Sewerville

by Aaron Saylor

  “Mama, I need to tell you something,” he said.

  “No you don’t,” she said.

  “It’s about Jimmy. You need to know.”

  “I don’t need to know,” said Mama. “I don’t want to know, either.” She was a foot and a half shorter than Boone, shrunken and brittled by old age. But with the hard, angry way she looked at him now, Boone felt like the smaller person in the room.

  In a firm tone, she said, “I didn’t let you in here so you could talk. I brought you in to listen. Can you just listen for once in your life?”

  Boone looked at her. He deserved this. He deserved whatever words came out of her mouth, he deserved whatever hate she felt in her heart.

  “Mama, please,” he said.

  She held up one hand, quieting him. Once more, she examined the blood caked on Boone’s clothes, but again she didn’t offer comment. She just shook her head. Her smallest gestures shamed him.

  He knew he deserved this.

  “I want you to look around here,” she said, waving her arm in a short arc above her head. “Look around this house, this house where you grew up. Every night I ask myself, how could a man like you come out of a home like this? I don’t understand it.”

  “What did I do wrong?” she continued in the same steady timbre. “Tell me what I did, son. What was it that made you turn out the way you did, with all your wickedness? It just hurts my heart, Boone. I ain’t never told you but I’m tellin’ you now. It hurts my heart. I can’t hardly sleep some nights, I just lay there in my bed prayin’, wonderin’ what kind of trouble you got yourself into now. Are you in jail? Are you hurt? Are you dyin’? Are you dead? I never know. Lord, I just never do know.

  “All that evil, all that devil’s work, all those demons that you’ve walked with for these years. All the people you’ve hurt, all the people dead because of you. What number of men have you killed? Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear. My soul can’t take knowing. Maybe you even killed your own brother. Don’t think I haven’t thought about that on some of these nights, don’t think for one second that I ain’t wondered if you was capable of that kind of wickedness.”

  She paused in her speech, breathing hard. Her cold stare tore through Boone’s guts. He knew that he deserved this.

  She said, “My Bible tells me that the Lord said, ‘What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.’ And I know what He was sayin’. Jimmy’s blood cries out to me, too. I hear it all the time.

  “He was filled with wickedness, just like you’re filled with wickedness. I realized a long time ago that you chose a life of devils and serpents, son. And I wonder, does your poor brother’s blood ever cry out to you, the way it cries out to me? Does it? Does it? Or do you stay in that house so high up on the hill that you can’t hear anything but them devils and serpents, ‘cause the devils and the serpents are a part of you that can’t be cut loose, just like you’re a part of them that don't want to be cut loose? It’s all just wickedness. Pure wickedness. Right there. In your heart. In your dark heart, the heart of the devil.

  “You want to know why I let you in here tonight? I let you in ‘cause I wanted you to get one last look at the place where you grew up. Go ahead. Take it. Take your last look around. Think about when you and Jimmy was little boys runnin’ through this house. Lord knows I think about those days all the time, those days back before the wickedness took hold in both of you. I raised you two right, raised you up just like the Book says. It didn’t matter. I stayed awake nights, prayin’ for you, prayin’ you’d find your way out of the dark, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

  “You been comin’ to my house for all these years, knockin’ on my door, like you think I ought to actually let you back in. Like I ought to let you bring your wickedness back in this house. Well now, here you are. I finally let you inside. And this is the last time. The last time. I don’t want you to come back here ever again, do you hear me?”

  He looked at her. He deserved this.

  “Do you hear me?” she repeated.

  “Yes, Mama,” he said.

  “Good. I want to make sure you hear. ‘Cause I don’t want to see you ever again. Not here, not anywhere else. You’re not my son anymore, do you understand? You’re not my son. Now get out. Go on. Just get out.”

  She turned and walked out of the room.

  Her son waited for a moment, not quite sure if Mama was finished. Ten minutes later, he still stood there and she hadn’t returned.

  He deserved this.

  Boone walked towards the door that led out of the house, the house where he grew up, the house where he was no longer welcome, ever again. He knew that he deserved this.

  On the way out, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a curled piece of heavy brown paper, the strip of grocery sack on which Jimmy had scrawled his last letter to their mother. He unfurled the message, read the first few words to himself, then decided he couldn’t go any further.

  Mama said he was full of wickedness. She said that he lived with the devils and serpents, that he had darkness in his heart and blood on his hands and there was no prayer that could ever change that. Boone wanted to tell her she was wrong, he could give up the demons and the serpents, he could be better. But he couldn’t tell her that. Because she wasn’t wrong.

  He laid Jimmy’s letter on the couch and left the house forever.

  Dear Mama,

  If you are reading this, then you have talked to Boone and you know that I am not dead after all. I am alive, Mama. I am alive. I am sorry that I can not see you right now and tell you how sorry I am for making you think that I had died, but I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me one of these days. This way is the best.

