It was hard to tell if the kid was trying to convince Faden, or himself, as the tears streamed down his face unchecked.
Faden could easily relate to the boy's plight, he had also lost his mother at a young age. He gave the boy another five hundred dollars, which was all the money he had on him, and told the boy to buy some groceries and anything else they might need. He felt bad that he didn't have more to give. He also told the boy to tell his father that he better straighten up and take care of his responsibilities, or he, Faden, was going to come back to town and kick the shit out of him.
The boy replied that he would do exactly as instructed, then very adult like, wished Faden good luck. He handed Faden a Wichita Falls Times newspaper, and watched until Faden was out of sight. He then continued with his paper route, busting a gut to get home and tell his daddy about his early morning adventure.
More than a hundred men, at one time or other had been pursuing this legendary ghost. Most, not even getting a glimpse of him, and yet, he, Tommy Coffee, had spoken at length with him as if they were old friends.
CHAPTER XIII
Faden made it back to the cellar right at the crack of dawn. He had swallowed one of the antibiotics and a Tylenol on the way home. He could feel relief already. He changed into dry clothing and laid down after tossing the unread newspaper into a corner. He needed sleep in the worse way. Figuring he had nothing to lose, and being aware that the wind blown sand had erased his scent, he took another Tylenol and went into a deep sleep.
He awoke to the beautiful sound of many birds singing in perfect harmony. His left arm was asleep, and the pins and needles sensation was driving him crazy. He attempted to raise his arm so that he might get some feeling restored to it, but found that he couldn't because something was lying on it. He glanced over, and from what little sunlight that filtered in through the makeshift skylight of the cell he saw a familiar red haired head cradled on his forearm.
It had all been nothing but a bad dream!!!
Sinda hadn't betrayed him after all. She did indeed love him. It had been the worse and most true to life nightmare he had ever experienced. But now it was over, and life would be so good. If his dreams of the future were going to be anything like the one he had just had, then he wasn't ever going to sleep again. His heart still pounded in his chest so loudly that he felt sure it would soon awaken Sinda.
The law wasn't pursuing him, and he didn't have a toothache. He had never fired a shot at another, and had never been fired upon himself. The dream had been so lifelike and vivid that he was still trembling. He would get up and fix their breakfast just as he had yesterday morning, and many of the previous mornings before that. After breakfast he was going to suggest they spend the day in bed holding on to one another for all they were worth.
Just wait until he told Sinda about his dream, she would certainly get a hoot out of this one. She was going to want to know which one of the two of them was going through drug withdrawals. He decided right then that he would never again eat anything too spicy before going to bed.
He lovingly stroked the luxurious locks of hair on the back of her head, and softly called out her name. She murmured a sleep ridden response, and curled tighter into a ball, which made her delectable bare derriere press more firmly against his left leg. Her flesh was so cold, almost shockingly so.
"Sinda,” he called, while gently shaking her shoulder.
She whispered something unintelligible and turned her head toward him. Faden involuntarily jerked his arm free, and jumped out of bed. Flesh eating worms crawled through her empty eye sockets, and maggots spewed out of her mouth when she tried to speak. The maggots had eaten through all of the flesh, which held her bottom lip in place, except for a small spot in the very corner of her mouth. The lip was now on her chin, hanging straight down from that corner.
She lunged across the bed, wrapping her arms around his legs. Terror all but paralyzed him, as he shouted, “Nooooooo!” and pushed her away from him. Her body went limp and slithered to the floor. When next she raised her head, it wasn't her own. It was the leering face of Ben Roachman that sat upon her shoulders.
"No!” cried Faden, as he willed himself to awaken, so that he might leave this nightmarish HELL behind. But no matter what he tried, it wouldn't happen. He must have undoubtedly died, and had indeed been sent straight to hell. Roachman was the devil, and would you just look at him.
He sat on the edge of the bed winking obscenely at Faden. It was Ben's ugly head that was situated above the lovely twin breast and torso of Sinda Rilla. It was so grotesque that Faden began to vomit.
And the retching woke him up. He was in danger of strangling on the bile. When he had finally hacked up enough of the vile stuff to breathe normally again, he made a mental note to himself to never take two of the Tylenol so close together. At least, not if he was going to sleep.
He toiled with the door for a long period of time before he managed to get it open. Another windstorm on the evening of his return from Byers had piled a considerable amount of sand on top of the door. He had been able to move it an inch or two at a time by getting on all fours and putting his back against it. This allowed some of the sand to sift inside, while the rest of it fell in a pile at the back of the door.
He took an antibiotic and a Tylenol, and went outside. He was determined to catch some fresh catfish today come Hell or high water, and may the devil take care of anyone who got in his way. He got the lines baited, without incident, and was on his way back to the cellar when the police helicopter topped the high rise of earth that bordered the river on the east bank. He made a headlong dive for the cover of a shallow ravine. The chopper flew past, and then made a wide turn to circle back. Dirt and small rocks geysered in miniature burst all around where he was laying as the man in the passenger seat of the copter fired at him with an automatic weapon. The crafts momentum carried it out over the water of the river. Faden didn't want to kill any policemen, but in the same token, he didn't wish to be killed by them either. He chose this time to put three rapid burst of fire into the hydraulic system of the helicopter.
