by Kurt Newton
She tried to remain hopeful but it was getting hard.
Why did it feel like there would be nothing but bad news waiting for her at the end of the day?
23
Ethan opened his eyes. He had blacked out again. That's what he called these episodes: black outs. He had never blacked out before in his life but he now understood why they called them that. One minute he was awake and the next minute everything simply went black, as if someone had pulled the shades down on his consciousness. And when he woke up again it was as if nothing had ever happened, no memory, not even a fleeting residue like that from a dream. The last thing he recalled was taking a shit in the corner of the room. After that...nothing. He had heard it's like that when one undergoes anesthesia. One second you're surrounded by doctors in a cold operating room and the next a nurse is hovering over you asking you to wake up. It's as if time stands still, but the clock on the wall proves otherwise.
Only here there was no clock on the wall. No reference to gauge how long his blackouts lasted. It worried him. Could the initial gun butt hit from that mad scientist have done some real damage to his brain? Maybe he had a severe concussion and the blackouts he was experiencing were the aftereffects?
He placed his hands at his sides to sit himself up. He felt a sheet of paper under one of them. The paper had writing on it. There was also a pencil nearby. He looked to see if his dirty dishes were still by the door. Once again they were gone. He held the sheet of paper up to his face. At the top of the sheet it read:
Complete this questionnaire and you will eat tonight.
Great, thought Ethan. A questionnaire? What kind of sick fuck game was the mad scientist playing now?
There were ten questions. The first one read:
Is your name Ethan?
True or False
Ethan grabbed the pencil and, supporting the paper from behind with his hand, circled True. The pencil tip poked through the paper. He stared at the tiny hole. For some reason he thought he might be graded on neatness, so he tried to fix it.
He pulled his legs under him and sat Indian style, laying the questionnaire in front of him on the cement floor. He read the next question.
2. Your favorite weapon is?
a. gun
b. knife
c. poison
d. fists
e. none of the above
What? Favorite weapon? Ethan hated hunting or killing of any kind. He was against his brother enlisting and going to fight in a war that didn't seem justified. He shook his head at gun. Knives made him wince. He had a pocketknife as a kid, but was suspended from school for bringing it in to show a friend. He couldn't imagine using a knife as a weapon. He was more likely to cut himself than inflict injury on someone else with one. Poison? He had no knowledge of poisons. Sounded complicated. Fists? Now here was one — or two — that he could justify. If he was mad enough and the person receiving the beating had done something horrible enough, like breaking into their home and doing awful things to his mother, he could see himself beating someone up. He would have to go with fists. He laid the paper on the floor and circled d.
3. If you could choose how to die, by which method would it be?
a. gunshot
b. stabbing
c. poisoning
d. beating
e. none of the above
A chill ran across the back of his neck. He didn't want to die, by any means. It made him sad to think of dying in here alone without Lindsey ever knowing where he was.
He slapped the paper down and circled e, twice. That was a damn stupid question.
4. A pet you love is injured and lies dying. Do you end its suffering?
Yes / No
He read the question again. He didn't understand how this had any bearing on anything. A memory flashed and he winced. It was too painful to remember but his brain recalled it anyway, forcing him to look.
It was springtime. He was riding his bike down the sidewalk to the stop sign and back again. As he was riding back, he saw a car in their driveway. A dirty beat up car. His father's car. His father wasn't supposed to be there. He wasn't supposed to come within one hundred feet and he was sure the driveway was less than that. Ethan had stopped peddling because he heard arguing. His mother was screaming something about calling the cops. His father was shouting back. He heard the car door slam and the dirty beat up car jerked suddenly, backing out of the driveway into the street. It screeched its tires and roared away up over the hill. Ethan had rolled his bike up to the driveway. His mother was inside the house. He could hear her crying. In the middle of the driveway was Fluffy, their orange and white long-haired cat. It wasn't really their cat; they just fed it now and then. It was a mangy stray, and it smelled most of the time, but it purred up a storm when Ethan petted it. Fluffy must have run when all the noise started and ran under the car. When Ethan's father tore out of the driveway, the cat must have froze. The cat was still alive but it wasn't moving. Its back end was run over. Blood and shit and intestines had come out of the cat's butt. The cat lifted its head when it saw Ethan. It made a funny meowing noise Ethan had never heard. Ethan dropped his bike. He walked over to his mother's flower garden and grabbed one of the painted stones. He kneeled beside Fluffy, and with tears streaming down his cheeks, he crushed the cat's head with the stone...
Ethan stared at the question. He took a deep breath and circled Yes.
5. A person you love lies dying. Do you end their suffering?
Yes / No
Ethan shook his head. He pictured Lindsey in place of Fluffy. "Kill me, Ethan. If you love me, you'll kill me." He shook his head again to rid his thoughts of the image and circled No. No. No.
6. A person you hate lies dying. Do you end their suffering?
Yes / No
What kinds of questions are these? He couldn't kill a person, no matter how he felt about them.
But you killed that cougar, his brother's voice whispered in his head.