  I am so sorry, Mama. For a lot of things. I never was too good with words but that is probably the best thing I could say even if I was good with them. Me and Boone have done a lot of things wrong in our lives and I know we have hurt you in a lot of ways. We have hurt a lot of people in a lot of ways. But I am writing you this letter to tell you that from here on out, everything is going to be different. Maybe that is hard for you to believe. I could understand if you don’t want to believe that. But we are changing. Your boys are changing, you will see. I can not tell you too much about it right now, but you will see. I promise.

  I love you Mama. I just want you to hear that. I love you and Boone loves you. We have put you through a hell in your life that you did not deserve. There is nothing I can say that will ever undo all the awful things me and Boone have done. There is nothing I can do to give you back all those nights you spent worrying about us, wondering what kind of trouble we was in or if we was ever coming home or if we was even alive. If I could, I would. I would take it all back. But I am sorry that I can not. Life does not work that way.

  These last few months have been so hard. I have spent a long time by myself, hiding out up here (can not say where) and waiting for the day that I could come back and see you again. To be honest, I never thought it would be this hard. But if anything good has come out of my time alone, it is that I have had a good chance to do a lot of thinking. Now I understand the type of person I was, and the type of person I should have been. And they are not the same person.

  There is so much evil back home. All the drugs, and the whiskey, and guns, and fights between men, and so many other things I couldn’t tell you here. But we both know what I am talking about. And me and Boone, we have been right there in the middle of it for too long, and like I said, we have caused a lot of hurt on too many people. Especially on our own family. While I am not like Boone (I do not have a family of my own other than my Mama and my little brother) I still do know that when you hurt the people around you, you are hurting yourself at the same time.

  So that is why I am writing this letter. To help me stop hurting. To help you see that it will all be different now.

  I am sorry. That is what I want to tell you, I am sorry. So so so sorry. I am sorry as I can be, from th
e deepest corner of my soul. And I love you. I have always loved you, Mama, and I hope that you can someday find love for me again. I would like to see you and hopefully after things settle back down, you would like to see me, too.

  Well I had better go now. My fingers are getting cold. I am writing this letter by candle light and it is about to burn down. Getting dark in here, but hopefully soon there will be plenty more light for us all.

  Your son,

  Jimmy

  FAMILY

  As he drove towards the hospital, Boone picked up his cell phone and dialed his wife’s number. Samantha answered, which surprised him but also brought him a measure of warmth. Her sweet voice, an island of innocence in the midst of so much spilled blood.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Samantha? It’s Daddy.”

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Is your mommy there?”

  “Are you coming to see me?”

  “I am, baby. I am coming to see you.” He cleared his throat. “Are you at the hospital with Grandpa?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is Mommy there?”

  “Mmmm–mmmm.”

  “Is your Uncle John there?”

  “Yeah.”

  His mouth felt dry. “That’s good,” he said. “Baby, I need to talk to Mommy right now. I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll come and get you and we’ll go away on a trip. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds good, Daddy. Can Mommy come with us?”

  Boone hesitated. “We’ll see,” he said. “Is Mommy there in the room, right now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you put her on the phone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Samantha?”

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Daddy.”

  She handed the phone over to her mother. He heard Karen’s muffled voice say Who is it? and then everything went quiet.

  “Boone?” Karen said a moment later, her voice coming clear through the phone now. She did not sound happy. “Where are you?”

  Boone waited a moment before he answered, hoping that would make his wife just a little bit less comfortable. Then he said, “Jimmy’s dead. Rogers is dead. Elmer’s dead. They’re all dead.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  Her question showed a contrived ignorance that Boone found more laughable than insulting. He said, “If I know the Slone family, you’ve cleared all the other patients off Walt’s floor,” said Boone. “The only people up there are you, John, Samantha, and your Daddy. The nurse comes by to do her scheduled check–ups every hour on the hour, but you make sure she comes alone and that she leaves the very second she’s finished. Nobody else comes within ten yards of that hospital room unless they call you first. That sound about right?”

  Utter silence, on the other end of the phone.

  He continued. “I doubt there are any guards around, either. There oughtta be somebody there, but I doubt there is. John thinks he can take care of it. He thinks he’s the number one big dog daddy, and he’ll keep this shit under control. Do you think he’s the number one big dog daddy? I guess we’ll find out soon enough. But besides that, you all don’t want anybody carrying a gun around there unless they got Slone blood in their veins. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Again, Karen offered nothing in response.

  “I’ll be there soon,” he said.

  “How soon?”

  “What, you think I’m gonna tell you that so you can have the entire Seward County sheriff’s department waiting on me?” he said. “Come on. I may be dumb, but I ain’t stupid. When will I be there? Soon enough, that’s when. Soon enough. And I’m only tellin’ you that much so you can get Samantha out of there before the shit goes down.