Black smoke poured from the now twirling copter. The pilot wisely crash-landed in the water using every bit of the failing steerage as the rotor stopped turning. Both of the men emerged safely from the river. One of them wrung the water out of the cap he had managed to hold onto while swimming for the shore. He placed it on his head, but then had the displeasure of seeing it land back in the water, just a moment before he heard the crack of the rifle shot and the whine of the slug as it passed an inch above his head, taking the cap with it.
"All right, Faden! We are going. It's a job, you know. We're just doing our job.” The speaker stood at the edge of the river with his hands held high in the air.
The other man took a step forward, but stopped short when Faden put three rapid shots into the sand immediately in front of his left foot. He backed into the water, and then shrugged his shoulders as if to ask if this was what Faden wanted.
Faden fired two shots into the river. The two men saw the eruptions on the surface of the water, and shouted in unison, “You want us to swim the river out of here?"
Faden shot once more into the river. The two men sat down at the edge of the river and removed their socks and shoes. They then waded out into the current and drifted downstream. Faden watched until they went around a bend and out of sight. He lost interest, knowing they wouldn't be back today, if ever. He caught two, four-pound channel cats, and dined on fresh fish that night.
It was three days before the swelling in his jaw went down, taking the pain with it. He only had two or three minor scrapes with John Law and the bounty hunters over the next four days. Someone or something else must have happened to divert their attention away from him. The best he could determine, he had been on the lam for more than a year and seven months. He wondered why the National Guard and various Law Enforcement Agencies hadn't been back to look for him in a concentrated effort. He was aware that they had combed the
area thoroughly while he was staying in the bluffs of Oscar, and figured that he had Dewayne to thank for the heat not being hotter than it was. That there were still a lot of people searching for him every day, was a certainty, but most were amateurs and of little consequence. He prayed that Sinda or whomever, had taken the reward off of him, but felt there was hardly a chance of this eventuality. He would most likely be a fugitive until his capture (which wasn't an option), or death took place.
The rain fell softly on the earth. It had been the wettest two years running that he could recall. This, more than anything else was what led to his continued freedom. He sincerely hoped the weather held out. The dreary cloudy days and nights had a way of taking the enthusiasm out of even the most die-hard of the searchers. There was something about standing or sitting around in wet clothing that really put a damper on being outside in the elements.
Faden had watched massive trees that had been uprooted somewhere upstream go by on the bank-to-bank Red River. Foam was a constant sight along the edge, and he knew from secretly watching that record-breaking fish were being taken from the water that he had such an affinity for. He longed to join the fishermen in their quest. They obviously knew he was in the general area (but were also aware that if they left him alone, he would return the favor), and yet paid him no mind despite the warnings from the police. These were men who not so long ago had been his friends, and many of them still considered him a pal that was incapable of doing the atrocities of which he was blamed.
His lungs were bursting and he had a stitch in his side that threatened to tear him apart. He had joyfully been partaking of his newest hobby of watching people fish for the sand bass that had started their run, and had all but been run over, himself, by three of the latest would-be fortune hunters. This particular batch was a cut above the rest, and had managed to get off a few shots in his direction. As his seemingly endless charmed luck would have it, they all missed, but the chase was on.
He jumped into the water of a swift running creek, and returned their fire. They were unscathed by his hastily fired bullets, but he accomplished what he had set out to do ... he made them scatter for cover. As they pumped shot after shot into the place he had been, he floated with the stream that ultimately emptied into the river. He exited the water via his tree, and entered the cellar by the usual means. He would stay put, secure in the knowledge that the oncoming storm would soon wipe away all trace of him.
CHAPTER XIV
Faden dreamed constantly of Sinda Rilla, and it was always the same ending. She would dump him for some reason or the other, and he would never hold another, and not see her face. She had gotten into his blood and under his skin, and there absolutely wasn't any way possible that he was ever going to get her out. He would be standing at the edge of the river watching the ripples dance in the wind on top of the water, when the bullet with his name on it would take him. He would always awaken from these nightmares shivering in a cold sweat.
He had been on self-imposed confinement for two whole days when he remembered the newspaper that Tommy had given him. He decided it was past time to get caught up on what was happening around Wichita Falls and the surrounding area. The news would be somewhat dated, but old news was better than no news. There might just be something about him in it.
He unfolded the paper, and there it was right in the front-page headline;
LOCAL MAN STILL BEING SOUGHT IN SUPERSTAR'S MURDER
It has been eighteen months since Sinda Rilla was slain. As of this writing, nothing further has been discovered as to the whereabouts of the suspected culprit. Although he has been sighted numerous times, he continues to elude all efforts of capture. The five hundred thousand-dollar reward for the arrest of the suspect is still in effect.
