CHAPTER IX
"For God's sake man, he nailed the fetus to the mailbox post. He kidnapped her, held her against her will, and then he more-than-likely raped her. There were traces of semen found inside her, you know. As if that wasn't bad enough, he tied her to a chair and carved her up with his hunting knife, which I might add, he left sticking in her right breast. But what really uncorks me, really throws my ass out of joint, is the fact that he nailed that poor unborn baby to a post. The blood test done on the fetus matches the blood type we dug out of his old army chart, which means that it might even have been his own baby. I tell you the son-of-a-bitch is as crazy as that mother-fucking stepfather of his, was. Hell, all the evidence you could ever want, or ask for, is right there in front of you for everyone to see. If he hadn't been raised in your house you'd be able to see the light, and quit this denial phase you are going through. The light is bright enough for a blind man to see."
The pompous agent from the O.S.B.I., was starting to rankle Sheriff McClure's hide. If the man had known Dewayne better he would have recognized the signs that said he was about to be thrown out on his ass.
"You, and everyone else I've questioned around here contend that Faden would rather be caught dead than go anywhere without his pocket watch. I'm telling you that she jerked it off during the struggle for her life, and he was so keyed-up he didn't notice.” Shouted the agent.
"And I've been trying to tell you ... you red necked peckerwood ... that Faden is much too smart to have left all that evidence lying around if he had committed the crime of which he is accused. Remember, he was also raised as the son of a police officer.” Replied Sheriff Dewayne McClure, as coolly as he could.
"Even with an eyewitness, you still believe him to be innocent?” inquired the agent, incredulously."
"Your so called eyewitness just happens to be a convicted drug trafficker, currently residing in prison. He never said he saw Faden murder anyone. He claims someone fitting Faden's description conked him on the head with a baseball bat, and then stole his car. All of which I will buy, but not rape and murder."
The agent stared at the sheriff, cynical wonder stamped on his face. “You mean to tell me that you are going to stick to that idiotic theory of yours presuming that the noble Faden was holding her against her will to fully dry her out?"
"As a matter of fact, I am! There isn't a person in the United States over the age of four that doesn't know she had a drug addiction. Shit, man, she used to brag about the amount it took to get her off."
"And this proves exactly what?” sneered the agent.
"The test performed on her blood during the autopsy showed her to be clean. Detox centers have failed, right and left, to accomplish this goal. They were unsuccessful, so how do you explain the fact that she was drug free at the time of her death, and had been so, for a lengthy period of time?” rallied Dewayne.
"You're either just plain crazy or stupid...!” was all the agent got out of his mouth before Dewayne threw him bodily out into the street.
"I'll have you arrested!"
Some people never learned.
Dewayne delivered a swift kick to the seat of the man's pants, and boldly shouted, “I am still Sheriff of Jefferson County, and I will conduct this investigation my way. You and yours can conduct your investigation in any manner you choose. Keep one thing in mind, though, as long as I am sheriff, there will be no bounty phrased Dead or Alive placed on the head of any man. I don't give a good goddamned if he is at large for another six months, he will be apprehended using the same methods as any other fugitive who hasn't yet been convicted of a crime. Do I make myself perfectly understood, or do you need more clarification?” asked the sheriff, as he brandished a fist in the air.
As things turned out Dewayne wasn't able to stop the reward from being placed on Faden's head. Sinda's SIN production company put up $500,000. It was cleverly worded to give the impression that it was merely for the apprehension and conviction of her killer, but word on the street was that it would be paid to the person that brought Faden down. The wanted posters went up and every bounty hunter and his brother showed up in the Beaver Point area to collect on it. Faden had been on the run for six months when the flyers came out.
Dewayne doubled the efforts of the department he headed. He arrested and held every bounty hunter he could, charging them with obstruction of justice if he found them within five miles of the crime scene. He hoped and prayed that he would be the one that brought Faden in, so that he may receive a fair trial.
Dewayne knew that Faden had kidnapped the girl, and quite possibly held her against her will. In a warped sense, which defied all logic, Faden probably believed, maybe even rightly so, that what he was doing was for her own good. It would never enter his mind that it was all illegal.
Faden had eluded the efforts to arrest him by his knowledge of criminology, and his uncanny ability to live in harmony with the river and land. He had garnered his keenness of police procedure from Dewayne's father, and had been born with the understanding of nature. His grandmother on his mother's side of the family had been half Cherokee, while his paternal grandmother had been Choctaw. His veins flowed with blood that had, who knew how many years of experience, in living off of the land. He had wisdom of these ways, which no pure Caucasian could ever hope to emulate. If he didn't want to be found, then it was doubtful that he would be. Unless someone got lucky (or as Dewayne figured it, unfortunate enough to stumble into Faden), or Faden uncharacteristically got careless, he was apt to be roaming free for some time to come.
They had played at being trackers from the “Old West” days when they were children, and Dewayne, or whomever, had always lost to Faden. He was a natural born woodsman, and an adept river man. He seemed to enjoy his own company, and being alone didn't bother him one whit.
