, I didn't know.”

“Well, it's clear now, and it better stay that way. A word to the wise, if you don't mind. I'm not Bobby Bell. The sooner you get that through your head the better. I'm not here to hold your hand, nor am I here to cover for you. If you can't do your job, I'm cutting you loose and won't think twice about it, like what you've done with Hector Mackie.”

“Again, Mr. Rose, I'm sorry. I didn't realize....”

The phone clicked and the other end of the line was just as silent as my office had been before I'd fled the scene.

Rose shocked me. Not only had he hang up on me, but how did he already know about Hector Mackie? Only Doyle and I knew about the decision to release him in the morning and we'd agreed to keep silent on the matter. I couldn't believe that Doyle had violated our oath of confidentiality already.

I stood standing at Sara's desk embarrassed for the second time in a matter of minutes. I strode off trying to preserve what little dignity I felt remained intact and sought out Doyle. We had matters to discuss and I had my pride acting up.

Doyle had just stepped out of the shower and was still wrapped in a towel. He read my body language correctly and waited for me to speak first.

“Doyle, I thought we'd agreed that we were keeping the Mackie situation confidential until the morning. Why did you go and tell Rose about it already?”

“Tell Rose about it? I didn't tell him anything, honest.”

I tried reading his face to determine if he was lying, but it seemed as if he was telling the truth. “Doyle, how would Rose know about this?”

Doyle took a moment's pause before replying. “I swear to God, I didn't breathe a word to anyone. I finished cleaning up training and came straight here. No one knows.”

“Well he knows.”

Doyle's face blanched pale before whispering, “Copper, you need to know that Rose seems to know s**t no one has a right to know. It's creepy.”

gav and JayR: thanks for weighing in. I appreciate them. Never seen The Devil's Advocate so any similarities are just coincidences. Should I see it?

Chapter 6 (Week of 04 July 2011)

Independence Day in the United States. A great celebration of our rebellion against England. For many, it's just a time for the folks to drink themselves into oblivion and light off fireworks. Their independence is more of an afterthought. At least, that's how it seemed to be before this year.

This year, the Fourth of July took on a special and significant meaning. I had my independence and, rather than rebelling against England for its tyrannical rule over my sovereign state, I was desperately trying to fit into it's culture particularly in regards to football.

It took me a while to ward off my mistrust of my Chairman. Steve Rose had denied me nothing, and even seemed to anticipate my needs. The only thing he expected of me was that I be a professional manager and give his club a good face for the public. Rose had made it really clear that he wanted to be successful and he wanted to make money. Hell, what was more American than that?

Doyle and I pushed hard into the evening hours in order to catch me up to speed with the club. However, that wasn't all we talked about. Doyle was a wiry man, still fit and wanting to play but a few too many injuries sidelined his career and he moved into coaching to assuage his love for the game.

In the beginning, Doyle was tentative in asking me questions, but he was likable enough and as we shared our histories, his inquiries became a lot more pointed. He'd pressed me a lot about my life at Blyth. What was it like letting all those players go? What was it like trying to make a go of it with no wage budget? How did I manage to get all those 'Boro Boys to agree to come to Blyth?

I tried to answer Doyle's questions as honestly as I could. He was, in effect, my wing man and my success depended on his abilities to guide me. Unlike Bobby, Rose didn't strike me as the sort of man who'd allow me much of a leash. Therefore, the faster I could make a positive start with Billericay, the better.

I'd shared with Doyle that letting fourteen veteran players vanish from the first team squad was a nightmare I never wanted to repeat. It was incredibly difficult and I'd never wish it on anyone, not even my worst enemy.

Blyth's wage budget wasn't something that bothered me because I'd never worked with a wage budget before. As a youth coach in America, none of my players earned wages and I just made due with whomever showed up. Being a part-time squad was a step up from that, but players are players and there are always those willing to play the game, regardless of the income. Doyle couldn't quite fathom how American youth football was organized, but then again, now that I've been in England for three years, I don't understand how we can expect our national team to be competitive under that type of youth development program.

The most difficult question to answer was explaining how all those 'Boro Boys decided to come to Blyth. Craddock, Hines, Goulon, and Grounds were four players who made Blyth tick. Craddock up front knocking in goals for fun. Hines defending the back line and winning both the aerial and ground attacks our opponents tried to use against us. Goulon, winning the balls in midfield and threading beautifully weighted balls through for Craddock to knock in. When Goulon wasn't working the middle of the pitch, I could count on Grounds swerving in the crosses with precision to him. Having 6'7” Dale and 6'4” Bell up top as backups to Craddock made things a whole lot easier too. Defenses had to choose to stop our aerial or ground attacks, but not both.

Doyle admitted it made all the difference in the world. I couldn't have agreed more.

Eventually, Doyle's questions stung. It pained me to answer them and I stumbled through my responses on more than one occasion. Even broke down a few times during the private time we'd worked late into the night, but it all came out. It had too. There was no one else. Bobby was back north in Blyth. Friends and family back in the States could have cared less about my situation. I'd burned enough of those bridges before, particularly on Robin's side of the family tree because they still hadn't forgiven me for what had happened, even though it wasn't my fault. However, in the eyes of a father who's not only lost his baby girl, but also the only chance at grandchildren and passing on the family name, I couldn't really blame him.

When Doyle asked the question about trying to get back into the game, I had to confess that enough was enough. He'd read the papers. He knew that clubs had asked about me. Plenty of them. However, he didn't know all the specifics. Me? The scars of their rejections would never leave.

It all started in April 2009. Stevenage was rumored to be needing a new coach and I was in the running. I'd actually believed it and went home to Robin to discuss the possibilities. She'd downplayed them, as was her custom, until we'd see the writing on the paper offering the contract. Besides, she'd believed in Bobby just as much as I had and didn't want to leave. She trusted Bobby and when Robin trusted someone, it was a very strong bond indeed.

After Stevenage came Aldershot the very next day. A week later it was Woking. Five days after that an avalanche of rumors were too strong in convincing even her that the future might lie elsewhere. Macclesfield, Lincoln City, Halifax, and Exeter all were interested in me.

On April 23, 2009 Stevenage was rumored still to be interested in securing my services, but that only served to stir the rumors again, making the future uncertain. Aldershot wanted me a day later again.

Then, the 26th of April 2009 Blyth won the league title. We'd earned promotion and the Board and Supporters were united in their love for me and what I'd accomplished at the helm despite the long odds.

Immediately rumors started at Bury, Stockport, and Dag & Red, but no formal offers were tended. Shrewsbury joined the commotion of Lincoln, Halifax, Exeter, and Accrington.

In the middle of May, more than a month into the speculation regarding my future, no one had offered me a contract. Despite my popularity in the media, Blyth wouldn't even enter into negotiations to update my contract. Their outright refusal to negotiate better terms, despite our financial woes, was the most infuriating thing of all. They knew Robin and I were struggling to make ends meet. Bobby was helpless in the Board Room and couldn't sway the rest of them to make the accommodations necessary to keep me.

Bobby couldn't abide by it and took our financial well-being into his own hands and started providing for our essential needs in ways that were off the books. It was awful accepting handouts from him. I felt that it was too demeaning and I was the one who needed to provide for Robin's and my future.

Though I'd tried standing on my own, it wasn't possible. I always swallowed my pride, and lost a bit more of my manhood telling Bobby of our fiscal woes because I knew full well that revealing those off-handed remarks to him would get the job done. We both knew it was understood, but it hurt me every time.

So did the additional delays when Bournemouth, Bury, Stockport, and Dag & Red continued to keep me in the running for their head manager jobs. The press was insistent and believable. I started to believe my own hype. Robin did too. However, it was the selfish drive and manly pride which kept me chasing the mirage of our future.

On the 25th of May, I'd won Manager of the Season and felt on top of the world. How soon it changed as less than a week later, I was in its deepest valley after it claimed my most valued part—Robin.

Chapter 7 (Week of 04 July 2011)

Losing Robin had an effect on me that was better judged by what didn't happen, rather than what did happen. Most psychiatrists agree that folks deal with grief differently and it's common knowledge that one way a grieving person deals with the pain is to throw themselves into work.

The opposite happened to me. I'd been offered jobs at Margate and Guisely, but they were part-time jobs and paid a wage that was more of a lateral move rather than an upwardly mobile one at a higher profile club. I rejected them outright, hoping that the media was correct and all their inside sources would communicate with me on the outside and offer me what I'd earned.

Compassionate leave was agony. My loss was compounded by the fears those high profile clubs had. What was most frustrating was the way these same clubs take chances on players all the time with established histories of mental and physical problems. However, when it came to me, I was a pariah.

I'd never used drugs. I made a single promise when I was drunk, but later backed it up and won the league title. I never abused my players during training. I worked within my wage budget. I turned a profit. I won matches. I had a heart attack. I was passionate about my players and the performances on the pitch. What gave these clubs the right to reject me? Nothing. And that was what I couldn't abide. Their collective rejection over unknown intangibles is what drove me down into the darkness that nearly enveloped me and fomented the self-loathing that served as the catalyst for my self-immolation.

I had so much to prove and so much determination to show every single one of those clubs that they'd made a mistake. I needed to work. It was a compulsion. The last thing I needed then was unemployment. The last thing I needed now was unemployment too. Fortunately, I'd signed a binding contract and knowing that Bobby Bell's reputation was on the line added to my desire to do it up right.

