by Tony Hayden
A waitress appeared with a glass of water for Mike. “Would you like a menu?” she asked.
“No,” Mike said. “Water is fine, thank you.”
Carol handed a menu to the waitress. “I’ll have the oriental salad, please, and a glass of unsweetened tea.”
Mike watched the young woman retreat. “I really am happy that Jim is alive,” he finally said. “I’ll bet Taylor is just ecstatic.”
Carol smiled. “He is. His father does not leave the house without Taylor in his back pocket.”
“And you?” Mike asked. “How did you manage to slip away unnoticed?”
A hint of anger crossed Carol’s face. “I work, Mike. I am a professor at Colorado University. I don’t have to, ‘slip away’.”
Mike regretted his question. He regretted agreeing to meet Carol, and he regretted not taking her into his arms and confessing every intimate thought he ever had about her.
Carol moved her chair closer to Mike and forced him to make eye contact with her. “I told Jim about you,” she said. “I told him about Taylor engulfed in flames, and I told him about our home burning to the ground around us, and I told him about you rushing in and saving our lives when all hope was lost.”
Mike couldn’t speak.
“And I told him that I love you, Mike. I can’t just turn that off like a light switch. I thought Jim was dead. I grieved for him, and I cried for him, and I told him goodbye.”
“And now he is back,” Mike tried to appear happy.
Carol nodded and began to cry. “He’s back, and my son absolutely adores him, and I want so badly for things to just go back to the way they were before we went to Chiapas.”
Mike took a sip of his water and watched as the waitress brought Carol’s salad and tea. “What did Jim say?” he asked. “How did he take the news that you had fallen in love with another man?”
Carol fidgeted with her tea, stirring it with a straw. “He was shocked, of course. He was angry, and hurt, and he told me that he felt betrayed.” She stirred in a packet of Splenda before continuing. “I told him that he wasn’t being fair. I watched him die as those Mexican police officers shot him full of holes. I spread his ashes at Trapper’s Lake, for God’s sake. I told him that if I had known he was still alive that I would have moved Heaven and Earth to bring him home.”
Mike took Carol’s hand and held it tightly. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I know that you have to stay with him. Jim Iverson is a good man, and you and Taylor are very lucky to have him back.”
“We are,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “And the fact that you are saying this makes me love you even more.”
Mike took a final sip of water and slid his chair back. “If you and I are meant to love each other, Carol, it will have to be in another lifetime.” He stood and kissed her on the forehead. “I truly am happy for you and Taylor and Jim.”
Mike left the café feeling much better than he imagined he would.
forty-three
Mike took the week off from work and was now driving down State Highway 9 toward Florence, Colorado. Jordan Barnes was serving life plus eighty years at the Supermax facility there, also known as the “Alcatraz of the Rockies”. He had finally agreed to meet with Mike on the condition that a correctional officer be present during the visit. He was having a tough ride in prison and he didn’t want Mike adding to his scars and bruises.
The penitentiary sat on 37 acres and housed 490 inmates. It had seen the likes of Timothy McVeigh, the Unabomber, and several high profile international terrorists and spies.
Mike whistled as he pulled his car to the gate. “You have hit the big leagues, Jordan Barnes.”
He only needed about an hour of Jordan’s time to clear up some loose ends that had been troubling his mind over the past year. He hoped to be back home before midnight, spend Sunday with Sara and Jean, then drive Sara to the University of Wyoming on Monday. Sara didn’t know this, but Mike had already reserved a hotel room in Laramie, Wyoming, for the first five days of her college career. He wanted to be close, just in case.
Mike signed in and agreed to be searched. He showed his badge to keep some poor security guy from running his finger up Mike’s posterior to search for drugs.
Several loud buzzes and slamming steal doors later, he was in a brightly lit room with a long table down the middle and folding chairs on each side.
“The prisoner will be along in a few minutes. Just have a seat at the table,” said the correctional officer assigned to keep Mike from strangling Jordan to death.