Dewayne had found through experience that loneliness, the constant yearning for companionship, was what brought most fugitives out of hiding, and eventually led to their capture. This wouldn't be happening in Faden's case.
CHAPTER X
For a period of fifty-two days the bluffs south of Oscar were the place Faden called home. Once, around two o'clock in the morning he heard the voices of two men. They were directly above where he was hiding. Luckily for them they continued past without detecting him. Several times he watched different men pass by in a boat, sometimes near enough to almost reach out and touch. He never once ventured out of the cave during the entire fifty-two day and night sojourn. He relieved himself in a five-gallon bucket, and then would sling the contents into the swiftly flowing river. He was extremely blessed in the fact that it had rained almost every day during that late December, January, and early February. The constant rain and consequent flooding made tracking him with any accuracy all but impossible.
It was still showering, on and off, when he began the arduous trek for home on the sixth of February. He was chilled to the bone, and sincerely believed he had never in his life been colder, when he arrived at the cellar on the still rainy, twelfth. He crawled in and slept around the clock. He awoke to a bright sunny day. It was unseasonably warm, and he fairly ached to be outside. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he wondered down to the creek. A pen and pad were in his pocket for writing down the routes he took so that he wouldn't use the same path two days in a row, or for too many times. This would make it far more difficult for any pursuers to track him down.
He came to the log crossing, and if not for the creek itself separating them, would have run face to face with Dewayne. He had been perilously preoccupied, and so had the Sheriff. Faden immediately dropped to his knees behind the cover of some briar and brush, and in one smooth continuous motion had the rifle unslung, with the crosshairs of the scope above the glistening barrel, aligned on the silver badge pinned over Dewayne's right breast pocket. He was applying pressure to the trigger when he realized what he was doing.
What had he been about to do? What had he become? He had just come within a heartbeat of killing hi
s only friend in the world. The friend that had always treated him like a brother, and had never done anything to harm him in any way fashion or form. The friend who had always stuck up for him when they had been boys in school. Shaking out of control, Faden cautiously backed out of the brush, and then scampered off, being as quiet as possible to avoid a confrontation, which could only end in heartache.
A mile or so upstream he found Dewayne's patrol car. It was where he expected it to be. He wrote the following note and placed it beneath the driver's side windshield wiper;
Dewayne,
Just a few minutes ago, down by the old log crossing, I had your badge in the crosshairs of my scope. I wouldn't have missed, even if I wanted to. Please, for old time's sake, don't make me kill you! I know you are only doing your job, but please let someone else do it, and warn them that from now on I shoot to kill. I didn't do anything to cause her harm, regardless what she told you. I only meant to help her, and believe it or not, I did for a while.
Faden
He then made his way back to the cellar. It would have to be sardines and tuna if he wanted fish tonight. That night the cellar was a dark and lonely place for the first time since he had been staying there. Memories of the good times he had with Sinda Rilla kept him awake to the wee hours of the morning. Sometime during the night she came to him in his dreams and told him that everything was going to be all right, that soon he would be joining her in a far better place.
He awoke the next morning in a cold sweat. He knew that to keep his sanity he had to get out for a while. He set out to run his lines, but was once again halted in his endeavor. He watched them getting prepared for the hunt from behind the cover of a huge oak tree. Jim Clayton was at the bottom of the rise, back of the cabin. He held the leashes of his two straining bloodhounds. With him, and obviously paying him for his dogs services, were two mercenary types. Faden suspected that there had been a reward put on his capture, and he could be expecting much more of this sort of thing.
He decided to discourage these parasites on the ass of humanity, as fast as he could. Maybe it would deter any other bounty hunters that might want to try their luck. He took aim and fired, shattering the snout of the lead dog. He heard Jim scream in anger and alarm at the two men in his company.
"I tried to tell you two dumb sons-a-bitches that you'll never bring him in. He's too smart for city folk like you. He's gonna kill them dogs, then us. I'm a-fixin’ to get me and my hounds outta here. If you half a brain ‘tween the two of you, you'll foller me out."
All of this was said from behind the shelter of a boulder. He then yelled, loud enough for Faden to clearly hear, “FADEN, I KNOW YOU ARE PISSED, AND I CAN'T SAY I BLAME YOU. I KNOW YOU ARE NOT GOING TO ANSWER AND GIVE YOUR POSITION AWAY, BUT IF YOU WILL ALLOW ME TO, I'LL TAKE MY DOGS AND THE THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS THESE JASPERS GAVE ME AND CLEAR OUT. I DIDN'T REALLY FANCY GOIN’ UP AGIN’ YOU NO WAY, BUT SHIT ... FADEN, TIMES IS HARD."
The little man in question, made up in courage, what he lacked in stature. He stood shakily to his feet and stepped boldly out into the open. Gaining nerve with each passing second he harnessed his dogs, taking special care of the wounded animal. One of the strangers grabbed Jim by the front of his shirt.