I'd already resolved that I would do what I could within the letter of the law to pursue the victories in the same manner as I'd proven worked at Blyth. Treat players professionally, make sure they know the expectations I have for them, and give them the chance to prove themselves.

It was apparent that, despite my misgivings for Steve Rose's methods and mystery, his guiding principles for his business matched mine on the pitch. The irony was not lost on me, but neither was the distrust I felt regarding his uncanny ability to predict the course of my own actions on his club's behalf.

Maybe it was because he and I were more alike than I previously thought? But, if that were the case, why did I always sense an evil about him? I knew it was unsubstantiated, but it was there just below the surface. I wished I could fathom the unseen, but it's not within the scope of my power. Besides, if he were evil, wouldn't he be trying to destroy me? To date, all he'd done is believe in me when all the other clubs before me had abandoned me in my greatest time of need.

No, Rose mustn't be evil. He must be some sort of savior as he provided me a way to rise from the ashes of my former life. If anything, I owed Steve Rose my very livelihood, just as Bobby Bell had given me the same thing when I never deserved it.

Think about it. Who offers a 3 year contract with a 53K annual salary on a manager who's been off the grid for close to a year after applying for every available job in the English and Scottish leagues and the only thing you expect him to do is find a way to win while turning a profit? No one but a savior.

Speaking of Scottish leagues, Robert Ferguson agreed to the single year contract Rose offered him on my behalf. He, like me, hadn't worked formally for a team since Blyth released him. Ferguson had ill-will towards how I'd been treated too, but he also knew that football has a way of doing that to people who've committed themselves to club or country.

Ferguson was a bit older and appeared to be worse for the wear, but I couldn't fault him because he was still willing to let bygones be bygones and get back on his own horse too.

Like me, Ferguson had done his fair share of drinking but had recently decided that enough was enough and given it up cold turkey. He'd mentioned that the only thing it changed about his life was the kinds of friends he'd shared. Ferguson noted that the ones he'd had now helped him to gain some perspective on his own unemployment. He'd felt grateful to them and humbled by their support.

I'd long since pushed my own alcoholic beverage aside as I listened to him share his past. We'd agreed that he would help Billericay out by working closely with our keepers. He'd been glad that I planned on using a 4-4-2, especially in the lower levels because the tactics were a bit more limited due to the lack of technical abilities. However, he shared that what the team might lack in technical skill, he'd do everything he could to instill they played with passion.

I'd been at Billericay for nearly a week skulking about training watching Doyle and the staff put the players through their paces. Having Ferguson arrive inspired me to do something I'd been waiting to do for a while, but couldn't figure out the best way to approach the elephant in the room.

Doyle had given me an afternoon session immediately following lunch. Most of the players were in a good mood and had full bellies. They didn't need much physical work, but they needed to be challenged nonetheless.

I blew my whistle and they settled down. Taking a deep breath, I threw myself into the future.

“Team, we have a few things in common. We want to make this game our life. We want to have fun. We want to learn things that help us improve our success on the pitch and off it.”

I received a few nods and continued on. “You may have heard a lot about me. Most of it might be true, but some of it is lies. The bottom line is that if you want to know something, ask. Just make sure you're asking me and not someone else. I'll do my best to tell you the truth, but if I'm not ready to share it, I expect you will respect my privacy.”

More nods. “Team, we will have a long season before us. We rely on one another for our success. The rest of life will get in the way and do its best to deter us. Injuries will happen. Losses will mount. Pressures will grow. Your roles on the team will change with the ebb and flow of the season.”

I moved in front of them and got close to them, looking each and every one of them in the eye at one point or another. “Pretty soon, I'm going to ask you something you've never been asked. I'm going to ask you to trust me. To accept the guidance that I offer. To live under the leadership I provide. To give me your very best. I'm going to make mistakes. I'm human. You will make mistakes too because you're human. I will do my best to forgive you your mistakes and I expect that you will match my mercy and forgive me mine.”

A few of the players seemed to understand what I tried to communicate. Others were a bit too jaded to really care. “I know that many of you won't be able to trust me until I've proven myself to you. I understand that and accept it. However, I also want you to know that the same happens in reverse. How can I trust you on the pitch until I see you doing the things I ask and proving you deserve a place on it?”

My voice rose a bit. “I've suffered. So have you. We all have pain in our past and a future to believe in. I believe in mine and I believe in yours too. Together, we will suffer even more. That is the way of life. However, it's how we choose to respond to our suffering that makes the most difference.”

I paused for a bit of time while I made eye contact with each of them. “How will you choose to respond to your suffering? See these hands? I've made some poor choices and busted them up more times than necessary. However, I'm a fighter. I'm still standing. I'm here to give my heart, soul, mind, and strength for this club. For my future. For yours too. What are you willing to give? Trust me, I, with the help of this staff, will find out.”

Chapter 8 (Week of 04 July 2011)

“They aren't gonna care if they don't think you care about them first. You need to earn their trust and it's not gonna happen overnight.”

The man in the mirror looked back at me and didn't flinch. I knew that talking to myself was something others would call a bit foolish, but it helped me so I did it. I had finished showering and was waiting for the sink to fill for a shave.

It had been a very long week. I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was shower, shave, and skedaddle off to my studio flat for a night of movie watching. On the docket was a classic, Crimson Tide. Gene Hackman and Denzel Washington squaring off battling for command of the USS Alabama, a fully functional nuclear submarine with more firepower than the entire arsenal of atomic bombs during WWII in the navy suspense thriller.

The water had been turned off and I pulled the steel razor from its protective sheath, careful to give it the respect it deserved. I didn't want any mistakes tonight. Unlike my time at Winterbourne's facility, I'd too much going for me at the moment to make a mistake like that.

I recalled how the team took to my first real speech in the beginning of the week. They weren't very responsive, but what could I expect? It wasn't like I overwhelmed them with my personal football skills, my impressive reputation, or brilliant war stories from my past when I was a first team player in the leagues higher than ours.

In my former life, I'd been a gym teacher who worked with elementary kids. Not the most challenging of all jobs, but if you treated the students decently and with some authentic respect, it was amazing how much they'd tried to please me.

The Billericay players were adults and it wasn't the same. They'd been a bit too jaded and would need time to feel me out, test my limits, and see where the new expectations lay. Even with my limited managerial experience, I knew some of them would rise to the challenges I issued, others would fall short of them, and still others would remain indifferent to all of it.

I stared at my fully lathered face and knew the key for me would be to get the time needed to make a lasting impression on them.

My staff and I worked hard to make shifts towards the way I wanted things done. It was a bit different, but not overly so. The main thing that I tried conveying was that they needed to train how they played. It was my job as manager to make sure the activities would rest them at the right times. It was their job as players to work to full capacity.

The 17th of July would be the Reckoning Day. Our affiliated club, Ebbsfleet United, would be arriving at Billericay to play us in a friendly as payment for giving their players first team playing time. Ebbsfleet was owned by its supporters and they didn't have a lot of finances either. Considering both clubs were fully professional, and they were just a single league above us in the English Leagues, I thought it a pointless affiliation. However, it wasn't up to me. It was Rose's idea. Maybe I could convince him differently in the future?

Speaking of Rose, I'd been grateful that he'd approved my contract extensions for three current players without batting an eye.

Ashley Barnes was 21 years old and played striker. He'd been with Billericay last season and scored 12 goals and 1 assist in 32 appearances. He'd wanted 1,300/wk and though it was dramatically higher than anyone ever earned at Blyth, I agreed to it. I wanted to make sure that we'd had a proven goal scorer for at least this coming season. Then, if necessary, we'd find someone else who might work for less next season.

Liam Bailey was 23 years old and played right defender. He'd only made four appearances last season, but he'd managed to score in one of them. I didn't necessarily think he'd be a great player to keep, but he was willing to work for 275/wk. That made him worth keeping, even if it was as part of a rotational status.

Ross Crawford was 20 years old and played keeper. Last season, he'd made 19 first team appearances and allowed 27 goals. He'd managed three clean sheets, but I thought we'd need him as a first team starter until we could find someone else with a bit more mettle between the sticks. Even though Crawford's 650/wk contract was between the other two, keepers were a requirement for any club as not anyone could play that specialized position. He'd done well enough last season, but I was looking to see some improvement, particularly in our final league position at season's end, about sixty matches away from now in May.

All told, these three players were given a chance to thrive under my leadership when they'd had one foot out the door. I made sure they knew it too, as I was looking for some immediate loyalty from some squad members. Allies on the pitch are far more valuable for new managers and, as Denzel Washington's character in Crimson Tide, allies were needed quickly.

The day after Liam Bailey signed his contract extension, the first team starter, 21 year old Mark Bertram, injured his wrist in training. A disappointment as he was a first team player all last season, but I'd looked upon it as fortune favoring me. Bertram had played his youth ball at Newcastle United, so I figured that I'd need to undo a lot of poor habits if the rumors about Dennis Wise's influence were to be believed. Having him need to work his way back into the starting lineup could be used to my advantage, if done correctly.