  “You take her, and you get out of the hospital right now. I will meet you at our house at midnight. If you don’t meet me at our house, I will find you wherever you are, and I will get my daughter. If I get close to the house and find any surprises waiting for me –– a deputy’s car, state police, whatever – I will turn around, and I will find you later. And I will still get my daughter. No matter what happens, no matter what it takes, I will get her. Do you hear what I’m saying, Karen? You won’t keep Samantha from me.”

  Karen yelled now. Even through the cell phone, Boone heard her voice echoing off the hospital tile. He pictured his wife on the verge of angry tears, her body shaking with each brutal word.

  “Who do you think are? Where are you? You tell me!” she raged. “John will find you. We know everything. We know how you’ve gone against the family. What do you think you’re doing? We will find you, do you understand?”

  “It won’t be difficult,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  He hung up, and tossed the phone aside. Before the handset hit the seat, he pulled into the hospital parking lot, fully aware that after the exchange he’d just had with Karen, the Slones would be expecting him. Just not now.

  VENGEANCE

  “He’s on his way,” Karen said.

  “Good,” said John. “Let him come.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, if all goes as planned,” he said, “I aim to kill that damn husband of yours.”

  Fifteen seconds later, Boone burst into the lobby of the Sewardville Medical Center with the butt of Jimmy’s shotgun pressed against his shoulder. His own 9mm dangled in the holster that hung around his chest. He moved straight ahead, focused, firm. Ready.

  “Get down! Everybody get down!” he shouted at the two girls working the reception desk, waving the barrel at them, leaving no doubt that he meant business.

  One of the desk nurses reached for the phone, her eyes wide with panic.

  “I said get down!” he barked. “Now, dammit, now!”

  The girls yelped and dove for cover, sending loose papers flying across the length of the desk, spilling onto the floor on both sides.

  Boone kept coming. A nurse walked into the middle of the scene just as Boone got past the front desk, but she dove for cover when he gave the shotgun one hard pump in her direction.

  Now, he saw the elevator. It looked no more than ten running strides away. The double doors were opening, and he ran for them, knowing that if he didn’t get in at that moment he would be wasting precious seconds that might jeopardize everything.

  A skinny male nurse with a scraggly beard stepped out, but Boone threw him to the floor before the nurse had a chance to do anything about it. As he got into the lift, he shouted, “If I hear a police siren any time in the next five minutes, before they get me, I’m gonna come back down here and kill every one of you motherfuckers! Count on it!”

  Less than one minute had passed from the time he entered the medical center.

  Then the elevator doors slid closed, and he started moving upward, where the Slone family waited, where his destiny waited, where the end of everything waited.

  Sheriff Slone looked out the window. He saw people running out the front door en masse and had little doubt what sent them scurrying.

  “He’s here,” he said, with no hint of emotion.

  Karen stood up. “What now?”

  “Take Samantha and go up to the next floor,” John said. “I’ll come and get you when it’s all over.”

  While driving to the hospital, Boone had somehow kept his head clear enough to calculate six, maybe seven minutes to find Walt’s room and finish this business before the police could get there. No doubt, as soon as he walked into the lobby and pulled out his gun, somebody in the hospital would find a way to hit the emergency call button. He would have only a few crucial minutes. He could surprise Sheriff Slone and Walt, work his way through them, then get out the fire escape and back to his truck before the first police car showed up.

  Now, in the elevator, time wrenched forward in slow, desperate groans. Boone felt as though everything around him had rusted nearly to a halt, while he fought through at full speed. It would be less than ten
seconds until the door opened again and he was on Walt Slone’s floor, but the way his heart bass–thumped in his throat it felt like that journey might take an hour. And it already felt like two hours had elapsed since he’d hit the button for the third floor and begun his ascent.

  At least there was virtually no security presence in the hospital. He expected that. Counted on it. One, it was the middle of the day and there wasn’t much activity of any sort in the medical center. But two – and this was crucial to Boone’s plan – John Slone surely believed that his very presence would plenty deter anyone that might come gunning for his dear old Dad. The sheriff wouldn’t need extra law enforcement stationed in the building; they could go on about their day. He would stay there with Walt as his personal bodyguard and that would be all that was needed. This would be John’s way. He believed in his own abilities.

  And Walt would be the only patient on his floor. Count on that, too.

  Boone heard a faint chime, and felt the elevator slow to a stop on its hydraulic lifts.

  The doors opened back up.

  He held his shotgun high, against his shoulder, ready to fire at whomever awaited him ––

  And there stood Karen.

  With Samantha in her arms.

  For a second, everyone froze. Then Karen turned, thinking she could run back to her father’s room, but Boone grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her and Samantha into the elevator with him.

  He slammed a glowing button near his waist, and the doors closed again.

  “Let me go!” shouted Karen, as their daughter began crying.

  “Shut up, Karen,” said Boone.

  She hauled off and slapped him, but he barely felt it.

  “I’m taking Samantha. We’re leaving,” he said. “When these doors open, I’ve got a couple more things to take care of here, then we’re gone. Gone where you’ll never find us, you understand?”