Faden couldn't hear what was being quietly said because of the distance between the three men and him, but the gist of the conversation wasn't lost on him. The stranger's wanted their money refunded. Faden took careful aim on the man that was shaking Jim like he was a rag doll. He squeezed the trigger (being surprised when the gun went off, as he had been trained to do), and had the dubious pleasure of seeing the kneecap shatter. The man tumbled to the ground like a failed tree, clutching the wounded knee to his chest and moaning fit to be tied.
"Get down you old fool", shouted the uninjured of the mercenaries. “He's going to shoot you next."
"Nope, he ain't!” replied Jim, puffing his chest out like a bantam rooster as he strutted around the man on the ground. “He hit just what he was aimin’ at. He's one of us, irregardless of what he's accused of doing, and it wasn't me he was a-shootin’ at. Let it be a lesson to you. I'd suggest you get what's left of your friend and beat feet out of here. He might just not be so neighborly with where he puts his next bullet.” He then delivered a boot to the seat of the wounded man on the ground, and exclaimed, “Learn you to fuck with me, you Yankee sums-a-bitch!"
Faden watched and smiled as Jim entered the brush out of sight of the other two. He took a large packet of beef jerky from one pocket and the makin's for cigarettes out of another. He withdrew an unopened pint of whisky from the back pocket of the khaki pants he wore. He laid all the wares on the ground as a peace offering, and said in a voice loud enough for him to hear, “Faden, me and mine won't be back, you can count on it. Good luck!"
Jim turned and walked away with the hounds trailing after him. He loaded the dogs into the back of his old pick-up truck, and climbed into the cab. He mopped the perspiration from his brow, then threw a hand into the air in the general direction of where he believed Faden to be hiding, and drove off. The two mercenary types were left with a long and painful walk back to town.
Faden tried hard to suppress a smile as the one man aided the injured one to the side of the highway. As luck would have it, a Highway Patrolman happened by and gave them a lift to town. Faden knew the patrolman would be back as soon as the wounded man was safely in the hospital. He would also be bringing a lot of reinforcement.
Faden waded the water at the edge of the river until he came to his tree. Grabbing a branch, he hoisted himself up, and entered the cellar by dropping into it. He was aware that there would be three or four days of confinement before he would be able to venture outside again.
Police officers had a job to do, and this he could understand and respect, but the bounty hunters weren't interested in justice being served. They were in it strictly for the money. They didn't care if he was taken dead, or alive, and would shoot on sight. He would do likewise. He was shocked to discover that he had enjoyed shooting the big bully when he had been manhandling Jim. In all the time that he was in Vietnam he had never fired a shot at the enemy, so this was a novelty for him.
If only he could get the thoughts of Sinda out of his head. He knew in his mind that she was lost to him forever, but his heart tried to tell him otherwise. He had been alone for a long time, by choice. He preferred solitude, or so he had believed until he had spent time with Sinda. His nights were tortured with dreams of her. She continued to speak to him in his subconscious, telling him that he would soon be with her in paradise. He couldn't imagine, for the life of him, how this occurrence could ever come about unless she was either in jail, or about to die. These seemed to be the only two options left open to him. It was all the ravings of a delusional madman. This was the only logical conclusion he could draw.
CHAPTER XI
Faden remained below the ground for several days while the police searched the area. They finally lost interest in him once again when the three-day storm came through. He stepped out of the cellar to the brightest sun shiny day that he could ever recall. Everything smelled so fresh after being cooped up for so long. The lime that he poured on top of his excrement in the five-gallon bucket worked to a degree, but there wasn't anything that matched the scent of freshness after a rain shower washed the land. He had never before paid that much attention to such details.
In the midst of his pondering over the many wonders of nature, he heard men shouting to each other, and they sounded near, but then noise really carried along the river. He didn't hear any yelping hounds so it might just be some fishermen ... no such luck, he discovered as he scaled a tree about a quarter of a mile from the cellar. There were five of the bounty hunters in a ragged line. The largest of the five kept bullying his way to the front. The other four finally let him have his way and he led by some twenty feet when they came within rifle range.
Faden had had his fill of this shit! It was time to shoot them all, and let God sort them out. He
took aim on the big man's right knee, and slowly squeezed the trigger. Working the lever action as fast as he could (which was pretty damn quick) he also shot the falling man in the left knee. The rest of the gang scattered taking cover where they may. Faden needed to draw them out into the open before they discovered where he was concealed. They were armed with heavy caliber hunting rifles, while his was merely a .22.
He took a bead on the injured man's right hand and fired. He was rewarded for his effort by the sight of the man jerking the hand to his chest. His left hand was busy stanching the flow of blood coming from the left kneecap.
The man screamed, and the bravest (or most foolhardy, depending on how you looked at it) of the remaining four broke cover and rushed to the man on the ground. He was intent on dragging the man to safety. Faden shot this man square in the forehead, and he dropped like a poled ox.
Faden had the growing certainty that he had to bring this to an end as quickly as possible. The police had grown somewhat lethargic of late in their efforts to search for him. As one of them had put it, they were tired of looking for a puff of smoke. He was aware that this recent exchange of gunfire would make the public outcry demand they renew their efforts. He would have to make his way to the bluffs of Oscar when this episode was over, and wait for things to cool down before he returned.
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