I dipped the foam into the sink and swished the razor back and forth, swiftly cleaning it. Throughout the week, I'd spent many a moment providing feedback for the players. I'd tried catching them doing the right things at the right times for some positive feedback. At the start of the week, they'd seemed jaded about it, but I could tell that I was starting to have some influence on them as the week progressed. Occasionally, I'd catch one of them looking at me after they'd made a good play in training. I'd nod at them with a smile and give them a thumbs-up and they couldn't help but smile back.

It was different getting used to seeing the blue training uniforms, and I'd missed the familiar surroundings of Blyth, but this was my future. It was the only one I'd get. I couldn't mess it up.

I put the blade to my cheek for yet another pull. The lights went black and I jumped, slicing the blade sideways and opening up a gash on my face. I swore and pressed my towel against the open wound. My face stung and I could feel the blood filling the white towel with its crimson stain.

I stumbled to the light switch and flicked them on. Nothing. For f**k's sake? What the hell is going on? I clicked the switches some more and still nothing.

Then a cold wind brushed across my back and my skin broke wide into goosebumps. I wasn't alone. “Who's here?” I stammered. No reply.

Another rush of cool air across my back and a hissing whisper in my ear. I startled at it's sound and whirled around with a fist hoping to connect with solid flesh. Nothing. I ran from the room totally freaked out and raced to my office, with only my towel pressed against my face.

I gathered my travel bag as fast as possible and raced for the front door. There was something evil going on and I was scared as hell.

Chapter 9 (Week of 11 July 2011)

“Copper, you better have a good explanation for leaving the club offices unsecured.” Rose's voice was on the other end of the line and his strident tone made it quite clear his mood. What could I tell him? I fled because I thought an evil spirit had terrorized me alone in the showers?

Rose continued to chastise me via mobile phone in a succinct manner. “Copper, we have pass codes for a reason. We don't have the money to replace any stolen club property or cash on hand to repair any damages done to the facilities either.”

“Mr. Rose, I'm sorry. I had other things on my mind and didn't give it a second thought.” I didn't lie, but I didn't reveal the truth either.

“Copper, when I came in tonight, it was apparent you fled the showers in a hurry. Did you see a ghost or something?” What to tell him? I hadn't a clue, but didn't have time to form a response because Rose added, “Copper, the lights went out because the circuit overloaded. I guess I'll have to show you how to fix it. It's a common problem for that particular room.”

Rose hung up almost immediately after that and left me feeling even more foolish than I'd felt before his call. However, I did feel a bit better about it. My face was cut, but it wouldn't need stitches. Yet again, how to explain my feelings? I could have sworn that something else was present in the showers, especially since I heard the hiss in my ear.

The next couple of days, I learned how to reset the circuit, but I also made sure that I left before I was the last one. I wasn't willing to take the chance of getting caught alone with whatever it might have been hovering about in the Billericay facilities.

Rose and I had reason to chat again, this time face to face, and to discuss player options for the coming week. His impeccable dress and fastidious features seemed to go against the grain of the club's overall appearance. Billericay needed a facelift, but Rose had made it clear that money was tight and, being in closed season, none was available to update the facilities.

“Copper, if you want Matt O'Brien to stay on another season, then fine.” I was a bit surprised to hear the news, especially as the 22 year old defender had an average performance in his first season at Billericay. He'd been a transfer from Worcester, and his new contract was going to cost us 1,100/wk against the wage budget. In my head, his signing was similar to the others. I needed allies and I needed them fast.

Billericay faced Ebbsfleet on the weekend and I just got word that our mediocre midfield had lost a starting player. Knowing that all players were locked into a contract for the duration of this season would give us some continuity until I could get a sense of the quality. This wasn't the Blue Square North and I couldn't be assured that the players would be superior because we were closer to London or a fully professional club. From what I'd seen so far, just because they were full-time didn't necessarily make them better. All it did was give them more time to learn bad habits.

Doyle and the rest of the staff were getting a bit annoyed with how many times I'd interfered with their training sessions, tweaking them to make them more competitive. I'd also asked them to track stats during training. Players were now going to be given the chance to prove themselves by performing the best on the pitch. First players to be given a chance at starting spots for the friendlies would need to prove they earned it during training.

Eventually, the message became clear. Intensities increased and with it, some chips developed. I didn't care about the intensity, but I did care about the lack of unity.

One afternoon, I addressed it. “Team, we compete because we have a reason to achieve. I'm here and judged by what you produce on the field. Though you might not like your teammate, you damn well better respect him. There is no place to hide on the pitch. If you slack off on the pitch, your teammate will feel it. If it costs the team points because you're more concerned with your personal stats, then we're going to have a problem. The only thing that should matter to you is that those three points get added on the league table. Then, other clubs will want you. If that happens, and you want out, I won't hold you back. Move on. If the team fails to perform, you won't be able to move out of here, unless it's without a salary. And I can assure you, being unemployed does unexpected things to a man. Do yourself a favor and get over it. We aren't each others enemies.”

I spun around and walked right into Rose. Where the hell had he come from? I hadn't heard him arrive, nor did the team give me a clue as to his arrival.

Rose pulled me aside and said, “Copper, the media will be here to address your first match back. You are to reply 'no comment' and refer them to me. Is that clear?”

I hadn't expected that at all. No comment? What the hell good would it do to pass the media on to him? Rose's smile seemed strained, but it always seemed that way with him. “Fine, Mr. Rose.”

“You're still on a short lease until I can trust you. No offense.” Rose offered me his perfectly manicured hand. I hesitated putting my scarred paw into his hand but did it anyway. He was my boss. Though I didn't like him, I had to respect him. Besides, the team was still hovering nearby and the room had grown abnormally quiet during our brief interaction. I needed to model what I'd just preached.

Rose's hand lacked warmth.

Chapter 10 (Week of 11 July 2011)

The stench of the bile rising up from the porcelain basin overwhelmed my senses and made me retch the remnants of breakfast. I cleaned my mouth with toilet paper and rose unsteadily to my feet.

The man in the mirror had seen better days. I smiled wanly and checked the laceration on my face. It had closed enough that I didn't need to cover it with a bandage and could resume somewhat normal living once again. I'd need it as Ebbsfleet was due to arrive soon and I'd be back at it, doing the job that had cost me so much.

Robin's special breakfast was a thing of the past. Though I missed it ever since she died, I realized today just how much it had meant to me. We'd normally have a solid breakfast and her meal was crafted in such a way as to stay down. I'd never known her secret, nor had she divulged it either. I believe her secrecy was intentional as it kept me grounded in her care before I'd leave for the stadium. It was as if she'd done her part in keeping me sane before I'd lose my mind in the beautiful game.

Bobby had made the lengthy trip south from Blyth and would be meeting me at the New Lodge for today's friendly against Ebbsfleet United. He couldn't stay much after the match as Blyth was scheduled to play their first friendly against Welsh club, Rhyl tomorrow and he was due back to support his newly promoted manager, Rob Newman.

Rob had been hired soon after I left the club. He was assistant manager and stayed with the Spartans following their relegation. When the manager left, Bobby had convinced his Board to keep him on.

I arrived at the New Lodge at 10 AM that morning and met with Bobby in my office. I waited for him to arrive before entering the building. I was still unnerved by the place, especially Rose and I didn't want to be alone with the man anymore than necessary.

It was so good to see Bobby. He'd commented on my weight loss. I thanked him and admitted that I'd lost six pounds so far, but had another forty to go before I'd be where I wanted to be.

Bobby caught me up on the latest news with Blyth's upcoming season in the Blue Square North. They were destined for mid-table obscurity if the media pundits had their way. He already knew that Billericay was predicted to finish just above the relegation places, mainly due to the fact that we were one of five clubs fully professional in the Blue Square South. The other fully professional clubs all were predicted to finish in the promotion places: Cambridge United, Dorchester Town, Exeter City, and Salisbury City.

Complaining to Bobby that it was a damn insult to be rated so poorly fell on deaf ears. “Copper, settle down!” He'd scolded. “Things could be a lot worse. You aren't ready to be in the media spotlight yet.”

“That's what Mr. Rose thinks too.” I'd confessed to my former chairman. “He's got me handcuffed with the media and all press is supposed to be directed to him.” I was still angry about that and didn't feel he should be treating me like I was a damn child. I was a grown man and the manager.

“Mr. Rose is wise. Not only did he hire you, but he's sticking his neck out in a big way gambling on you.”

“Great! Are you gonna side with that man too?” I felt hurt by Bobby's comments and wondered if he'd do this all afternoon.

“Copper. I'm only going to say this one time, so you better listen carefully. I don't care if Steve Rose is the Reaper himself. He's given you a chance that I couldn't provide. It hurts like hell to see you in another team's colors, but dammit, at least I get the opportunity to see you beside the pitch.”

Bobby wouldn't let me look away during his encouragement. Every time I tried, he'd bang his hand on my desk to focus me.

“Bobby, what if I'm an epic failure?” I hadn't meant to confess it, but there was so much that continued to spill out unexpectedly around him that it was already in the air before I could censor it.

“Copper, failure is a real possibility.”

I couldn't believe the words that I'd just heard my mentor utter. Wasn't he supposed to be cheering me up? Motivating me and encouraging me?

Bobby must have seen the look on my face. “Look, I'm done sugar-coating it for you. Not many people can survive what you've overcome. You've already cheated the reaper and this is the only second chance you'll get. Even if you don't win a single match, you will have succeeded for trying.”

“I guess you're right, Bobby.” I admitted.