Yeah, but it was self-defense, Ethan justified. I didn't have time to think about it. It was either the cougar or me. Even then I felt bad about it. And besides, it wasn't a person.
How do you think I felt about killing Iraqis? Iraqis, cougars, it's all the same. It's not all about you sometimes, Sport; it's about what needs to be done. And if you're ever going to get out of here, you just might need to do what you don't feel like doing. Capiche?
Ethan shook his head, both to shake loose his brother's intrusive influence and to end the argument. He circled No and moved on.
7. What is reality?
a. state of being
b. state of mind
c. fixed state independent of individual perception
d. fluid state dependent upon individual perception
Huh? a? b? a & b? He just didn't understand c & d. He circled a then crossed it out and circled b, then crossed that out and put an arrow pointing to a.
He was losing his concentration. It seemed like the test was taking much too long to finish. He was tired again and didn't want to answer any more questions. He thought about putting it aside for later, but the line at the top snapped him back to attention.
Complete this form and you will eat tonight.
Okay, fine.
8. Your life becomes unbearable. Do you:
a. end your life
b. pray to God for guidance
c. adapt as best you can
c. Adapt.
9. You are in a position to help millions by sacrificing a few. Do you choose to help millions?
Yes / No
Yes.
10. Your brother James is in the room next to this one. Will you do whatever is asked of you to keep him from suffering?
Yes / No
Ethan stared at the sheet. James? The blank white space at the end of the questionnaire appeared endless. Ethan began to shake. James is in the next room? But how? Did he come looking for me? Ethan didn't understand. Maybe the voice he heard really was James'. He found it really hard to
focus now. The questionnaire blurred.
Will you do whatever is asked of you to keep him from suffering?
He imagined his brother in a room just like this one. Maybe he was tied up, bound and gagged, strapped to some kind of torture chair.
Ethan shook uncontrollably. Tears streaked from his eyes.
James?
"James!" he shouted. "It's okay, James... They won't hurt you!"
Ethan circled Yes with a shaky scrawl and dropped the pencil. "It's okay... It's okay now..."
Ethan held his head in his hands and sobbed. He felt like he was losing his mind. He sobbed until he fell back to sleep. Only it wasn't sleep. It was another black out.
24
The closer they got to Backbone Ridge, the more ominous it appeared. The power line stanchions had no trouble hiking their way up the steep incline. One pair even stood victorious right on top, its arms held at its sides like a superhero surveying what it had conquered below. Lindsey was thinking how the surreal surroundings lent itself to strange thoughts. She couldn't imagine being alone out here at night with just the stars and the sounds of the wind and the movements of the trees. It was both eerie and beautiful.
There was still no word from the other search parties, just the occasional discovery of a makeshift campfire too old to have been Ethan's. Knox checked in now and then to see how Lindsey and Jared were doing, at the same time reminding them what to look for. Jared was surprisingly free of complaints, having settled into the rhythm of the hike. He appeared genuinely wrapped in the moment, using his walking stick to beat back thickets of high grass in case they harbored clues to Ethan's disappearance.
"You know this is really nice of you," said Lindsey.
Jared stopped. He leaned on his walking stick and smiled. "I don't get much chance to help," he said. "Everyone is always going out of their way to do things for me, hoping to get in good with my family name." He pulled a water bottle out of his thermal pack and drank. "But nobody asks me to do anything except give them money. This —" he looked around, nodding his head "— has nothing to with money."
He offered Lindsey his water. She took it and drank. The water was refreshingly cold and satisfied her thirst. "You might be one of the good ones after all, Jared Whitford," Lindsey said. She handed the water bottle back to Jared and he held it for a moment without taking it, his eyes gazing at her. They were connected for that instant and, in his eyes, she saw a much more vulnerable person, someone who could perhaps be thoughtful and sensitive, much like her Ethan.
She released the water bottle and Jared nearly dropped it. She took a deep breath and pointed ahead. "We better hurry up or Ranger Rick will leave us behind. I don't think he likes us."
For the next fifteen minutes the world still spun and the possibility of them finding Ethan was still very real. It wasn't until they caught up with the Ranger that those possibilities came into doubt.
As the landscape inclined, tent-poled upward by the rise of Backbone Ridge, so did the power lines. The paired stanchions were spaced so one pair stood near the base of the ridge, another pair stood halfway up the incline, and the next pair stood directly on top, hauling the wires up over its back and redirecting them left along the ridge where more of the stanchions carried their electrical weight. A V-shaped ravine was cut into the incline between the stanchions like a giant gash. At the bottom of this gash stood the Ranger. He was speaking into his walkie-talkie. He headed back down the incline as Lindsey and Jared drew near. There was nothing about the expression on the Ranger's face that indicated good news.
"What is it?" said Lindsey.
The walkie-talkie chirped. "Do you want us to bring the dogs?" a disembodied voice asked.
"Yeah, you better bring 'em," said Knox into the mouthpiece.
"What's going on?"
"There's something on the rocks."
"Is it Ethan?"
"No..."
Lindsey's heart raced. The Ranger just wasn't answering her questions fast enough. She had to see for herself. She pushed past him and hurried toward the spot where he had been standing.