On another note, there is growing public outrage at the handling of the situation by local law enforcement agencies, and the numerous bounty hunters that have flocked to the area causing considerable damage to surrounding properties, and a general unrest among local citizenry. No one feels safe to be anywhere near the river, or out in the countryside for that matter. Ironically, the upshot of it is the fact that the suspect has harmed not a single innocent person. While three men have been killed by the suspect, most believe suspect acted in self-defense. All persons harmed were bounty hunters. There is growing concern over the accidental shooting of two innocent fishermen that were mistaken for the fugitive by said bounty hunters. The suspect himself is rapidly becoming somewhat of a folk-hero, and has unintentionally amassed quite a following.
* * *.*
There was more, but Faden couldn't see through the tears of mixed emotions, which clouded his eyes and senses. On the one hand he was greatly saddened by Sinda's senseless murder, while on the other, he couldn't help the relief he felt knowing she hadn't betrayed him. She had been killed while still in his cabin. The implications of this fact were astounding and far-reaching.
She didn't betray him; and he wasn't wanted for only kidnapping her. They actually believed he had murdered the woman whom he idolized and placed above all others. This was the most preposterous thing he had ever heard. How could so many people be afflicted with such stupidity at the same time? Didn't they know that he couldn't possibly harm a hair on her beautiful head? And that he never did.
It was too late now, though. He had taken life while on the run, and there was no denying the fact. Unbelievably, there was lightness around his heart that he hadn't felt in some time. He could live, or die, with equal emotion now that he knew she hadn't deserted him. She was with him now, in spirit, he had felt her presence for quite a while, and hadn't recognized it for what it really was. She had been in his vision, and was constantly present in all of his dreams. He had even imagined that at times she talked to him. He now believed that the reason she always left him in his dreams was because she was dead, not because she desired to. She wouldn't come back to him because she couldn't.
He shook his head at the tragedy of it all. He had finally found someone to love, and to be loved by, only to have her taken from him by some psychopathic killer. There was apparently no justice in the world except for what was meted out by folks like him. They were spending valuable time and resources trying to catch him while the real culprit roamed free to do it again somewhere else. He now knew from reading the newspaper that he was the one and only suspect, so whoever had set him up was evidently a professional. If he had known that he was wanted for murder from the start, then he might have been able to do something about it, depending on how well the frame had been set. But it was all water under the bridge now. He would just have to face the consequences of his actions.
Life became monotonous now that he knew the truth about Sinda and the hopelessness where she was concerned. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had always believed she would someday come back to him. His intuition hadn't been that far off. She would most certainly have returned to his open arms if she had been able.
He went through the motions of surviving. He ate even though he was seldom hungry. He slept when the tedium became too much and exhaustion claimed his body. He was above and beyond all else, thunderstruck with heartsickness. He wanted to join Sinda, now knew she wanted him to, and yet, suicide wasn't an option to be considered. Sinda had gone to Heaven, of this he was certain. Suicide would buy him a fast ticket straight to hell, and this he couldn't have.
He more or less left himself uncovered for most of the time he was outside. He would see a helicopter or a group of men making their obligatory routine search for him, and would make only a desultory attempt at concealment. He was aware that the public expected this of the police. It had been such a long time since the murder, and the world hadn't stopped very long for the bereavement of Sinda Rilla. She was yesterday's news. Life went on, and the law enforcement officers were often needed elsewhere. The police believed that one day Faden would tire of his solitary life, and would foul-up and make a mistake that would lead to his subsequent arrest.
The bounty hunters as a w
hole had tired of braving the elements more than anything else. A few still continued with the search, but any real hope of capturing, or killing him had vanished a long time ago. Some, from far away, believed him to be a figment of local law enforcement's imagination. Of course, these were the one's that had never actually come across him. Those who did, and lived, knew he was for real, and carried the emotional and physical scars to prove it.
The same local folks that had at first aided these parasites in their pursuit of Faden now shunned them. It was an everyday occurrence to have to mend fences, and clean up after the bounty hunters. They had become an embarrassment and a nuisance for the good people of Beaver Point, and were no longer welcome. Faden's property, while still open to the investigation of the police, was posted to all civilian traffic. The signs read, ALL SURVIVORS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW. Trespassing arrest had become big business for the local courts, but most of the man-hunters had simply given up from lack of interest. It was hard to adhere to something that you never actually came in contact with. It was like chasing the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Financial resources were rapidly depleted during the search and most of them had much easier cases which to apply their trade.
This abandonment was what led to most of Faden's boredom. There were very few giving chase anymore. Things began to look up one day when Faden accidentally slipped up on a two-man camp. He listened as they conversed in subdued tones, of a man (who as they claimed was larger than life) that was coming to seek out Faden. They had two days left to spot Faden's whereabouts before the man arrived. The man apparently worked alone, and everyone else in the area had to vamoose, or be squashed like a bug by him.
Faden had heard enough to assess the upcoming situation. It was now time to have some fun with these guys. With an authoritative tone of voice, he shouted, “Throw down your weapons and let me see those hands reaching for the sky. This is Sheriff Dewayne McClure and you're under arrest for trespassing on private property."
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