by Kurt Newton
As her mother said this, a news reporter and camera crew came through the Emergency Room entrance. A nurse greeted the news crew and pointed in the direction of Lindsey.
Lindsey shrank away from them as they rushed over to talk to her. Mrs. Richmond provided interference. Lindsey didn't hear half of what was being said. She only wished her father had been there to comfort her, tell her everything was going to be all right.
How's my little firecracker?
Okay, Daddy. And you?
Never better, sweetheart, never better...
EPILOGUE
The news of Ethan Morales and his amazing eleven-day ordeal in the wild after surviving a cougar attack hit all the local television outlets and even earned him a brief mention on the CBS Nightly News. Just as Elizabeth Richmond had predicted, Ethan's incoherent ramblings regarding a secret government facility operating beneath the surface of Backbone Ridge and its mysterious caretaker, Dr. Harrison Pike, were dismissed as symptoms of delirium likely caused by fever induced by the cougar's near-lethal attack.
Ironically, the disappearance of Jared Whitford received little attention. All that was known was Jared had assisted Lindsey in the search for Ethan and, in the violence of the summer storm that struck that night, the two had become separated. A search of the area — the second search in as many weeks — yielded the incredible power of nature's fury, as evidenced by the charred hillside and the destruction to the power line stanchions on top of Backbone Ridge, but no clues as to Jared's whereabouts. Construction crews were already flooding in from Massachusetts to help Northeast Utilities with the repairs.
Lindsey avoided speaking to the media, choosing to stay by Ethan's side as he convalesced. Three broken ribs, a punctured lung and a severely bruised kidney kept him in the hospital for a week. On Ethan's release, Lindsey drove him home. But first she needed to stop by the Natchaug State Park.
"Why Lindsey? Why torture yourself?" said Ethan. They sat in the parking lot outside the Ranger Station.
Lindsey thought his choice of words ironic. She didn't answer him. Instead she got out of the car. "I'll be right back," she said and walked into the station.
"Howdy... Doing some hiking today?"
The new ranger was thinner than Ranger Rick and didn't have a moustache.
"What happened to Ranger Rick?" said Lindsey. She knew what had happened to Ranger Rick; she just wanted to hear what the official story was.
"Oh..." the man's brow furrowed. "I believe he retired. Sorry. I'm Ranger Bob. Anything I can do for you?"
The man's smile was too quick and his movements were like that of a marionette.
"No — just checking. Thanks anyways." Lindsey turned to leave.
"You're Lindsey Richmond, aren't you?" The man's voice lost some of its pretense.
Lindsey stopped. She stared at the man. "How do you know me?"
"I saw you on the news."
"I wasn't on the news."
"Yeah, with that Ethan boy."
Lindsey wasn't sure if she was on the news or not. That film crew might have used a clip of her and her mother sitting in the hospital waiting room. She didn't know.
Ranger Bob leaned on the counter. "I'd be careful if I were you." His face was smiling but his eyes weren't.
"What did you say?" The hair on Lindsey's neck rose.
"When you go hiking. Be careful, that's all. You are going hiking, right? It's a beautiful day for it." Ranger Bob handed her a trail map.
The man's eyes were smiling again. Maybe she was seeing what she wanted to see: a spy around every corner, a lie behind every truth.
"Thank you," she said, taking the map.
"Have a pleasant journey."
Ranger Bob went back to doing whatever he was doing before Lindsey had interrupted him. Lindsey went back to her car. When she got in she tossed the map on the dash and began to cry.
Ethan reached for her and she leaned on his shoulder. The tears flowed freely. "It's okay...it's okay," Ethan said, comforting her. After a moment, she sat upright again. She grabbed Ethan's by the shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. "Tell me you love me," she said.
"What?"
"Just say it!"
"I love you," Ethan said, "with all of my heart."
She watched his face. She saw nothing but honesty, and confirmation.
"I love you too," she said.
