(Editor's note: This is part 3 of a multi-part short story.)

Chapter 3: A Strange Meeting

Amy had been preparing breakfast when she noticed her husband by the front door putting on his work shoes.

"Where are you going Jerry?"

"I need to trim a few of the trees at the Johnson Farm," he replied.

"The Johnson Farm? But he's...," she paused, "But you don't work there anymore."

"I need to do it honey," he replied as he walked into the kitchen and gently grabbed her around the waist. "I want to take some pictures of it before the developers get their hands on it and tear the place apart."

Amy set the carton of eggs down on the counter and looked up into her husband's dark blue eyes. Jerry slowly brushed the hair away from Amy's forehead and leaned down to kiss her.

"I still don't see how you could stand working for that old man for so long," she breathed into Jerry's ear.

"He wasn't so bad, he was just misunderstood," he replied.

"Did they ever figure out what killed him?"

"They say," Jerry paused as he looked down at the woman he loved. He reached both hands around her waist, picked her up effortlessly and sat her on the countertop. As she looked up at him her long brown hair almost reached the counter surface.

"They say," he continued, "it was a heart attack. But I think it was his broken heart that finally did him in."

"My husband, always the romantic," said Amy with a smile.

"If I'm to make it there before the TV stations I'd better get going."

Having said that, Jerry leaned down, hurriedly kissed his wife on the forehead and left out the front door.

"Try to be back in time for dinner," Amy yelled as the front door shut and the shadow of her husband disappeared down the driveway.

Driving to the farm proved to be more of a chore than the work Jerry did there. Even though I-8 had been split into two interstates with 12 lanes each way split between them, it was still a slow commute. I-8A used to be a little bit faster, but that lasted all of two days before everybody found out. The interstate system was about 80 years behind the times, as was the case with most things the government was in charge of. Even if it had 16 lanes each way, which they were finally planning to expand the interstates to; there would be a slowdown during peak times.

"Good, I beat them," Jerry said to himself upon seeing that there weren't any reporters outside the farm's gate. However, there was someone that caught his attention. A man with disheveled hair wearing a black overcoat and dark sunglasses was slowly walking alongside the fence. There was something unnerving about the man's presence and it made Jerry a little uneasy.

"Probably a businessman looking over his future property," he thought to himself.

Stopping the car he walked to the gate, unlocked the 4 separate locks that secured it and slowly pushed the creaking gate forward. After pulling his car forward he made sure to lock the gate up to keep any unwanted visitors at bay.

Looking around he took in a deep breath of fresh air and surveyed the property. Large oak trees lined the inside of the fence, most of them in need of a trimming. Jerry had time and time again asked Old Johnson if he could trim them, but each time he was met with the same negative response. Finally, after he had figured out that it was Old Johnson's way of keeping his privacy he stopped asking. However, to his delight, he had been given free reign to cultivate the rest of the property anyway he saw fit.

Roughly 10 acres of the property were landscaped while the other 90 had remained wooded since the beginning of time. The house rested about a thousand feet from the road with palm trees adorning the left and right sides. The lush grass around the house was interrupted by large round stones which formed a walkway to the front porch. The house was at least 60 years old, and was built in the very spot of the old house, which had replaced the house before it and the house before that. The stucco exterior's paint was a faded light brown color, except on the east side. Jerry had been in the process of painting it a soft beige color before Old Johnson had passed away. He briefly reflected on what the place had looked like before he arrived, the dirt where the grass now was, the dead trees, the wishing well that used to lie in ruins. He couldn't help but smile as he took out his camera and took a few photos for sentimental purposes.

"And to think," he thought to himself. "It'll all be bulldozed within a month or two."

Putting the camera away he quickly got to work. He turned on the sprinkler system and then made his way to the back of the house to refill the bird feeders and scrub the bird bath. One of the regular customers, a beautiful cardinal waited patiently for Jerry to finish.

"Sorry little guy," he said to his little winged friend. "I hope you'll find a new home."

Without worrying about what Jerry had told him the cardinal hopped into the bird bath and began splashing around. Walking back toward the front of the house Jerry pulled a couple bags of mulch from the shed and was in the midst of spreading it around one of the palm trees when he was interrupted.

"Jerry," an ominous voice yelled out breaking Jerry's silent solitude.

Laying down the bag of mulch Jerry looked toward the gate where the voice had come from. "How do the reporters know my name?" he muttered.

"Jerry, come quickly!" the voice yelled in a guttural scream.

As Jerry approached the gate he was confronted with the dark figure he had seen earlier walking near the fence.

"What do you want?" Jerry asked.

"I have information about your parents," the figure sneered.

"My parents died in a car accident when I was 6 years old. You should leave, this is private property."

"Ahh private property for now, but not in a month's time."

"Even so, you should leave," said Jerry as he turned away.

"You can save it you know. I can tell you how."

Jerry didn't want to turn back as he had a bad feeling about this stranger. Still, this last remark caught his attention and stopped him dead in his tracks. Turning around he walked back to the gate.

"How can I save it?"

"I can't tell you here, the reporters will be arriving soon. Meet me at O'Malley's Diner on 34th street at 9am the day before the auction."

"Who are you?"

Ignoring the question, the stranger turned and walked away. "Just meet me there if you want to save it," he sneered before disappearing down the street.