“Is it okay to give him this carton of cigarettes or do you need to see them first?” Mike asked.
“The cigarettes have already been cleared, sir. You can give them directly to the prisoner when he arrives.” The officer hesitated for a moment. “I have to tell you, sir, the prisoner will most likely be beaten and robbed of those cigarettes before the day is over.”
Mike smiled. “I know,” he said. “I’m counting on it.”
The officer returned the smile and nodded.
Another loud buzzer sounded at the end of the room and a door opened. Jordan stepped through and shuffled over in leg shackles and belly chains, and took a seat across from Mike. His face was scabbed over in several places and his head had been shaved. When he looked sideways at the officer standing in the corner, Mike noticed a line of stitches behind Jordan’s left ear.
“Looks like you are having a pretty rough time in here,” Mike started.
Jordan snickered and looked at Mike. “I’m sure that breaks your pretty little heart, doesn’t it?”
Mike scooted his chair to the table and Jordan noticeably winced. “Look,” Mike said. “I don’t want to see anymore harm come to you. You confessed to the crimes you committed and kept my little girl from having to relive that nightmare you put her through, on the witness stand.”
Jordan snickered again and tried to put his elbows on the table but stopped when the belly chains snapped tight.
Mike put the carton of cigarettes on the table and slid them across to Jordan. “I brought these to you as a sign of good will. Something to make your life a little easier in here.”
The officer in the corner coughed to cover up a laugh.
Jordan looked at the smokes on the table and noticeably relaxed. “Thanks,” was all he said.
“What happened to your face?” Mike asked.
Jordan turned his head and rolled his shoulders as if readying himself for a fight. “The fucking meth-heads in here,” he snorted. “The bastards keep catching me alone and beating the shit out of me.”
Mike tried to show concern on his face but failed. “Why do the meth-addicts dislike you?” he asked.
Jordan laughed and snickered. “They don’t dislike me, dumbass.” He shook his head and laughed again. “Boy, for an officer of the law, you sure don’t know nothing about meth-heads.”
“Enlighten me then.”
Jordan tried to point at his face, but the belly chains snapped tight again, holding his wrists to his side. “They beat me so the next day they can hold me down and pick the scabs off my face.”
Now, Mike was truly interested. “Pick the scabs from your face?”
“Yeah! The sick bastards eat them. They think they are going to get high off my scabs, can you believe that?” he asked incredulously.
“I don’t believe it,” Mike stated flatly.
“It’s true!” Jordan almost yelled. “Ask the guard.”
Mike looked over to the officer.
“Apparently methamphetamine will collect in coagulated blood. The Tweekers will usually only pick on newcomers to the prison because the chances they have used meth recently is greater.” The guard laughed and pointed at Jordan. “I’m not sure why they keep scabbing this guy. They must be getting some kind of high off him.”
Jordan visibly shuttered. “Sick fucks,” he said.
Mike turned to business. “Hey,” he said. “You confessed to killing that Irish girl a few
years back, didn’t you?” he asked.
Jordan smiled. “Abby,” he said.
“Yeah, Abigail Byrne. Did you really kill her, or did you just watch that one?” Mike asked.
“Pop killed her,” Jordan said. “He strangled her to death against a tree. She was on her period and it really pissed him off.”
“I thought Hunter was in Arizona at a conference when Ms. Byrne went missing?”
Jordan hesitated then finally shrugged. “Hell, I don’t remember,” he said. “I think it was after he got back.”
Mike nodded. “I see,” he said. “Has your momma been up here to see you?”
Jordan sat back in his seat and looked sad. “No,” he said. “You are the only visitor I’ve had.”
Mike was actually surprised. “Really?” he asked. “I would have thought that Duncan, or Pastor Gary, or even Virginia would have come by now.”
Jordan noticeably frowned. “No,” he sighed. “They hate me, or they’re afraid of me, or something.” He fidgeted for a bit. “Let Jordan take the fall for everything and pretend like I never even existed.”