“You guess I'm right? I'll say I know that I'm right.” Bobby's smile teased one out of me and it wasn't long before we filled the rest of our time with friendly banter completely unrelated to football.

Eventually, it came time to part ways and for me to do my job as manager. The press had assembled, but it wasn't much of a gathering, especially when it came to the way I'd worked it out in my mind. Bobby and Rose briefly met one another while they waited and took a couple of PR photos of the two of them together as well as the three of us. The two of them made all the small talk expected of two chairman. Then Rose ended their discussion after inviting him to stay in his Chairman's Suite.

Rose turned abruptly to me and spoke in an urgent, but hushed tone, “Copper, I'm watching you. I'm warning you that I mean every word I say. I've given you everything that you've wanted since your arrival. It's time you act like a professional. Not a single f***ing shenanigan today or I'll sack your ass before the season even starts.”

Rose's fingers dug into my arm and he escorted me toward the gathered press before I could respond.

Chapter 11 (Week of 11 July 2011)

The press got their story, but it wasn't from me. My handler took care of it all. Listening to Rose speak on my behalf was shameful. However, I painted on the best fake smile I could knowing that Rose had a nose for all things relative to me.

The interview was over without incident and I left to meet up with the team in the dressing room. However, before I could escape his clutches, Rose pulled me aside. “Copper, know this. You are not the team. The players should be the face of this club. Do I make myself clear?”

I looked into his loathsome dark eyes and spoke, “Clear as a bell.” Inside I was referring to Bobby Bell, my former manager, but I'd never let on the double meaning.

“Hey, one other thing.” Rose spun me back around to face him, his grip surprisingly strong for a man of his lithe stature.

“What?” I was biting my cheek hoping I'd keep it together.

“Bobby Bell babies his managers. That's why he's a f**king failure in the lower leagues. Time to wean yourself and be a f**king manager, emphasis on 'Man'.”

Rose pushed the right button if he was looking for a fight. I was right on the edge and ready to cross over. No one had a right to say that about Bobby. At least not on my watch. However, whatever my face shown him, Rose's own contorted into a sneer.

“Copper, I know you want you want. I sense it. Hold on to your hate and channel it. I'm not the enemy. I'm your savior.” Rose spun on his heel and strode away without a backwards glance.

There was no doubt about it, Rose had worked me into a full froth and I kicked open the dressing room door and bellowed, “Sit your asses down and listen up!”

The room fell quiet in an instant. The team hadn't seen me this angry ever. They didn't quite know how to respond, but they chose well.

“Today is against Ebbsfleet United. Yes, it's a goddam friendly, but it's a whole lot more than that to me! We might not be expected to win, but when has that ever stopped a team from giving it their all. I've already shared that this game has cost me so much. However, I beg you one thing, don't ever let someone else steal your dreams. Today, you've got the opportunity to play this wonderful game. We've all sacrificed to be here, why waste it. Let's go out there and challenge them with everything we've got. It's your first chance to impress me in a match and there is nothing like a first impression.”

I handed the rest of the details over to Doyle. I walked out of the room and onto the pitch.

I believed what I'd said. Rose was the spark that lit my fire. I hated the man, but he could find the right buttons to push to raise my hackles. Today wasn't about football for me. It was about proving to myself that I could still be involved in this game without Robin. I knew she was gone, but I also realized that life moved forward. Our life together was now in the past and it was a great thing while it lasted. It was far too fleeting for my taste and I missed out on a lot of chances to embrace our relationship because of football. Yet, now that the excitement of the dressing room was the only thing left that stirred as much passion in me as Robin, I also embraced it fully for the first time without guilt.

Rose was right, damn him anyway. It was time to wean myself and be a manager with the emphasis on “Man”. I felt my heart pound and discovered it wasn't from nerves, but from the excitement that comes in getting the opportunity to do something that I loved with all of my heart. Getting paid was a bonus.

I knelt down inside my technical area and kissed the earth. The sun in the sky, the grass beneath my knees, the stadium's aromas in my nose and the buzz of the crowd in my ears. God this was great! I vowed to make sure I embraced this chance fully.

I surveyed the crowd, oblivious to the team going through the pre-match motions and, eventually, taking the field. The whistle sounded. That glorious clarion call signaling that the only life that was left that mattered to me was fully underway and awaiting my immersion.

The players moved in an ebb and flow on the pitch testing each others tactics on for size before determining a course of action. From where I stood, Billericay wasn't intimidated in the least by their opponents.

Ebbsfleet's took a goal kick in the 12th minute, which we won. We sprayed it around the back of our defense before switching the ball across the pitch to the attacking forward on the far side of the pitch like we'd practiced.

Our opponent's scampered for the sudden shift and intercepted the ball, but the poor first touch fell to us. We threaded it immediately up the left flank to Matthew Godden, our left striker. He held the ball and waited for his defender to rush in. Godden slipped past him on the inside and chipped a low pass to his newly signed strike partner, Ashley Barnes who cut across his defender to receive the ball at his feet.

Touching it once to set himself, Barnes slammed it home far post past the opposing keeper's reach just before he got cleaned out by Ebbsfleet's central defender.

Barnes rushed to his feet before being slammed to the ground again by his teammates, first among them, Godden who'd fed him the pass in the first place.

While we celebrated, Ebbsfleet surrounded the official insisting it was offsides, but they were waved away despite their urgent protests.

The home crowd cheered the unlikely event and the ball was returned to the center circle for play to resume.

Eight minutes before halftime, Billericay had a corner which was taken as an in-swinger. Ricketts cleared it out, but 19 year old, Brian Taylor gathered up the headed ball and settled it before spotting his 19 year old teammate, Matt Freeman unmarked inside the penalty area.

One blistering ground pass splitting two defenders and a swivel turn later found the ball in the back of the net with lightning striking twice for the home side.

In full song, the 210 supporters were getting to see the future of their team unfold before their very shocked eyes. Entering the dressing room, I couldn't have been more proud.

The relief in my own managerial skills I kept to a minimum, but the praise of their efforts I spread like a common cold virus in the dead of winter. I wanted them to savor the moment, embrace it as much as I was on the sidelines.

I recalled Rose's body posture after our second goal. The mixture of disbelief and satisfaction played itself out on his features, but I deemed it a complete success.

Unfortunately, that satisfaction wouldn't last long.

Two minutes into the second half, Ebbsfleet scored with ease as Phil Jevons slipped between both our central defenders to head the ball past Crawford to give the away team their first goal of the new season.

In the 61st, Ebbsfleet equalized, again by splitting our central defenders. This time it was a through ball that Jevons chased down.

In the 71st, our parent club took the lead when our left defender was outpaced to the ball by their right winger, Duncum. He'd beaten Crawford on the near post side and I could only shake my head in support of our haphazard defending.

Four minutes later, we tied the score again. This time our 19 year old new signing, Ablett, fed the ball through United's defense to our U18 striker, Matt McKay who curled the ball around the keeper from outside the penalty area and into the far upper corner of the net.

Even Ebbsfleet's manager called to me and indicated his approval for the youngster's fortuitous shot.

With less than twenty minutes left in the match, both teams were back where they started in the hot 93 degree sun. Our boys tried valiantly to keep pace in the blistering heat, but it wasn't enough.

Two more goals, including one two minutes before time sent the home support on there way with a bad taste in their mouth, and the boys on the pitch into the dressing rooms fully tapped out and downbeat.

Out of the public eye, I could've chastised them, but it wouldn't have been an honest assessment of their efforts. For a team predicted to finish just above the relegation zone, scoring three goals in the middle of summer against a team in the Blue Square Premier, I had nothing but effusive praise for their efforts.

Bobby thanked me for a fine afternoon match and we hugged one last time. “Copper, I needed to see you today. I needed to know if you could do what I thought you could. You did me one better and I can tell the Missus that you are back.”

Bobby couldn't have spoken anything better. It was true, wasn't it? I was back.

Chapter 12 (Week of 18 July 2011)

Craig Lewis, who'd been with Billericay since his arrival on the 1st of July turned up lame after the game. The physio report was a hip injury. Off he went to the specialist and my first signing of my Billericay career was as productive as East Stirlingshire, the club from which Craig had come to us.

To counter the loss of one midfielder, I signed Matt O'Brien to a contract extension immediately after his performance on the weekend. I also signed Mark Bertram, 21 year old right defender to a one year contract extension for 1K/wk.

I understood that a lot of managers want to bring in their own players, but I wanted to do the opposite of what I'd done Blyth. If the money had been different, maybe I could have kept more veterans on the team with the Spartans, however, the money didn't seem to be an issue as of yet. I went on a signing binge and made sure that those who'd been at the club before me remained with the club with a chance to prove to me they could contribute.

It felt a lot better doing that and they seemed appreciative too. I was building allies like I'd wanted and hoped that their loyalty would pay dividends on the playing field. I knew it was a gamble as the players had a certain way of doing things, but it was one I was willing to take. Getting a second chance to prove myself was vital to my own manhood. I'd felt they deserved the same treatment.

We were off to Tooting and Mitchum for an away friendly on Wednesday. That match started off as poorly as possible. They scored within 3 minutes and dominated possession for most of the match. The only category they couldn't outdo us in was the final score, which we'd claimed top honors with a 3-1 victory. Godden scored in the 30th minute. Ashley Barnes scored his first in the 36th minute and after half-time replicated the feat Ebbsfleet's Jevon had done to us four days earlier, scoring in the 47th minute to put the match out of reach.

