by Ryan Horvath
“So how’d you find us?” Brian asked.
“Well,” Karen began, “I don’t want to say it was fate because I don’t believe in fate but it sure felt like it. We just got out here, got out of that place where Amanda was being held and then,” she looked at Blaze, “Blaze said he smelled something… something familiar.”
“What was that?” Ian asked Blaze.
Blaze woofed in response.
“He says it was you,” Karen translated, looking at Jack.
“What?” Jack said staring at Blaze. “I’ve never seen you before. Didn’t you say he was from Virginia?” he asked Karen.
“Yes. Blaze, can you elaborate?” Karen questioned.
Blaze barked.
“He says it’s just familiar. Like something from close to his…,” Karen chuckled and continued, “his comfy home joy place.” She suddenly looked hopeful. “Have you ever been to Virginia, Jack?”
“No. I still don’t get it. Why you? Why Simon? What brings us all together? If we’re even supposed to be, that is.” Jack said the last part noncommittally.
“We are,” Brian said. “Can’t you see what I’m seeing? I’ve been trying to show you.”
Jack looked quickly at Brian. “You mean that’s you?”
Brian nodded. “Yep. That beep. Like sonar, isn’t it?”
“Jesus, Bri. Shut it off, it’s driving me fucking crazy,” Jack commanded, putting his hand up between them as a shield.
Everyone laughed at this. Blaze barked heartily and River meowed loudly. The easy sound had broken the tension and everyone’s mood lightened a bit.
When the laughter subsided, Simon spoke up. “Well, my friends. I believe I may have some answers to our little mystery here. There’s just one thing I haven’t figured out yet.”
“Spill it, Doc,” Ian ordered. “We’re all ears.”
“Well, there’s the obvious connections: Karen and Amanda are sisters. You three guys are all close friends. Blaze was Karen’s neighbors’ dog.”
“So what are the less obvious connections?” Brian queried.
Simon appeared to ignore this. “Ms. Thomas, is it?”
She nodded.
“First let me express my deepest condolences for the loss of your husband. He was the late Congressman Jack Thomas, correct?” Simon inquired. He didn’t wait for an answer when he saw Karen’s eyes widen. “He died almost a week ago now, right? On Sunday?”
“Yes,” Karen said meekly. A tear welled up in her eye.
“And the man Brian shot and killed yesterday, the man we all buried just outside this house. Was he the man who killed your husband?” Simon continued on when Karen nodded. He heard Brian gasp.
“A congressman was assassinated this week? I never heard anything about it!” Brian said, shocked.
“When the federal government wants to bury something, they do their damned best to make sure it stays buried. They would make sure the hit they ordered would stay out of the media,” he said to Brian and then, “Karen, my name is Dr. Simon Shepherd.” He searched her face for any sign of recognition. “Does that ring any bells?”
“I thought it did when Brian told it to me but I can’t place it. Why should I know you?” Karen asked.
“Well you shouldn’t actually. But spouses hear things. Until last week, I worked for your husband on a rather top secret project,” Simon told her.
“Really? You worked with Jack? What was the project?” Karen asked. She was searching her mind for any mentions of Simon by her husband.
Simon smiled, chuckled, and pointed up. “Something that’s not so top secret anymore.”
“Yes! I remember hearing your name now,” Karen almost shouted. “It was… well, it was last week. At the dinner Jack and I were at. He was arguing with one of the men he works with, there are so many I could never keep them all straight. I overheard them say your name. You knew Jack?”
“Yes. More so, I liked him. He was a good man and a good congressman,” Simon admitted.
“So what about us?” Jack spoke up.
“Well, I’m not one hundred percent sure of this but from talking to you guys, I’m pretty close. I think I worked for your father, Jack,” Simon announced.
“My step-father. My adoptive father, you mean,” Jack corrected.
“No, Jack. Your father. Your biological father,” Simon responded.
Jack stared at him, confused.
“I’m pretty sure the man this woman once called her husband is… or rather was, your father,” Simon proposed.
Karen stood up. “That’s impossible!” she spat out. But she looked at Jack Voight and saw Jack Thomas. She remembered how he smelled when he’d held her yesterday in the barn. Not quite the same scent as her husband but pretty darn close.
“Karen, these three young men are all twenty four years old. How long were you and your husband married?” Simon queried.
“Shy of twenty,” she whispered.
“Did you know each other long before you married?” Simon continued.
Karen put a hand on her forehead. “Not twenty-four years. That’s for damn sure. My God.” She walked over to Jack and made him stand up. She touched his arms, shoulders, his chin and cheeks. She studied his eyes. She’d been foolish not to consider this before. She knew her Jack hadn’t been a virgin when they first started their relationship. He hadn’t needed to tell her. His sexual prowess, knowledge, and confidence were evident from the start. All the time they were married, her husband had had a child with another woman.
“That’s how you knew my name… when you found us…,” Jack started.
“I thought you were him. I thought…” Tears flowed freely from Karen’s eyes and onto the carpet at her feet. Amanda moved in and put an arm around Karen’s shoulders and she continued, “I thought, with the visions and all the other weird stuff going on, that he didn’t die but grew young instead.” She stared up into the face of a man she and her husband could have called son.