“That’s really unfortunate,” Mike said. “Your step-dad would have come to see you, I bet.”
Jordan laughed to himself. “Maybe, but he would have kicked my ass,” he smiled. “Even with that guard over there.”
Mike smiled. “When you guys drove up to the quarry that last time, I bet he had a good laugh telling you about how he beat my ass and arrested me.”
Jordan wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I drove Mr. Winter’s Bronco up there. Hunter didn’t come up until later.”
Mike laughed. “Oh, well you missed a good story then. My nose still whistles when I run.”
Jordan laughed and tried to slap his knee. “He was a tough old bastard, wasn’t he?”
Mike was smiling broadly. “I wonder who drove that Bronco home?”
Jordan was feeling pretty good having someone to talk to. “Probably Pop,” he said.
Mike stopped dead and leaned into the table. “Your Pop was dead, Jordan. I shot him. You saw him on the side of the trail as we passed the quarry.”
Jordan’s smile faded and slowly became a frown. “Maybe someone stole it then.”
Mike stood and slapped the table with both hands. “Bullshit, Jordan!” he yelled. “Who the hell is Pop?” Mike grabbed the cigarettes back. “You are hiding something and you are going to tell me what it is or I am walking out of here and you can rot alone in solitary for all I care.”
Jordan sat quietly for a while, then snickered and looked at Mike. “She knows who he is,” he said.
“She who?” Mike asked.
“She! The girl! Sara! Your fucking daughter!”
Mike worked the conversation through his mind again. “Sara knows who Pop is?”
“Hell yes she knows. Didn’t you see her staring at him during the trial?” Jordan laughed again. “She had murder in her eyes, buddy.”
Mike yelled, “Pop was at the trial?” He leaned across the table and put his finger in Jordan’s face. “Stop playing games with me you little fuck! I want to know who Pop is and I want to know now.”
The guard moved behind Mike and cleared his throat. “I’m bringing an end to this visit, sir.” He pointed to Jordan. “Prisoner, stand and back against that wall, now!”
Jordan slid his chair back and stood. Before backing away he smiled. “Ask your daughter who Pop is. I bet she dreams about him fucking her every night.”
Mike lunged across the table but was caught by the corrections officer. Jordan stumbled backward and fell over his chair, sprawling to the floor.
Mike shook from the officer’s grip and threw the carton of cigarettes at Jordan. “Give these to Bubba and maybe he will go a little easier on your ass tonight, you little prick.”
Mike got to his car and immediately grabbed his cell phone. He had to dial three times before he finally got through.
“Hello,” Jean answered.
“Jean, where the hell is Sara? She has her phone turned off.”
“She wouldn’t listen to me, Mike. She never has.”
“What do you mean? What are you trying to get her to do?” Mike asked.
Jean sounded exasperated. “I tried to get her to wait for you Mike. I told her that you took Monday off work to drive her to Wyoming, but no, she said that she wants to do this on her own or she will never get out from under Daddy’s wing.”
Mike finally lost his temper. “Do what on her own, Jean? God dammit, where is my daughter?” he yelled into the phone.
“She’s driving to Wyoming, Mike. She left over an hour ago.”
forty-four
The drive out of the mountains seemed to take forever. Sara swung into a gas station and filled her tank, then made a quick trip through the Dairy Queen drive-up to fill her belly. It was very important to make this trip as identical as possible to her last attempt to drive herself to Wyoming. Her therapist thought it might bring some closure to the whole tragedy if she could repeat the journey, but with a successful ending this time. Sara looked into the rearview mirror and locked onto her own eyes. “This trip is most definitely going to have a different ending,” she said to herself.
She paid the cashier and tossed the greasy bags onto the front seat of her car. “This will be my last meal as Sara the victim,” she said. “Tomorrow, I will be Sara the Paladin.”