In the dressing room, I shared with them the story of how long it had been before my first 3 outright victory of any kind. Many of them couldn't believe my winless streak at Blyth had been over 23 matches. I promised them a reduced work load the following day and all of us went our way.

Before I departed from the New Lodge to return to my studio flat, Rose met me at my car. “Copper, I've got some news to share with you.”

“Yes, what is it?” I looked at Rose, but it was more like looking past him even though I was looking at his face.

“Blyth defeated Rhyl 4:0 on the weekend.”

“Yes? What of it?”

“Just thought you'd want to know.” Rose said nothing more and left me to hang onto the car door wondering what possessed him to share that news with me.

Rose repeated the feat on Friday night, but this time it was via mobile phone. I'd heard his unique ringtone, “Hells Bells” from AC/DC, and after I greeted him, the only words he offered were, “Blyth just claimed their second shutout of the season, defeating Newton Stewart 2-0.”

“Who the hell are they? I've never heard of them.”

“Newtown Stewart is an amateur team in Scotland.”

“I'd expect them to win the match, considering their opponent was an amateur club.”

“Really, Copper? You just expect it? Maybe I should adopt that same entitlement mentality with you? We are fully professional, remember? There are a lot of clubs who only have part-time players.”

“That's not what I meant, Mr. Rose.”

“It isn't? I thought for sure that's what you meant.”

Before I could explain myself, Rose hung up abruptly.

The next morning, I found a sheet of parchment paper resting on my desk. I thought it odd that it wasn't normal copy paper, but on it, Rose had written in his calligraphic script, “In light of your arrogant attitude, I'm adjusting my expectations to coincide with yours. I'll be expecting Billericay to finish the season with more points than every part-time club in the league. The only exceptions being Margate, St. Albans, and/or Welling United as they are all predicted to be at or around the promotion places come the season's end.”

I swore under my breath at Rose but caught myself when I realized that Rose had put my inner ambitions down on paper.

I cursed out loud, but this time it was out of admiration for his uncanny ability to push my buttons in issuing me this personal challenge. I didn't know how he could figure out what was going on inside my head and heart, but fine, if he wanted to challenge me in this way, I'd play along.

I removed the single stemmed Rose from its place at the bottom of the parchment and twirled it between my fingers. Deep in thought contemplating Rose's motivations for writing this out, I winced after I'd pricked my finger on a thorn I hadn't noticed before on the stem. My absent-minded carelessness was rewarded with more blood.

What the hell? This finger pr!ck was too coincidental to ignore. Whatever. I went over the top and squished my finger until it formed a drop large enough to drip onto the crème colored challenge. I muttered softly, “You wanna mess with me, Rose? Fine. Game on, Man. Game. On.”

I rolled up the bloodstained material into a scroll and marched directly to my Chairman's office. I knocked and waited to be given permission to enter. None was given, so I nosed around for a few minutes until I found what I was looking for; a stapler.

Hustling back to Rose's heavy wooden door, his grandfather clocked chimed the hours from inside. I stapled Rose's challenge to the wall outside his door prominently displayed for him to see upon his arrival at work, slightly disturbed by this second too-strange-to-be-true coincidences.

I pushed the fear back inside and issued my own challenge that two could play this game.

Smugly, I strode away, and headed to the training pitch to set up for the early afternoon session.

Chapter 13 (Week of 18 July 2011)

Chatham Town was another away friendly coming up on the weekend. Because they were in the league lower than ours, my new expectations were that we should defeat them, regardless of the fact that their club was larger than Billericay's in every sense of the word except for contracts. They were a semi-professional team while we were fully professional.

I tried to convince my assistant manager to open up and divulge some answers that would clarify some of the questions that had evolved during my brief time here. How in the world could a club this small afford to pay players on a full-time basis. Billericay's value, near as I could figure out as no one would answer me outright, was around 100K. Blyth had been worth over three times that figure, assuming it was even accurate.

I gathered Rose must be losing money each week too, especially as the wage bill was in excess of 14K/wk in base salaries. Figure in the appearance fees and performance-based performances on top of the base wage and it was a miracle if Billericay could even come close to breaking even.

Doyle avoided all lines of questioning with vague answers and indirect eye contact. What was the big deal. All the others, save for Ferguson, had extended contracts and had been with the man during my predecessor's time. How come they wouldn't answer my simple questions? What were they trying to hide?

All of it was highly suspect and my intuitive nature heightened with the suspicious activity. The closest Doyle came to admitting anything was saying that it was in my best interests, in fact, everyone's best interests if we just stuck to the jobs we were hired to do. When I pressed further, Doyle begged me to stop pestering him and threatened to rat me out to the Chairman himself. I couldn't believe what I heard, but I definitely trusted my own two eyes. Doyle was frightened. Genuinely scared if I had to lay money on a bet.

It was the same story for the rest of the staff too.

Eventually, I took their advice and tried asking Rose about the finances to the club. Rose seemed unperturbed by my inquiries, but his eyes belied a sinister quality before he retorted in his usual abrupt manner, “Copper, concentrate on making this team better. I'll pay the bills.”

I tried pressing further questioning Rose too, especially as it now seemed to be a challenge I was unwilling to concede. Then, my Chairman reminded me of my expectations. “Copper, when I hired you, I shared that I was interested in being successful. That's the only measuring stick upon which you are judged.”

I couldn't resist a smart-assed retort. “Yeah, but part of that success is making money. Therefore, making the team better is only half the challenge. Wouldn't you agree?” I leaned in a shade closer to him, just to let him know that I wasn't backing down on this issue.

Rose didn't even blink an eye. His cold stare bored deep inside and suddenly, I felt a chill creep up my spine. It was unexpected, but I couldn't shake the feeling it provided slowing climbing toward my ribs, then lungs, then heart. The more it moved north towards my throat, the more his smug grin turned into a sneer. I'd tried tearing my gaze from his, but couldn't. I was locked onto his eyes and edging toward panic, helplessly out of control.

Rose diverted his attention right before the chill reached my heart. The sensation subsided immediately and I couldn't remember why I was standing before him.

“Copper, you were requesting what time the charter is leaving for Chatham this weekend?” Rose inquired.

I nodded my head, not quite knowing what we had discussed, but it seemed right and I agreed reflexively.

It wasn't until much later, when I arrived home after dark and had fallen asleep on the floor just inside the doorway when the memory of that conflict stirred itself. I'd been dreaming, and within the dream, Robin had called out to me and came to my bedside. She caressed me with her hands as she always had done during our tender times together. Her kisses chased my lips wherever I turned my head and when she caught me, I gave in to her passion. Her breath warmed my throat and inched it's way down inside, warming my heart and then lungs, and then chasing the chill further down my spine until it was eradicated. She pulled away from me and her youthful form whispered, “I'll always protect you.”

I awoke with a start, unsettled by the dream and what it meant. The memory of my incident with Rose at the club offices returned and I was grateful for my dream. I didn't understand how it worked and why Robin was with me, on this night of all nights, but I didn't need to either. It had been one of the few times Robin had been in my dreams since her death, and I cherished her, even in my dreams.

Something was definitely frightening about Rose and I finally understood the fear that motivated my coworkers to keep clammed up. I didn't want another direct encounter like that with my Boss anytime soon. The best way in the future would be an indirect approach.

The Internet is allegedly an amazing tool where you can find information on whatever or whomever you want. Well, I wanted to find out more about the man paying my bills who filled me with dread so completely, I lost function of my own body temporarily. Using a variety of Internet Search Providers for over an hour netted me next to nothing I didn't know about the man already.

Steve Rose was manager of Billericay, nicknamed The Ricay. It was one of the older clubs in England, having been established in 1880. For being such a small club, the research indicated that they had seven rivals. Chelmsford, Canvey Island, Grays, Heybridge, Thurrock, Braintree, and Aldershot. Billericay had three of them on our schedule this season. They are Chelmsford, Thurrock, and Braintree. We might get the chance to face the others in cup competitions, but the picture was becoming clear. Billericay had made a lot of enemies during the years following its inception.

Steve Rose, outside of the club, was a virtual non-entity. I scoured all sorts of variations of his name to learn something about his history, anything that would give me some kind of foothold to push his buttons like he'd been pushing mine. I couldn't find a damn thing. It was like outside of this club, he'd had no past and no life. It incensed me. I could find all sorts of esoteric and obscure information on the Internet, except the stuff that was pertinent to him.

How could a man have no past? How could he not exist online? Anywhere? It didn't make sense. I searched for my own name and found more about me than him. Plenty of stuff that I never knew existed, but that is the way of the ether.

I browsed some more to find a potential private investigator to hire. I needed dirt and I was willing to pay for it. My studio flat was cheap, I didn't have a life outside of the team, and I had made more money than I'd ever done at Blyth. I felt it worth my while to devote some of my salary to learn more about the mysterious enigma who paid my wage.

Eliot Hawthorne was a nearby private eye who caught my attention. I rung him first thing in the morning and learned that he'd do the initial trail and some photography for a mere 400. Done deal. He'd let me know at the end of the week what he'd learned.

I was going to learn more about my benefactor, even if I couldn't uncover the information myself.

