"I don't know what to say."
“I know it’s corny.”
"It's not corny; it's profound. It is foreign to me. That is what I mean.”
"I'm just a misguided idealist, don't be envious of me."
"But if I am honest with myself, I am jealous of you. I am jealous of your character," said Sasha. She suddenly looked to her left and right, conscious of those around her, and came forward and whispered to Elena, "You are the best person I know."
“Well, people change, Sasha.”
“I know, that is why this mess is so confusing. Here, it’s your time to shoot.”
Elena stood on the line. Sasha pressed the button, and the paper target traveled back on the rail. Elena raised her weapon. Five shots, fired with a consistent rhythm. All five shells flew over her shoulder at almost the same trajectory each time.
“Pull it back, Sasha. I want to see how my shots grouped together.”
The target came back on the rail, and Sasha pulled it down, holding the paper target it in her hands.
“I only see three rounds hit.”
“Let me see.”
Elena shook her head. "No, that's five. Two rounds were almost right on top of each other. That's five."
Sasha shook her head. "No. Just three."
"One, two, three, four, five," said Elena, pointing to each individual hole as she counted.
“The rounds! The rounds are on top of each other!"
Elena bit her lip in a vain attempt to hide her pride and nodded in agreement with Sasha.
“Elena, do you remember anything about your past life? Were you an assassin in another life?”
Laughing out loud, Elena shook her head in disagreement, and crashed forward, resting her head against her friend's shoulders. "No, I’m afraid not.”
“Here take a look at mine,” said Sasha, handing her target to Elena.
“You like power, Sasha. It’s comparing apples to oranges. You were all over the place, and you are carrying a different type of weapon.”
“But I hit my target.”
"No, you destroyed it," said Elena. "It's a trade. The more powerful guns have more stopping power, but a smaller caliber is good because the recoil effects take less time to recover from. Because of that, you can be more consistent in the grouping of your shots."
"Wow, Elena! You should give up being a cellist and become an assassin."
"No thanks. I'll stick to being Elena Doolin.”
CHAPTER 11: HENRYETTA LOST AND FOUND
Elena Doolin - Henryetta, Ok
Gavan, still in the hospital with Dallas, sent a text message to Elena:
Elena, can you cover me for about two hours? I worked a schedule with Dallas’ parents, so there would always be someone with him, while they are waiting for his Dad to get out of the Laredo oilfield. I’ve got some reunion stuff I have to take cover. Can you cover for me, for like two hours?
Elena quickly responded: Yeah, sure. I'll head over there after work if that is cool.
Gavan: Yeah, that’d be great. But be prepared. He had a pretty bad break, and he is acting a little goofy.
***
“Ms. Doolin!” exclaimed Dallas as she entered the room. He gave a broad cheesy grin, and his eyes gleamed, showing enormous dilated pupils.
"Doc just took some pain medication, Ms. Doolin, so he is not the best for conversation,” said Gavan.
“Oh, to the contrary! I am in a great position to converse!” cried Dallas.
“Ah,” said Elena laughing, “I see what you mean.”
"Elena, I'm sorry I have to step out. I have a high school reunion that is coming up. It requires me to do a lot of research, and I'm not great at it."
“You should have my friend Sasha Ferrell -”
“Yes, Elena, you don’t have to say her name -”
“MS. FERRELL!” exclaimed Dallas.
“You can see for yourself, Elena, that she is somewhat of a legend among adolescent boys," said Gavan.
“Urban legend of hotness!” exclaimed Dallas.
"You just had to say her name," he said shaking his head. "You see what I have to put up with? Their infatuation is so bad, I’ve had some of their parents call me to try to talk to them. She must have cast a spell on them.”
"Well, she complains about their infatuation too," said Elena, "do you not want her to help with the research?"
“Trust me the talk about her gets a little annoying. Yeah, I’ll have her help me, that way I can stop trying to avoid my friends who are always asking me about the reunion.”
“Ms. Doolin!” interrupted Dallas.
"Dallas, I've got to go. Do not say anything you would regret," said Gavan, and then turning to Elena, he thanked her and apologized for the awkward situation he was leaving her in.
“Ms. Doolin, it is true. We do talk about Ms. Ferrell, but we talk about you too -”
“Dallas!”
"No, I'm not trying to be offensive. I just mean we talk about who is hotter."
“That’s great Dallas, is that the most serious matter you discuss in the locker room? Let me guess, Ms. Ferrell always wins?”