Marlene Knox stood outside her bungalow gazing across the smooth ocean waters of the Sea of Cortez. She performed this ritual every evening before the sun went down. She didn't know exactly what she was looking for, but she would recognize once she saw it. Until then, she would wait. She would wait as long as needed until her beloved Richard joined her.
On the Fourth of July the following year, Lindsey Richmond and Ethan Morales were married. The wedding took place inside the magnificent Cathedral of St. Patrick in Norwich, Connecticut; the reception at none other than at the Richmond Estate, complete with fireworks. Lindsey wouldn't have had it any other way. After the fireworks, a limousine took the newlyweds to the airport where they boarded a plane bound for England, the first stop on a two-week travelogue that included London, Paris, Venice and Madrid.
In a hotel room in Madrid, Ethan lay on the king-sized bed, basking in the afterglow just having made love to Lindsey. Lindsey was in the bathroom showering. He was almost asleep when his cell phone rang.
It didn't so much ring as play an odd kind country tune. The caller ID reflected three question marks. He picked it up. "Hello?"
There was a moment of silence before a tone sounded through the phone's miniature speaker. It was a continuous tone, but beneath it, barely audible, was another tone, one that oscillated at just the right frequency. Ethan felt a strange sensation as if he were descending into a well, or a pit miles deep.
"Congratulations, Ethan," a voice said. He didn't recognize the voice. It echoed inside the pit, resonating with its own frequency. "Now that things have settled down, I thought it was time I introduce myself."
"Who are you?" Ethan heard himself speak but he didn't feel his voice in his throat.
"I...make things happen. I can make your sweet bride Lindsey disappear. I can make your dear mother offer her last breath to God...willingly. I can make your dead brother speak. I can make you, Ethan, whoever I want you to be. Do you understand?"
Ethan listened to the voice in his ear. He nodded.
"Good. That's all for now. I'll be in touch."
The voice was gone. The tones unraveled in burst of static. Then the static disappeared leaving only dead air.
Lindsey walked out of the bathroom just as Ethan hung up. She was dressed in a white terry cloth robe, her hair wrapped in a white towel.
"Who was that?" she said.
Ethan looked at her. He knew how much he cherished her. "No one," he said. "Wrong number."
Lindsey walked over to the bed and shed her robe. She smelled wonderful. She climbed on top of him, first grabbing his cell phone and placing it in the end table drawer and shutting it. "There. No one will interrupt us."
They embraced. They made love again.
At the Richmond Estate, Mrs. Richmond hung up a very special phone. She sat behind her late husband's desk and stared at the vacation photos of her daughter and son-in-law laid out before her.
The future once again looked bright.
An Excerpt From
THE WISHNIK
by Kurt Newton
The following months passed like dreams. December fell into January, January into February, and soon the winter was over, melting, dissolving, and all things bright and new presented themselves.
Kenny received a job promotion, from shift foreman to maintenance supervisor, a job he had had his eyes on since the first day he walked into the plant. There was something new stirring inside of him that made him more aggressive, more confident. He felt it, like a slow, gradual cleansing, a stripping away of doubt and confusion. Finally, there was definition in his life. He viewed the future n
o longer as if in a dream, where no matter how hard he tried there was always someone else attaining his goals. No longer. He could finally see himself. His future was as close as tomorrow's tomorrow. And he knew it.
And Angie knew it too, feeling it first and foremost in the bedroom. Their lovemaking had become more impassioned, longer lasting. Thoughts of having to get to sleep before a certain hour so they could get up and get to work at a certain time were replaced by the urge to enjoy each other's company, however late it carried them into the night. Kenny had also become easier to talk to, not so much a recluse with his emotions, his discomforts, his fears, more understanding of hers as well. Not that she had been suffering from inattentiveness before, nor he from lack of sensitivity ... but there was a holding back she had sensed, a feeling there was more to Kenny than what he had allowed her to see, more to their relationship than what had been openly shared.
But all that changed, initiated it seemed by the lone, solemn act of Kenny's father's death. The new job, the money they were saving toward their next house, the fresh talk of children. Everything. Their future rolled steadily, happily onward without a hitch.