Traffic was relatively light for a Saturday afternoon. Everyone seemed to be heading toward the mountains while she was heading away. The Honda handled exceptionally well. Her father had worked for weeks making sure every bolt was tightened, every fuse replaced, and every belt adjusted to factory standards. A small pang of guilt coursed through Sara’s heart. Her father was going to be so pissed off when he discovered that she left without him. He had maps, and time schedules, and all possible emergency numbers programmed into his and her phones. “Ridiculous!” she thought. “I’m not some helpless child and I refuse to be regarded as one.”
Sara exited onto I-25 northbound and settled in for the long drive toward her destiny.
Mike flew up I-25 at almost 100 miles per hour. He slowed as he passed through Colorado Springs, but only a little. Doing some quick calculations in his mind, he figured that he was at least two hours behind Sara. “Son of a bitch!” he pounded the dash of his Taurus. “Don’t you do this, Sara,” he said out loud.
“What are you reading, Daddy?” Sara asked as she stepped up to kiss Mike on the cheek before going to bed.
Mike closed the cover and showed his book to her. “The Bible, sweetheart. Are you going to bed?” he asked.
Sara snuggled in close to Mike and sat on the arm of his chair. “I’m exhausted,” she yawned, then laughed. “The big bad Deputy Haller is reading a Bible?” she asked playfully. “When did this awakening happen?”
Mike sat forward a little and wrapped his arm around Sara. “While you were missing, honey. The Pastor in Ranch Springs helped me through some pretty tough times.” Mike opened the Bible to a marked page. “He gave this to me to give me strength while I searched for you.”
Sara pulled the bookmark from the Bible and read the inscription. She stood and began to cry quietly.
“What’s the matter, squeaky?” he asked softly. “Why the tears?”
“Through adversity, man finds God.” She said as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
Mike stood and took Sara in his arms. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Where did you hear that?” he asked.
Sara tensed and pulled away. “From the same guy who gave you that Bible,” she said as she walked from the room.
Mike remembered being dumbfounded by her statement. At the time, he couldn’t figure out for the life of him, how or when Sara had talked to Pastor Gary.
He picked up his cell phone and hit speed-dial. “Jean,” he said quickly. “Go to my den and get the white Bible from the bookshelf.”
“White Bible?” she asked. “Where did we get a white Bible?”
After a minute, Jean returned to the phone. “I didn’t know you were reading the Bible,” she said.
“Pull the bookmark out and read it to me.”
“This is really pretty. Where did you get this?”
“Jean, please, I promise to explain later. Just read the damn writing on the bookmark to me.”
“Okay, Mike,” she said sternly. “It says Chapel of the Pines on the first line, then Pastor Gary Popineau on the second, and then under that it says ‘Pop’ in quotations.” She clucked her tongue, then continued, “I guess the pastor goes by the nickname of Pop.”
“That dirty bastard,” Mike said. “Look in the closet and see if my .45 is in there.”
Jean was talking to herself about the Bible as she searched the closet. “Nope,” she finally said. “Did you take it with you?”
Mike didn’t even hear Jean’s last question. He pushed “end” on his cell phone several times, then tried calling Sara’s phone again. “I can’t believe I didn’t put all this together,” he said out loud. “I need to leave law enforcement and open a car wash.”
“Leave a message after the beep,” came Sara’s recorded voice. She had changed her voicemail greeting to something a little more “adult”, as she put it.
“Sara!” Mike almost yelled into the phone. “Sweetheart, this is your father.” He paused for a long time. “Sara, I know, okay? I know who Pop is and I know what you are going to do.” He couldn’t help but let out an audible sob. “Honey, please don’t do this. You can never go back to who you truly are if you do this. Please, Sara, let me take care of it.”
Mike had another thought, pushed “end” again, cussed at the slow response of his phone, then pushed the “end” button on his cell phone ten more times. “End! You son of a bitch!”
When the display cleared, he dialed another number from memory. A woman at the other end answered immediately.