Chapter 14 (Week of 18 July 2011)

On the charter bus to Chatham Town, I wrapped my training suit tight over me. I should have worn a warmer coat. Our last friendly was 93 degrees, but today's Saturday match was only 46 degrees and breezy on top of it. This weather was almost as chilly as the reception I'd gotten from Rose after he'd seen his parchment to me stapled to his wall.

Rose had entered my office without a sound and startled me. I'd been focused on putting together a training activity to shore up our defense, but I didn't think I was so distracted I'd not notice him coming into my office. I always knew when someone like Doyle or Ferguson entered my space. Rose was different. I never seemed to catch him before he startled me.

“Copper. You're a smug prat, aren't you?”

“Don't think I am, but you see things differently.” Two could be forthright and honest and I wasn't about to explain myself right now. I had important work to do.

“Copper, you'll be amazed at how much I see. By the way, arrogance has a way of biting you in the ass. You should mind your manners. Clear?” Rose's tone was both challenging and assured. Clearly, Rose was a man who wasn't to be trifled with in regards to my dealings with him.

I stared a few moments at him, trying to fathom what to do to save some face, but I couldn't think of a single thing. All I could think to do was apologize. “I'm sorry, Mr. Rose.”

“F**k off, Horse.” And there I had it, matter-of-fact.

Surely, a win would thaw our relationship. It bothered me that he was so different than Bobby Bell, but what could I do about it? He had yet to tell me no for anything. Football really was a business to him, as near as I could tell. But there was more, much more, only I couldn't quite see it.

The monotonous hum of the engine lulled me to sleep and Doyle shook me awake when we arrived at the Maidstone Road Sports Ground. I stood up and stretched my legs, let the sensation return to my back and shoulders, and whistled for the team's attention.

“Team, it's chilly out there. Make sure to take some extra time to warm up your muscles and stay focused. I'd like to win and have a fun ride home.”

All of us exited the bus and traipsed inside the dressing room. It was nicer than ours and that was a bit of salt in the wound. But, dressing rooms don't make winning teams. Winning teams are forged in the furnace of obstacles. The competitive fires of the players take over and burn the opposition into submission.

Doyle and the rest of my staff worked out who was starting and decided to give Paul Kerr the start in goal.

Eventually, it came time to pace the sideline. Not because I was stressed out or angry, but because the movement kept me warm. I vowed to dress for cool weather regardless of what the weather forecasters predicted.

Both teams went back and forth alternating between long ball passing. The windy breeze was playing havoc with both teams' accuracy and they struggled to find the finishing pass that rippled the netting in goal.

Twenty-five minutes in, Chatham had driven deep in our territory. We'd cleared it out and pushed the defensive line forward to set up our offsides trap. Chatham simply passed the ball to the corner flag and the race was on.

Chatham arrived first and their left striker made the back pass before cutting inside on a slanting run to receive the ball back. It never came. Instead, their left midfielder sprayed his pass square clear across the pitch before making his own run towards goal.

Matt Freeman had pressured him, but watched the ball instead of his man. The right winger, crossed the ball back toward his teammate who'd just passed the ball. Freeman got caught marking their left defender who'd entered his space and forgot to mark his man who was closest to the ball. With a first time strike from distance, Richard Benjamin pasted a hard shot that knuckled in the wind and confounded Kerr in goal for the home team to score the first goal of the match.

Almost all of the 77 supporters cheered.

We regrouped and maintained the scoreline until half.

Inside the dressing room, we thawed out and I told them to keep striving. They weren't outplaying us, just finishing a bit better and it was quite a lucky shot, truth be told.

We dominated the early part of the second half, notching up 5 more corners in quick succession, however, we weren't able to capitalize on the possession. Both teams started making substitutions and it was evident that our bench was a bit stronger than theirs, especially when it came time for going forward.

In the 67th minutes, Ashley Barnes lashed onto a precisely weighted pass sent behind Chatham's defensive line. He drew the defense toward him before laying off the square pass to his unmarked teammate, Steffan Gaisie, who collected the ball at his feet, juked the keeper and slotted it past the sliding defender.

We were tied and about 6 supporters hollered for us. God it was silent. It was tough to play on the road. Gaisie's play would have put the home crowd on its feet and rollicking, but away, it was almost as loud as when someone scored in practice. The end result was the same too. No one upped their game on the pitch either.

Now, I didn't feel the cold, but was pacing out of frustration. The lifeless play was too much. I made a few more substitutions, including the keeper who'd been giving away free kicks like the bullied give away their lunch money. Ross Crawford was brought in and I'd hoped his new contract would encourage him to keep the opposition out.

Five minutes after we'd scored to level the match, Chatham scored to take the lead once more. This time, it was our central defender, Matt O'Brien, who made the defensive error. He'd not locked up on Gary Butterworth during the goal kick. Butterworth arrived to the ball first, controlling it out of the air with his feet. He spun, and touched it past O'Brien before bolting after it on a dead sprint toward our newly installed keeper.

Before Butterworth was chased down, he slammed another long range shot past our keeper, the windy conditions doing nothing to help our man between the sticks. It was over quickly, but the rest of the match edged along slowly.

Inside the dressing room, the team was fairly nonchalant about the loss. They were mostly concerned about the hot showers. Doyle, Ferguson, and Fearn were all providing what discussion they could in the crammed space we called the office. However, as soon as Rose walked in, they scattered like cockroaches in the light.

No one stood between us so I caught full view of the disgust his face expressed. “Copper, that was pathetic.” Rose walked away without another word.

Chapter 15 (Week of 25 July 2011)

On the ride home, I stewed in my own juices, angry with the team's overall performance. It wasn't that any player stands out as awful, it's just that they didn't play well as a team. Our defense made simple mistakes and the windy, cold conditions didn't help us. But, Chatham Town needed to play in the same weather and they scored two against us. It stunk. Having Rose in my face about it didn't help either, especially as he'd been busting my chops about Blyth.

Speaking of them, I called Bobby on the mobile after arriving home. I didn't call him to talk football. I just wanted to see how he was doing. We talked shop for a short time, but we just caught up on the news. He and the Missus were getting away for a short trip to Liverpool this week, but were returning to Blyth in time for Woking to arrive for a friendly.

I told Bobby, Billericay was on the road again Tuesday to face Halesowen. He chuckled and told me the team should bounce back well, especially after I had the chance to work them over in training leading up to the match. We talked a bit more, then hung up. I'd felt a bit better, but not nearly enough. I missed Robin on nights like these. She always knew how to put things into perspective.

The next morning, Rose arrived at my office door just before I was scheduled to leave for the morning's training session. “Copper, I know we lost. I know I said things you might interpret harshly. I'm trusting you to take it for what it is, which is me expressing my own frustrations.”

Shocked by his sudden sincerity, I thanked him and left for training, a bit buoyed by his sentiments.

The team was lagging at the beginning of training and I let them have it with both barrels. “You like joking around after getting your asses handed to you on a plate by some part-time players in a league below ours? I don't! And you shouldn't either if you want to see the pitch anytime soon during a match.”

I had their damn attention, but I continued to rant a bit longer. “I don't know about you, but I'm watching all the stuff you do. I know you are watching me and we're still sizing each other up, but I can assure you, what this staff sees in training will be reflected in the decisions that we make when assembling a starting rotation. What do you want to be doing on match day?”

It must have worked because we needed to pull apart players multiple times, and it wasn't limited to the first team. I'd been posting lists of who'd been doing what during the technical performance drills and the ones on the bottom of the list were clear for everyone to see. Seeing leads to teasing. Teasing moves towards shame. Shame results in challenges, both physical and mental. Those challenges have a winner and a loser. When it got too physical, the staff and players would step in and stop it. Inside, I relished the spirit they expressed. Pride can be a good thing in sports, when it's challenged in the right direction.

Halesowen's away match arrived and I'd still not heard from Eliot Hawthorne, the private eye I'd solicited to investigate my chairman. I wasn't ready to roll over and call it quits with him. Like the players on my team, I didn't want to be the one who was on the bottom of the challenge stack.

The weather was warm enough that I'd dressed appropriately. Unfortunately, the team still couldn't find their football legs after the charter ride. One minute into the match, we'd allowed the first goal. Michael Johnston was in the center of the defensive line trying to play a high line to catch them offsides. Simon Brown, veteran striker, beat the trap and Johnston didn't have the pace to catch him. Brown slotted it past Paul Kerr with ease and, just like that, we'd given up a goal.

Ten minutes later, we'd allowed a second goal in the back of the net. Despite being coordinated, Johnston and O'Brien allowed Mark Ramage to gather up the ball slotted between them by Halesowen's midfielder, Bowyer. Both defenders had their arms raised for offsides, but even though it looked like Ramage had been inside the penalty area and behind our defenders, the goal was deemed to stand.

Without the benefit of replay, I couldn't do a damn thing about it except simmer on the sidelines, ever mindful of my new “professional” expectations. I wasn't ready to die on this hill, especially considering it was a preseason friendly.

Ten minutes in and two goals down to inferior opposition did nothing for our morale, but I yelled encouragement and tactical instructions, shifting the focus of our play to a different part of the field and went back to sit down next to Doyle, Fearn, and Ferguson.