"Miss Richmond, wait!"
But Lindsey was going to wait for no one. She had to see what the Ranger had seen. She scaled the incline into the rocks, stepping over scrub and dead branches and other debris washed down the hillside. As she climbed deeper into the ravine she saw a small yellow pyramid. It was one of those crime scene indicators. It sat alongside several jagged rocks. The rocks appeared spattered with what looked like brown paint.
Lindsey stepped closer. Flies buzzed and circled in the air. They swarmed between the rocks where the brown was still a reddish hue. Thick. Congealed. Blood. All of it blood.
Lindsey stumbled backward. She looked up.
Above, the power lines hung, humming their incessant song. Backbone Ridge rose to a frightening height. Jagged ledges marked the scar that was the ravine.
"Miss Richmond, please..."
She turned to face the Ranger. "You think this is Ethan's blood?"
"That's what we're going to find out."
"But where is he? He could still be alive!"
"Lindsey...there are many predatory animals that live in the region..."
"No... We have to find his body!"
Knox put his arm around her and led her back down the hill to where Jared waited. By then the first 4x4 appeared. In less than twenty minutes most of the search party had arrived, along with the dogs, and a State Police cruiser. Lindsey sat in one of the pickup trucks as the search fanned out into the woods around the base of the ridge. Jared had joined in the search.
But as the sun fell into the late afternoon, one by one the parties came back empty handed. Meanwhile, the dogs continued to circle back to the ravine and point toward the hill top. Lindsey sat in the truck unable to fathom what was happening. Ethan was dead. He fell from a ledge onto the rocks below and animals took his body. Was he dead or alive at the time? She didn't want to think about it.
As she stared out the window, unaware that tears were streaming down her face, she cursed the power line stanchions that stood like proud sentries guarding access to the mysterious Backbone Ridge. She cursed them and their whole magnetic draw for murdering the man she loved.
25
For Lindsey, the wake at the Potter Funeral Home was like walking through someone else's bad dream. A blood test had confirmed that the blood found at the foot of Backbone Ridge was human and male. And although a secondary search combed the area, poking flashlights into every animal den within a five-mile radius, no clues as to Ethan's personal effects were found. How someone could disappear so completely was a mystery. But then mysteries were not uncommon in and around the region of Backbone Ridge. Local law enforcement was satisfied and closed the case. The Windham County coroner ruled Ethan's death as an accidental fall and issued a certificate. Ethan's mother, a devout Christian, acted quickly to save her son's soul. A wake was arranged for the following Monday, with a burial the next morning at Willimantic Memorial Cemetery. As Lindsey sat in black, staring at the framed high school graduation picture of Ethan sitting atop the flower-draped coffin, the mournful strains of "Amazing Grace" piped through the recessed speakers overhead, she couldn't help but escape the feeling that Ethan's existence was quickly becoming erased and she could do nothing to stop it. Not that she had any reason to. It was just all happening too fast for her to keep up.
A suppressed giggle interrupted the funereal silence. Hayley, Kirsty, and Saga, all dressed in black, sat in the three chairs next to her. Saga's face was red. Lindsey knew she was prone to giggling at the most inappropriate moments. Kirsty nudged Saga to make her stop.
As if on cue, those in attendance stood and began the procession toward the front to give their condolences to Mrs. Morales, who sat with her sisters nearest the coffin. When Lindsey walked up to Mrs. Morales she didn't know what to expect.
"Lindsey," Mrs. Morales said, grabbing Lindsey's hands and holding them. Her heavy cheeks shook with gratitude.
"Ethan talked about you all the time. He was so happy." She turned to the coffin. "I put Ethan's favorite stuffed bear, and his baseball glove his father gave him, inside. Will you be at the funeral?"
"Yes, of course." Lindsey stared at the coffin. In the polished wood surface she saw herself standing there, her reflection distorted by the curve of the lid. Her reflection then began to brighten and flicker, adopting the color a candle flame. She felt her knees grow weak. "I'm so sorry." She hugged Mrs. Morales and left before she fainted or broke down or both.
It was Hayley's idea to stop at Friendly's on the way home.
The four of them, still dressed in black, sat in a booth, not caring how out of place they looked. Hayley ordered a bacon cheeseburger platter; Saga, some boneless chicken wings with a healthy supply of honey mustard. Kirsty would have preferred a cape cod but settled for a chicken salad sandwich. Lindsey didn't order anything, taking offerings from her friends instead, a French fry here, a piece of chicken wing there. Her appetite still hadn't returned since the day of the search. She wondered if it ever would.
"We should all go to the beach tomorrow," Saga announced, pumped up with her usual excitement.
"Yeah!" said Kirsty. "I just bought a new two-piece that actually makes it look like I have boobs."
"How about you, Linds?" said Hayley. "You want to go to the beach tomorrow?"
Lindsey looked up from her bird-like collection of food portions. She shook her head. "I'm going to the funeral."
"Oh, that's right," said Hayley.
"That's kind of weird, isn't it? A funeral for an empty coffin?"