“He never knew about me. My mother never told my father about me,” Jack told her. “My mother didn’t tell me much about him but she did tell me this: She said he was a good man. She said he had a presence in the public and there might be some people who would try to use me as a way to get to or discredit him.” He paused and eyed Karen, feeling much more at ease with the woman before him. “We’re family. That’s the connection.”
“We’re family,” Karen reiterated and Jack closed her fist in his hands.
“So that’s it then?” Amanda asked.
“Wait, you said there was one thing you hadn’t figured out yet, Simon. What is it?” Brian reminded.
“Her,” Simon said, pointing to River. “I don’t see how she fits even though I know she does.” He paused and no one said anything. “How did you come across this group, River?”
She meowed and Jack translated for her. “I woke up in a park, not far from Jack’s house. A man told me where to find him.”
“A man? Do you know who it was?” Simon asked.
She continued in her intelligent meows. “No. I didn’t know him. This was just when I was beginning to understand how you all speak. The men talked about the eclipse that happened and then one of them told me where to go. It was one of the same men I heard your name from.”
“And before the park?” Amanda asked.
“She said she didn’t remember,” Jack said.
“But her memory’s gotten better. It’s been days since you thought about that, right, River?” Brian asked.
“My pet was a woman,” River recalled. “Sorry. Jack said I’m not supposed to call you pets.”
Simon chuckled then said, “That’s okay.”
“I lived with a woman. I just remember going to sleep on the bed and then I woke up in the park,” River explained.
“Did you live close to the park where you woke up? Had you seen it before?” Ian said.
“No. I don’t think so. The park I woke up in was unfamiliar. Even the air was different,” Ri
ver replied.
“You said before you didn’t remember the name of the person you lived with,” Jack said. “Can you remember now?”
River thought back. It didn’t take much. She just concentrated on the woman’s red hair and the name spilled out. “Celia. Her name was Celia.”
Everyone in the room looked puzzled. No one knew a Celia or was related to a Celia.
“Maybe it’ll come to us in time,” Jack suggested and shrugged.
No one knew that the woman who had previously cared for River had been the most recent murder victim of the assassin they had buried yesterday. No one could connect Celia but the assassin. And dead men didn’t talk.
Usually.
64
KAREN AND SIMON
Karen was outside late Sunday morning. The blue sky dominated overhead and no clouds could be seen. The weather in Minnesota had finally turned more seasonal and there was a slight chill to the breeze. There were a few clothes left behind by the previous owners of the house and the guys had brought a lot of stuff but there wasn’t enough winter wear for everyone.
The power still hadn’t come back on. At that point, no one in the house really believed it would.
Karen was leaning on the paddock fence. She held a mug of coffee in her hand that she’d lost interest in. Its steam was just diminishing. Not far away, the buried assassin lay in his shallow grave.
Karen was thinking about what happened with her husband’s body yesterday. She had made peace with it ahead of time that she had no prayer of getting back across half the country. She just hoped whatever had happened to him, he’d stayed dignified.
She laughed out loud to herself at this. How much more dignified could it be for a man whose head was nearly torn from his neck by a killer’s bullet?
She turned to look over her shoulder to where they had put the dead man and saw Simon walking toward her.
“Hey,” he said and joined her leaning on the fence. He had a coffee of his own.
“Hi,” Karen replied.
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
“How’s your face?” Karen finally said.
“It still hurts like a bitch,” Simon answered, absent mindedly touching the bandage. “And it’s itching like a flea ridden bitch. But Jack says that’s good. That that means it’s healing.”
Karen smiled. “Well good to hear.” She hesitated before asking, “So, how long did you know my husband?”
“Oh, not long. I mean, I knew of him for a while before I met him. He served on several committees pertaining to the space program so I knew who he was. But we only met a few months ago,” Simon answered. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.” He paused. “I think that madman was after me too. I was talking to Amanda and she said he’d told her about making his sixtieth kill before he started on her and that he mentioned my name. She said she didn’t get it at the time but she understands now.”
“Will you walk with me?” Karen asked, stepping back from the fence.
“Where do you want to go?” Simon replied.
“Back to where he was holding Amanda. It’s that way, a mile or two,” she responded and pointed to the south.
Simon looked where she had indicated and stared out, unsure.
“Why do you want to go back there?” he said.
“There’re some clothes in my car back there. They’d be a little better for Amanda and me. You guys have a lot but it’s not enough for all of us,” Karen responded.
“Well… Sure, I guess. But we’re going armed,” Simon said firmly. They hadn’t heard any gun fire since early this morning but Simon wasn’t willing to take any chances.
“Fine,” Karen said with distaste. She’d never liked firearms. But she didn’t want to go alone to that place and if Simon would only go armed, so be it. She watched him go quickly back into the house and a few moments later he returned carrying the new Mossberg rifle Jack had purchased as well as Jack’s step-father’s Walther. He strode over to Karen. Blaze was with him but he trotted past Karen and woofed that he was heading for the old house.