Bertram sent a long lofted pass forward from his right defender position all the way forward to Steffan Gaisie playing a striker role. He'd headed it backwards toward Johnston making a supporting run in the center alley of the pitch, twenty five yards out. He'd slipped the ball forward to Barnes. Shielding his defender, he'd nicked the ball with the outside of his foot to his strike partner cutting on the inside of his defensive marker. The quick passing was too much for Halesowen's defense and we'd gotten ourselves back into the match twenty minutes into the match.

Much better.

Ten minutes later, we'd earned a free kick from thirty yards out. Gaisie lined up to take the kick and Ashley Barnes hung out in the Halesowen wall. The whistle sounded and as Gaisie approached the ball, Barnes slipped away from the wall and opened his body toward the field. Gaisie faked a hard shot and deftly passed the ball to Barnes who blasted the gift first time past the confused keeper and off the near post to bring us level.

It was a lucky break, but I'd figured it equalized the questionable offsides from Halesowen's first goal of the match.

My strikers entered half time with a goal and an assist for each of them. Plenty to play for in the second half.

I'd switched up our central defenders, putting Johnston as the left central defender and moving O' Brien to the right central defender because I thought the match up would be a bit better.

Crawford came into the match in the second half and took a goal kick with about twelve minutes remaining in the match. He'd managed to kick it to the center line, but Halesowen won the header. It fell to Reidy, who'd sent his header forward over head of Johnston, again playing a high line for an offsides trap. Dougherty had too much pace and drove a hard shot from twenty five yards out to put the opposition up by a goal.

I was livid, but hid it well. That might be a lie. I did holler out onto the field, but it wasn't nearly as demonstrative as it might have been before Robin, Boon, Winterbourne, and Rose.

I couldn't control what had just happened, it was too late for that. But it wasn't too late for the future. I called Sammy Davidson, one of our u18 players who'd made the trip with us, to warm up. I'd put the youngster in for Johnston to make a point. First team or not, if you weren't cutting it, I'd find a replacement for you, even if that player still hadn't graduated high school.

Davidson was ready three minutes later and it took two more after that before he could be substituted into the match.

Four minutes remained before injury time and we needed to push forward. Martin McKay, another 17 year old, was playing up front, having already replaced Barnes in the 71st minute.

With time running out, Halesowen had set up shop inside the penalty area. We'd just sent it in from the right hand side after working the ball around the pitch with 6 consecutive passes. However, the final pass inside the penalty area was intercepted by their defense and cleared out.

Sammy Davidson chased down the clearance and sent it into the left corner. Blackadder scrambled after it while Davidson made a supporting run behind him to get it back if the dribble option was closed down. It was and Blackadder made the back pass. Davidson picked his head up and surveyed his options inside the box. His head went back down and he sailed in a “Hail Mary” cross towards his u18 teammate on the near post. Martin McKay rushed toward it and flicked it on blindly towards the goal. It caught both their defense and goalkeeper by surprise rippling the back of the net for a fluke goal very late in the match!

On the sidelines, the traveling support was in rapture and I'd mauled my coaching staff in celebration of McKay's late-match heroics.

In the dressing room following the match, I'd scolded the team and commended them at the same time. “Even though we should have played better, we found a way to earn points, even if we left it to late in the match. Your desire to keep fighting, even when the future looked bleak, is the cornerstone to our future success this season. Keep up the good work!”

Just before I boarded the charter with the team, Rose approached. “Copper, well done. It's for matches like this that I felt you were worth the risk.”

Stunned, I couldn't say a word. It didn't matter. Rose had already turned and was walking away when I offered a “thanks” towards his back. He gestured acknowledgment over his shoulder and continued walking.

It felt really good to pull off the draw. It felt like a win, but there was still more work to do before that happened.

Chapter 16 (Week of 25 July 2011)

Thursday was not a good day. The drizzle was incessant and spending hours in the rain didn't do anything for my mood. The players were a bit low too, but who could fault them. The media had printed the odds and with us priced at 40-1 odds, relegation was a very real possibility. Even though I'd been here before, while I was at Blyth, it didn't make it any easier to accept another's belief in our own incompetence.

I'd gathered the players before the morning session and tried to inject some very real truths about my history with Blyth. It didn't seem to work, especially as Barnes weighed in with his surprising comments. “Didn't you have like four 'Boro Reserves in your starting lineup? Hell, I hear one of them is now playing in the first team. No offense, but we aren't going to get any big name loanees out here.”

I could've taken Barnes' comments a number of different ways, but I chose the most truthful path. “You are very correct, Barnes. We don't have the massive influx of loanees from a premiership club. However, judging by your performances thus far, why would I need an impressive loanee when your strike rates thus far replicate Craddock's a few years ago?”

Barnes didn't have a reply to that one. However, I continued on. “Look, it's going to be long season, no matter what the media claims are our odds. We've got the same number of matches to claim points as everyone else. It's going to take everyone on this team making contributions to determine our final league standing. Now, whether or not you make a positive contribution is completely up to you.”

Doyle, Ferguson, Fearn, and I were still sorting out a squad and we'd have another measuring stick this weekend. Wycombe Wanderers were due to arrive at the New Lodge for our fifth friendly.

Our staff knew they would be a tough team. We worked the team hard in the rain, but their passion was washed away with the streams of water slogging off their training attire.

I bit my tongue and chose not to see where tomorrow would lead.

Thursday night, I expected to hear some kind of news from Eliot Hawthorne, private eye. Whatever he discovered would add a bit of bright news on a dismal day.

No messages all night long. Finally, just before bed, I gave into temptation and called his mobile. No answer.

The next morning, during lunch, I'd tried again. Still no answer. This was unlike him, at least based on the impression he'd given me on the phone when we set this deal up initially. Maybe he was having just as much difficulty uncovering Rose's past as I had the previous week? Either way, I'd keep trying to reach him.

Wycombe were coming to the New Lodge with fire in their bellies. They'd just been shutout 3-0 with league rivals, Blackpool. We were small potatoes, compared to the League One competition they'd faced on that rainy Thursday.

Our team was as lifeless as the road kill beside the road, demonstrating full faith in the media's predictions of our impending season of misery.

No amount of hair dryer treatment in the dressing room made a bit of difference. Johnston was horrible on the back line, as was Adam Smith. Up front, Ashley Barnes was a head case and was nonexistent for as long as I'd left him in the match. The Ricay were down by three at the half.

Wycombe put on their replacements throughout the second forty-five, as did I, but for very different reasons. They were resting starters, while I searched for mine. Giving up the final goal to make it 6-0 in the 90th minute was as awful as I'd felt since coming to Billericay.

In the dressing room, our players got Round Two of the hairdryer. “I don't give a God-Damn-Flying-F**k who we play! We don't roll over onto all fours with our asses up for any team! For crying out loud! Tomorrow, you better show up at Church bright and early and I'm going to be your High Priest. You've got some penance to pay. Automatic week fines for anyone missing training tomorrow.”

I slammed the door to the training room and stormed out, fully disgusted with their collective efforts. Kevin Morse, defender, and Mark Matthew, striker, were the only two who played well. Since both of them were on the u-18 squad, Matthews being only sixteen, it angered me when the teenagers outperformed the first team regulars. Something drastic needed to change.

Rose poked me in the back with his umbrella tip. “Copper! F**king horrid!”

“Tell me something I don't know!” I shouted back angry at his greeting.

“Have it your way, Copper. Read this.” Rose tossed a bedraggled newspaper my way. The headline he'd circled read, “Eliot Hawthorne, Missing”

I couldn't breathe.

Chapter 17 (Week of 01 Aug 2011)

“Bit of a surprise, is it, Copper?”

I lied. “I'd consider my reaction to be related closer to our dreadful play on the pitch, Sir.”

“Hmm...it was dreadful, wasn't it? Well, I can understand why they might with their manager being so preoccupied about matters unrelated to his job. Wouldn't you agree?” Rose's icy gaze locked onto mine and I was paralyzed, caught in it's unrelenting grip. All thought escaped me and I stood before him helpless.

I wanted to respond to Rose, I really did. I wanted to accuse him of all sorts of atrocities, but my mind refused to work as it should. My incompetence aggravated me and I wanted to stand up for myself. Instead, I remained locked in utter abject shame.

Rose helped me out when he leaned in close and whispered, “I say, to borrow from an American expression, that we should let sleeping dogs lie. You'd agree to that, wouldn't you?”

All I could do was nod at his suggestion. What followed was even worse. “You wouldn't want blood to be on your hands now, would you, Copper?” This last question seemed to be hissed more than whispered. Either way, I got the point.

“Mr. Rose, I wouldn't dream of sticking my nose into matters which don't concern me.”

“Excellent. Then we've finally come to an understanding, have we?”

Again, I nodded agreement.

“Then we'll consider this particular issue resolved then without harm nor foul. But this will be the only time I'll tolerate a violation of my privacy without repercussions. Are we in unequivocal agreement upon this issue?” I nodded silently again.

Rose's rank breath stuck in my nose long after he glided away from me, but what mattered most was that he was away and I could breathe again. Dear God, what had I done?

I was frightened from my confrontation with Rose and bolted from the dressing room area and past the very small gathering of reporters. When they called to me, I blurted, “Doyle's going to handle matters today. So sorry.”