"Yes, but it's not like you think. You are way more beautiful than Ferrell -"
“Dallas, please stop, before you embarrass yourself.”
"No, I'm serious. You are, it's just...it's just, there’s something different about Ms. Ferrell. She is like a goddess. Look, I know were guys and I know we’re dumb, but I’m smart enough to see that you are better than her. We are infatuated with her, yes, but we know you are the type of woman we would marry. I pity the fool who would turn you down.”
"Dallas, that is still completely inappropriate," said Elena, "but surprisingly sweet. You will still be embarrassed when you remember this conversation."
Gavan Jenkins came back into the room, both Elena and Dallas directed their attention towards him.
“You’re back so soon?” asked Elena.
“No, I just got off the phone with Samson’s mom. Have you seen him lately?”
“Not since yesterday.”
“His mom hasn’t seen him since last night.”
CHAPTER 12: RETURN OF THE RUNAWAY
Elena - Henryetta, Ok
Elena sat in her office with a rolled up paper in her hand. She had a break between classes, and had completed all her grading assignments. She opened the newspaper and her eyes scanned over the titles.
"The Henryetta Herald," she said to herself.
The award-winning cellist had been in the paper when she was a kid. Her name and a brief biography was put in the Henryetta Herald when she returned to be the school's orchestra director. While she had been in the paper before, she did not expect to be in the Herald today.
Her name was not mentioned, but she still felt as though she was a part of the story. The Henryetta Herald discussed the murder outside of the gas station. Goosebumps spread over Elena’s skin, as she read "the victim appeared to have been thrown on his head." The paper glossed over the specifics, and there, at the end of the article was the following:
“Authorities have no details on the suspect, and state the only information they have on the suspect is that he is known only as "the Walking Man."
Shaking her head at the moniker, she felt disgusted at the situation. So many times, the Walking Man had been so close to her.
Flashes from the past overwhelmed her mind. She was not only seeing the past images. Elena was now reliving the experiences.
She could hear a murder of crows fighting over the carcass. As she walked back to the clothing room, the smell coming from the room tickled her nose. Elena could feel the eyes of the Walking Man upon her.
The Walking Man, was now there, in her mind, staring at her.
The sound of a cell phone ringing stirred her out of her trance.
She answered the phone. “Hello.”
No answer.
On the other end of the line, she could hear struggled breathing. She abruptly ended the call. But
this time, it was not a blocked number, the number appeared in her history log.
Elena gritted her teeth and dialed the number.
“I’ve got you now, creep!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been calling and hanging up on me, and I want to know why.”
Silence.
“Who is this?” Elena demanded an answer.
“This is Mrs. Ketchum.”
“Mrs. Ketchum? My neighbor?”
“Yes, I was calling because of your flyer.”
“That’s your dog?”
“Yes, my dog, O’Reilly.”
“That’s great. I didn’t realize you had gotten a new dog. Can I bring the dog to your house tomorrow?"
“Yes, you can, Elena.”
Mrs. Ketchum's weak voice was indicative of her advanced age, and it made Elena feel guilty about yelling at her. The lady’s voice may have been sweet and feminine, but her message did not comfort Elena. Her soft words went unheard on the phone, as Elena thought about the dog. Elena knew the rest of the story. She would return O'Reilly, and she would be alone.
***
The next morning Elena opened her car door, and let O'Reilly in. The two drove towards Mrs. Ketchum's residence. Dust from the old country roads kicked up on either side of her car and stuck to the window. The diminished visibility did not hurt O'Reilly. As Elena pulled into the driveway, he felt a sudden jolt of energy and barked out loudly, while circling in his seat. Elena put a hand on him, trying to pet him to calm him down, but he only grew more excited. She started to scold the dog, but stopped. She sensed something and turned her head.
A frail woman was standing right outside her window. Her face had become wrinkled with age but her hair remained jet black. Her eyes had gray cataracts, but Elena knew she still had a sense of her surroundings.
“Elena?”
“Yes, Mrs. Ketchum, I have O’Reilly right here. He is excited to be back.”
Mrs. Ketchum's lips moved but the words coming out of her mouth barely audible. Elena was just about to say something, when finally, Mrs. Ketchum's words came out.
"He was terrified. Every creature on my farm was."
"I wonder what caused that. O'Reilly hasn't been timid around me."
“Well, honey, whatever it is, I think it may still be back there,” she said as she pointed to the acreage between their lots.
“A few days ago the sky was covered with vultures. Whatever was back there, it’s dead now.”