Until the day of the cookout.
Kenny had planned it in his mind one evening on the way home from work: next weekend he was going to have a cookout and invite everyone in his family, a sort of family get together in celebration of his to-be-announced promotion, an unveiling, of sorts: the new, upwardly mobile Kenny Morgan...until he realized next weekend was Memorial Day weekend. It had nearly slipped his mind.
So it was planned for the weekend after, a good time to lay all good things to rest, now that Memorial Day was behind them and the last remnants of loss and mourning satisfied. Life goes on.
Remarkably, it was the first truly warm weekend of spring. The trees had filled themselves back in again, greener, fuller. Flowers were sprouting pastel colors of purple and yellow, dotting the greening grass. One couldn't help but breathe and know summer would soon be here. Outdoor furniture was purchased for the occasion – after all, they could afford it now. White, wrought iron chairs and a matching roundtable, a relaxing, cushiony chaise lounge, and a red, cedarwood picnic table – all of which now sat, clustered, just a short walk from the back steps, beneath two freshly blossomed apple trees.
Angie kept herself busy all morning with the baked beans and potato salad, and a first attempt at homemade brown bread, while Kenny spent the early, cooler hours raking the leaves he had missed in the fall, and generally sprucing up the yard until it looked the picture of family cookout surroundings. He was nervous and excited, like a parent on his child's first day of school. He wanted everything to go well. He wanted this to be a real family get-together, in the truest sense.
And it was.
Everyone came. More than he had anticipated, but it was all right, everything was all right. His mother, he was glad to see, was back to her old self – better than her old self – smiling, laughing, for the first time not having to look over her shoulder to see how much her husband was drinking and worrying what kind of a night it was going to be. Karen brought a date, a nice young hospital intern who lit up everyone's eyes when introduced, mostly Karen's, with dollar signs. After two divorces she had finally found someone who possessed more character than a professional wrestler. Everyone was happy for her. Kenny's big sister, Christine, and her husband, Bill, used the day to make an announcement of their own: Christine was pregnant again. After fourteen years, Christopher was finally going to have a baby brother or sister. Kenny's mother cried off and on for the rest of the afternoon.
Looking around at his family, seated in a horseshoe of conversation and laughter, with the bright sun shining, Kenny realized it wasn't just himself but the rest of his family was doing quite well also. Good fortune seemed to shine in everybody's eyes.
The only one missing was Jack, who couldn't be there. He was stationed in Arizona. Kenny had sent a letter which Jack answered at length, thanking him, wishing everyone a good time, and signing off by saying, "See ya around July." Once enlisted, Jack had always distanced himself from the rest of the family, calling only once or twice a year, and usually around the holidays. If his absences were due to his father's presence he never expressed it. But then who could blame him? Jack carried his own memories. But Kenny hoped all that would change now that things were different.
When the sun began to cast more shadow than light, the women cleared the tables. And when somebody mentioned there was a Red Sox game on, both Bill and the young intern headed inside with fresh beers in their hands and a new topic for conversation. Kenny was on his way in also when he looked around and noticed Christopher lagging behind.
"So," he shouted. "What's it feel like to be a big brother so late in life?"
Christopher looked up, grinned, then hung his head again as if trying to formulate an answer but couldn't. After a moment he looked up and asked, "Are you going inside?"
"Just to bring the rest of this stuff in." Kenny lifted a stray bag of potato chips in one hand and a forgotten catsup bottle in the other. "Why? You want to do something? I don't know if I told you but our neighbor's dog ate your nerf football. We must have left it outside last time because I found it in the middle of the yard with the ends chewed off."
"That's okay, I've got another one. I brought my bb-gun. It's in the car. I was thinking maybe … you'd want to go out in the woods and, you know, shoot some things."
"Shoot some things? You mean like the neighbor's dog for eating your football and stuff like that?"
"Yeah, stuff like that."
"Okay, get the gun, I'll be right out." Kenny disappeared into the house.