“I guess Blaze wants to come with us,” Simon said as he approached Karen. “Jack asked me to test this guy out,” he added, holding the shot gun up before slinging it over his shoulder. Simon had fired the shot gun once already at the killer but it had been in haste. He offered the hand gun to Karen. When she didn’t accept it, he looked at her face and said, “What?”
She turned and walked in the direction of the old house. Simon looked after her, a little befuddled and then started to follow her.
“Something wrong?” he asked as he fell in step with her.
“I don’t like guns,” Karen told him. “You’ll remember my husband was killed by a gun,” she added curtly.
Simon wasn’t sure at first how to respond to this so he walked with her in silence and thought. Finally, after they had climbed the embankment leading up to the road he decided what to say.
“Karen,” he began, “I hate to use the worst cliché of them all but guns don’t kill people. People kill people.”
She started to say something but he cut her off.
“It’s true. I could shoot you in the leg and you wouldn’t die but I could shoot you in the heart and you would. It’s about intent which is something the weapon simply doesn’t have. Intent is a human characteristic.”
Karen closed her mouth and thought about this.
Seeing that he might be getting somewhere, Simon continued. “It could be a gun, a knife, a poison, a stone, a bat, a pitchfork, an axe, fuck, even a garden trowel, a hammer, or a frigging dinner fork. Any of those things could take someone’s life. Are you going to tell me you don’t like bats so you’re going to stop watching baseball? Or that you don’t like forks so you’re going to start eating with your hands?”
A small smile crossed Karen’s face so Simon furthered his argument.
“It’s the intent of the user of the implement that kills. The implement is only that. A tool. Take a screwdriver for example. It’s a tool, an implement, and a weapon. But it has a purpose too… an intend-ed purpose. It’s the user who decides how to use the tool, whether for its intended purpose, to tighten a screw, or an alternate purpose, sticking it in someone’s ear.”
They walked for a while again. Simon knew he’d made his point and didn’t need to persist.
When they reached the entrance to the culvert that Karen had previously used as an exit, she spoke. “I’m just not ready, I guess.”
Simon looked at her incredulously.
“What?” she said.
They were in the culvert now and gravel crunched under their shoes. She hadn’t noticed it on the previous visit here. She supposed raw fear and adrenaline had their ways of overwriting other senses.
“Forgive me for being so blunt but you damn well better get ready,” Simon said with absolutely no trace of humor. She stared at him and read seriousness all over his un-bandaged countenance. “Weren’t you watching the TV before the power went out?”
Karen pulled her lower lip back with her teeth. She looked at Simon nervously.
“People are killing people out there. En masse,” Simon emphasized. “You’d sure as hell better get ready. Or are you going to let the thieves steal your food when they sneak in a window or are you going to bend over and let the rapists do their thing when they come knocking or are you going to let Amanda’s throat get slashed when a murderer pays a call? And all because you’re not ready to pick up a gun?!” Simon threw his hand up in frustration and sped up his pace so that he was a few feet ahead of her. They had come out of the culvert and could see the old farm house in the not too far distance. He knew he was being harsh with Karen but if her mentality was so naïve, then he knew his admonishment was appropriate. When he heard her jog to catch up to him, he smiled to himself.
“I’m sorry,” Karen said. “I’m stupid. I know.”
“It’s a different world out there, Karen. No more 911. No more emergency room. No more of a
hell of a lot of other things too. We have to adapt to survive. You can’t afford to be stupid. Stupidity will get you killed. Shit, it could get us all killed. If you’re with us, we need you with us. You’re sister doesn’t look afraid,” Simon pointed out.
Karen silently chastised herself. And she’s been through a hell of a lot more that I have.
“You’re right. Amanda’s lived in Colorado for years. Guns’re kind of a way of life out there,” Karen said.
“Well now think of it as guns are a way of life everywhere now,” Simon said.
Karen looked at Simon’s face. She remembered how he’d looked in her first vision of him. He was a very attractive man. They’d all filled each other in on their individual changes the night before so she was aware the man was ten years older than he looked but, noticing his physical appeal even with the bandage, she felt ashamed to be thinking of such a young man like so. She blushed and turned away from him quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed the blush.
They walked the rest of the way to the old farm house and found Karen’s car where she had parked it almost two days ago. With the assassin’s car gone, she would have been free to drive her car away had she a second spare tire but she didn’t. She found the bag of clothes with her purse where she had left them and pulled them from the car while Simon stood watch.
Simon looked at the dilapidated structure that had once housed one of America’s farming families. A family that probably included a father who woke at 4:30 every morning and started the milking, the sowing, the plowing, and the reaping; a mother who rose every day at 4:00 to put a high calorie breakfast on the table to fuel her family for the day’s labors before taking on the remaining tasks of running a house; a son, perhaps in high school and captain of the football team with average grades and an above average sex drive; and a daughter, perhaps in junior high school, trying to fit in with her body changing every day. Simon looked at this house that once had been perfect and saw nothing perfect about it. It looked evil and out of place in this world. It was like a huge oozing zit on the face of the Earth.