Elena opened her car door and let O'Reilly go back to Mrs. Ketchum.
Seeing the puppy so excited would have normally made Elena smile, but now it did not. Wagging his tail, O'Reilly rolled on his back for his owner.
“I think you’re right Mrs. Ketchum. I think whatever it was is still back there."
Mrs. Ketchum pointed to the pasture, her hand and cataract-eyes out of sync. What usually would have been a reason for Elena to pity, sent a shiver of fear running down her back.
“The vultures are coming.”
“Oh wow,” Elena looked up as she responded. “They are. How did you know that?”
“It’s the smell.”
"You can smell the buzzards?"
“No, it’s the smell of death. I can smell it, and I sensed that whatever follows death was coming too.”
***
“Elena, I thought we were going to the library,” said Sasha in shock, “your boots are covered in mud.”
“I didn’t have a puppy to play with anymore.”
“What does that mean?” asked Sasha.
“Yes, I started to go into the pasture behind my house. I saw some vultures flying over, and I thought I’d check it out -”
Sasha howledged with disgust, “you went back there and found a dead body. That is too gross!”
“I feel lonelier than gross,” said Elena shaking her head, “I gave him back to his owner today. I’ve lost him.”
“Well, I have something you lost.”
A light went back into Elena's glazed eyes, and she turned her head towards her friend. “Really, what is that?”
“Look in my purse.”
Elena picked up Sasha's purse and opened it. Inside it was her Glock. “You left it, and I didn’t get a chance to contact you.”
Elena stared at the Glock in complete silence.
“Elena?”
Elena’s eyes continued a technical inspection of the weapon.
“Elena, you’re scaring me.”
“I never left that.”
“You did, and I picked up for you. Aren’t you happy?”
“No, that can’t be. I’ve been losing my mind, getting distracted, but that’s not possible.”
“Elena, friend, it is possible. We all get down sometimes.”
“I would never leave a weapon.”
“Elena, it’s a mistake. We all make them. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s not possible.”
“Elena? Is everything okay?”
“You, you took it! You stole it from me!”
“Elena!”
“Let me out of here!”
“Elena, it’s not a big deal. You left it at the range, and I picked it up.”
“That’s impossible!”
“At least let me take you to your house.”
“Just drop me off at the library”
“How will you get back?”
“I don’t know,” she said looking at her pistol. “But at least I will feel safe.”
Sasha’s mouth and eyes opened wide. She tried to articulate words but stopped. The two women sat in silence for the entirety of the drive to the Henryetta library.
***
At the library, Elena sat at a large desk. Her lungs heaved as she drew in long, deep breaths as she tried to calm herself. She shook her head to the left and right. “No way. There’s no way,” she whispered to herself. She reached for her phone in her jeans pocket and realized then that she had left it home.
“I never leave my cell phone -”
Her thoughts were interrupted by memories of the past few weeks. She continued to shake her head in disagreement, no longer with Sasha Ferrell, but with herself.
"She is like your sister. I've cast aside my sister," she loudly said to herself.
“Excuse me?” said an old library volunteer who was passing by her table with a cart full of books.
“Oh sorry, I was talking to myself. I didn’t realize I was speaking so loudly. Sorry, I am thinking out loud.”
“Oh. I’ll tell you the truth, ma’am. With the increase of vagrants in this area, kind of thought you might be one. I saw you walk in, looked like you had been walking for a while, and you had mud all over your boots. Then I thought, maybe you were one of those crazy ones, ‘cause of the way you were talking."
“Oh, I’m sorry -”
"Why is a pretty girl like you stressing so hard? I can tell you this, whatever it is, it's not enough to let yourself go crazy."
“Eh, things” said Elena visibly showing offense on her face. Everyone goes crazy every once and awhile."
“You’re that music teacher, Doolin, right?”
“Yes, I’m Doolin.”
“Your folks raised some trouble around these parts.”
“There was only one! It was not a family affair like the Willems.”
“Still, today he’d be considered a terrorist.”
"How about you keep your opinions to yourself!"
“Funny thing about that Bill Doolin. Someone came in here a few weeks ago. Trying to do some research on him. Doing genealogical research on your family -"
“Researching my family?”
“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to call the police.”
"Call the police? Call the police on me?"
“No. On that kid right there.”
Elena spun around. There stood Samson, his face a pale white. He wore his letter jacket, but one arm was concealed underneath the coat. He stumbled forward.
“Ms. Doolin,” he said. “I -”
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