"Great!" Christopher said.
It should have been.
* * *
Not far beyond the apple trees, Kenny's property ended and the woods began. A family by the name of Dunnock owned the woods, but they lived some five to six miles dead away, so Kenny figured what they didn't know they wouldn't mind, as they hadn't known and hadn't minded in the past. Besides, when he and his wife had moved in two years ago, Kenny stood on his back steps and by private proclamation assumed ownership of his side of the woods, at least as far as his eyes could penetrate.
There were several things about "his" side of the woods Kenny especially liked. One was a slow running stream overrun by mossy banks that possessed a serenity found only in churches and old cemeteries. Another was a huge oak tree that looked as if it had been struck by lightning more than once in its long history and had recovered so as to grow so stout and crooked it looked a living challenge to nature. And finally, the car: a rusted old relic of the '40s, a Buick according to the hood ornament, sitting abandoned among the tall down-looking trees which appeared at a loss to explain this man-made mass of metal in their midst. What Kenny wondered was how in hell it got there if not driven on one last 4-wheelin' hellride as far as its wheels and undercarriage could take it.
Over the past two years, Kenny had cut a path through the woods to the old car and with Christopher's help had created a clearing. It was here he and Christopher set up the cans and bottles for shooting. This time, they brought a shopping bag full of them, freshly dug from the day's garbage. Christopher stacked the targets on the car's rusted roof and balanced them in the window openings, while Kenny stood at the edge of the clearing, some forty-feet away, trying to warm himself.
The day had turned colder. It seemed as if spring had arrived just as a blessing for this important day, and sitting in the sun after the big meal and washing it all down with an ice-chilled Corona was one of the afternoon's many pleasures. But surrounded now by tall trees and fading sunlight, it reminded Kenny his case of spring fever was only temporary.
He zipped up his jacket and wished he'd brought some gloves. Doesn't a fourteen-year-old feel the cold? he wondered, as he watched his nephew, dressed only in a thin pull-over, patiently place can upon can in carnival fashion without a tremor.
Kenny looked back through the woods. He could no longer
see the house. With the new buds of spring closing-in and the light green color reflecting the sunlight, only the white spray of apple blossoms was visible as a reference to the back yard. The last time he and Christopher had come out here was back in November, back when the leaves were gone from the trees and his father was still alive. It seemed so long ago....
"There! Now all we got to do is hit 'em."
Christopher's voice broke the surrounding silence, and Kenny suddenly found the gun in his hands. "You go first," his nephew told him.
Kenny lifted the gun to his cheekbone and took aim on the pyramid of cans sitting on the car's roof. "Okay, see that olive can on top?" He aligned the white tip of the end sight between the black V-shaped barrel mount, moved his finger firmly against the cold trigger. "That one, riiight there!"
Riiight there was high and to the right, and what Kenny heard instead of metal striking metal was a quick series of weed-whacking sounds as the bb ricocheted off into the woods.
"Too high." He handed the gun back to his nephew, who pumped it back up to pressure.
What followed was a rapid succession of pings and chinks as Christopher annihilated the stand of cans one-by-one, and proceeded in like fashion on the one jar in the center.
"I see your aim's gotten a little rusty," Kenny said, hoping for a laugh and a miss and a chance at retribution.
"Well –" a stopped-breath pause, a splintering crack "— it has been a while." Christopher pumped the gun up to full pressure again.
"Smart-ass."
By the time Christopher finally missed only the label was keeping the jar together. What had been a meaningless piece of glass had been transformed into a delicate ice-like sculpture, almost too precariously balanced to be physically capable of standing, almost too pretty to destroy. Kenny aimed low this time and shattered the remains in one shot.
"I'll set-up the next batch." Kenny walked the short distance to the lifeless car. And whether it was something that was said, or something in the feel of the air around him – the crunch of the leaves or the cool spring daylight – but a flood of memories came to Kenny, the first of their kind since promising himself never to allow them back: memories of his father.