Should I go to the police about the matter? Inform them of my connection to Hawthorne and allow them to do the rest? I found myself driving aimlessly in the countryside just trying to work things out in my head. I'd really made a mess of it and didn't know what to do next.

Eventually, I'd worked out that if any harm had come to Hawthorne, the police would be at my door eventually. Then, where would I be with that kind of dirty laundry aired? A scandal involving me was the very last thing I needed, especially as Rose had promised to sack me at the first sign of one.

I ended up at an ancient stone church at the juncture of two crossroads. One was dirt, the other asphalt tarmac. Which way to turn? I hadn't a clue what to do or where to go. I sat at the intersection and just waited. “Robin, I need you.”

The hum of the engine's idle was soothing. It had been a long week, hadn't it? The uncertainty surrounding my owner's secretive past, the stresses from the players getting irritable with each other and with me, the debacle involving our incompetence against Wycombe, and finally, the scary confrontation with my owner regarding one innocent private eye, Eliot Hawthorne.

I checked my watch and discovered that it was later than I expected. The sun was setting and, for crying out loud, the fuel tank was near empty too. How close was I to the nearest gas station? Hell, I couldn't remember. I'd been too lost in my thoughts to recall. Damn it all! Why did I have to be so absent-minded, especially now?

Again, left with a decision of which way to turn, it was far more important to get it right, considering I didn't want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere in the dark without a fuel can.

I decided my best choice would be to pull across the street to the Church and ask for directions. It appeared to have a light on in the weatherbeaten house adjacent to its location on the same property. I hadn't noticed it before, but now that the sun had settled a bit further below the horizon, the light invited me towards it.

Approaching the door, I could smell the food cooking inside. A lone figure came to the door after I knocked. The wiry old man, stooped at the shoulders, shuffled backwards and allowed me to enter his humble home.

We'd made brief introductions and the grandfatherly figure told me he was both the church's pastor as well as its caretaker. He apologized for it's lowly state and uttered, “People seek answers elsewhere these days.”

I nodded agreement, but only because I didn't want to get into a discussion with the man who'd welcomed a stranger into the house. I did have my manners. No discussions about sex, religion, or politics with strangers.

The pastor shuffled toward a wooden table in the dimly lit kitchen. I couldn't help but smile. It struck me as quaint. Like in a movie almost. I shook the thoughts aside as my hunger forced it's way to the forefront of my mind. The pastor must have read my thoughts because he pulled a wooden bowl from the cupboard and offered it to me.

“You're welcome to join me, if you wish. You look like you need some nourishment.”

Again, I nodded assent. I couldn't help myself. The pastor ladled me a full bowl of steaming lamb stew and broke the fresh loaf of bread into two pieces for us to share. I waited for him to sit down before taking the seat opposite him.

The pastor took his time adjusting the napkin inside his shirt collar while I watered at the mouth, practically ravenous.

“Let us pray.”

What? I hadn't expected that, but while he uttered his token prayer, I berated myself for being surprised by a pastor praying before a meal. Had I really lost touch with matters of faith?

“Dear Lord, I don't know why Mr. Horse arrived here this evening, but I'm sure it's because you deemed it so. Please bless our time together and use this food to nourish both of us. Amen.”

I smiled, but it was because I felt so totally ill at ease with the whole situation. It was almost as eerie as my interactions with Rose, however, unlike Rose, I didn't feel chilled after every encounter.

In fact, his hearty blend of spices warmed my insides and, before I knew it, my wooden bowl was empty and my broken bread had vanished. I had drained the glass of water in front of me too.

The pastor was staring at me. “My son, you really are famished, aren't you?”

I had no clue.

Chapter 18 (Week of 01 August 2011)

The pressure building inside my head felt like it would split my skull wide open. The wind had picked up outside and the pastor commented that the weather forecast was accurate for a change. A storm was scheduled to hit Billericay in late evening, but it was rearing its ugly head earlier than expected.

While my host scurried as best as he could to make sure all the windows and doors were closed, locked, and free of obstructions, the rain started pelting the glass outside.

The rain came down in sheets and between lightning flashes and thunder crashes so loud they rattled the window frames and vibrated the clothes on my body. The old man gathered himself up on an overstuffed cloth chair and grabbed a Holy Bible, opening it to some familiar page. I sat opposite from him on a threadbare sofa, the window behind me letting in quite the draft.

The bright flash was so bright and the clap so sudden afterwards, I jumped and yelped. The power blacked out and I could actually smell the electrical charge in the air.

The pastor had yelped too. Then he tossed a quick prayer heavenward for our collective protection. The wind was so strong it smashed the shudders against the house and howled through the drafty window casings. The pastor worked his way across the room and fumbled in the drawers for some candles.

I was fine to remain in the room by myself, but he called to me for some help. I rose to meet him in the kitchen and stole another glance out the window towards my car. It really would have been a dreadful night had I run out of fuel. It felt comforting to know I had a dry place to stay while the storm persisted.

What was that? By my car, I thought I'd seen something move. I tried looking again, but it was too dark to see. The lightning flashed again and I saw something move again near the back bumper. I couldn't make it out clearly, but gooseflesh covered me immediately.

“Copper? Are you alright? You look as if you've seen something.”

I thought I'd seen something, but still couldn't be sure. I hedged my response to the pastor, “I thought I did, but apparently, it was nothing.”

“Well if you do, be sure to let me know. It's dreadful out there. No one deserves to be stuck outside in a storm like tonight. I can't remember a storm so forceful in recent memory. How about you?”

I admitted that I couldn't remember either. I brushed aside my fears, but still couldn't completely rule out what I thought I'd seen out there. The pastor and I returned to the living room after he'd lit the candle to make more small talk.

The pastor's congregation was a small flock, only 28 members strong. However, he'd felt passionate about his call to be their shepherd for as long as his time on earth allowed. We did talk football, which surprised me, and he seemed knowledgeable enough about the main squads. He'd admitted he'd had a soft spot for the small time club, Bishop's Stortford, another small time club founded by men of faith. Bishop's had managed to do well in recent years, making it a couple of times to the promotion spots, but never achieving it. Last season, they'd had their worst form in many years, finishing 14th, but still higher than Billericay's debut season in the league under Graham Heathcote.

I'd be facing them at least twice this season and I'd hoped we'd come away with all six points, even though the media had them pegged as finishing higher than us in the final standings.

I'd asked him about Billericay. Seeing if he could lend me some insight into the history none of my staff might be willing to share. He couldn't tell me much about them, other than they seemed to have money beyond their means, especially for a club as small as ours.

We talked about other issues to, but none of them seemed to be about me. In fact, the whole night, I'd expected him to inquire about me and my past. The pastor never did. It was as if he was content with me being a stranger in his house while the storm pounded us for hours outside.

Eventually, he said, I'm tired and need to sleep. I've got a service to conduct in the morning, assuming the Good Lord allows our church to remain standing. He'd offered me the couch and the throw blanket for cover. I'd declined politely, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Before the old man left the living room to retire in his bedroom, he'd offered to lend me the candle as the power still had not returned. Again I'd declined, saying only that I'd not need it with my own eyes closed. He chuckled, agreed, and offered to pray for me this evening.

Pray? For me? I'd never been asked before nor had I any idea as what to say. I'd said all was good, but thanked him for his kindness anyway. The pastor nodded again, but said he'd respect my wishes. However, he did add that all it would take was for me to ask and it would be done. I'd thanked him again for his generosity and waved him goodnight from my spot on his worn sofa. I could tell already my back would be killing me in the morning.

I laid awake for another half hour, listening for signs that the storm was weakening. I heard none, but my eyes tired from the never-ending flashes outside followed closely by the claps of thunder. Combining that with the wind whistling outside and the rain pelting the glass and it made for it's own soothing music.

The next morning, I was sore indeed. My back needed to be stretched and the frail man had somehow passed by me without waking me. The sizzle of morning sausage in a cast iron pan and the strong smell of black coffee were my alarm clocks.

I stood and stretched and met my host in the kitchen. He'd shuffled himself around and had set out two places at the table. The storm had done a number on the grounds. Tree limbs and all sorts of bracken were strewn everywhere outside. It was so bad, puddles of standing water had formed on the property.

Shuffling quickly to and fro, the pastor's efficient movements belied his age. He seemed excited and cheerful for the coming day and what he'd be asked to do as shepherd to his small flock.

We made small talk in the morning, but none of it was inquiring of me. I was so bold as to ask him about it, but all he'd answered in response was “There is no need for me to inquire. The Lord brought you here for a reason. Obviously, last night's storm was some reason. For me, that is enough.

The dishes got tossed in the sink with the dishes from the night before and I was shown the correct way to return to Billericay. I extended my hand to his, but he'd insisted on following me out to my car.

I'd led the way in the bright sunshine and felt quite at peace after the pleasure of his company, even though my back needed a good adjustment. I went to open my door, but my escort insisted on checking the vehicle on all sides offering only, “You should always check your vehicle for safety's sake.”

I smiled at him and he rounded the front of the car to the other side. My smile vanished after his face went pale and he gasped a prayer, “Dear God in Heaven, protect us!”

I raced to the other side to see what had made him so frightened. My eyes followed his and fell upon scratches so powerful, not only was bare metal showing, but grooves had been etched into it too.

The pastor's hand clutched at his cross and he whispered, “This is Evil, Sir. I'd bet my congregation on it.”

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