With the phone clenched before him in both hands to prevent anyone from taking it away, Adam jogged back toward the front door, his head half-turned to yell toward Dave, “Daddy! Come on! Let’s go in and I can show you some of my games!”
Dave watched, numb, as Adam held aside the phone long enough to throw the front door of the house open and disappear inside, Sampson on his heels. Per usual, Adam had not bothered to close the door so after it banged against the inside wall the momentum carried it back to the point that it almost closed itself. Dave stared at the opening, then back at his truck.
Had he physically brought the troubles from the farm back with him? Some kind of entity sat in the back of his truck for days as he drove around half the state? Did he even believe that was possible?
Dave rubbed the perpetually painful spot on his head.
***
“Why are you leaving this time?”
Marilyn stood with her arms folded as Dave shoved a hodgepodge of underwear, undershirts and socks into a small duffle bag. He walked past her and went into their large, shared closet, emerging with a dress shirt and a pair of slacks still on hangers. He bent down to pick up the duffle bag, smacked himself in the forehead, and went back to the closet. This time, still carrying the dress shirt and slacks in one hand, he held a pair of dress shoes and a leather belt in his other hand.
He again walked by Marilyn to set the shirt and slacks down on the bed as he shoved the shoes and belt into the duffle bag.
“Are you going to speak?”
Dave stopped forcing things into the duffle bag and looked up to stare at Marilyn. To his discredit, he’d made the decision to stay at the house long enough to have dinner and get Adam to bed, but he had no advance plan as to what he would tell Marilyn. She was a complication that he no longer had time for.
“I don’t know what it is you want me to say.” “Just answer me—where are you going?”
Dave picked up a shoe and angrily shoved it into the duffle bag. “I’m not the one with the additional significant other. I thought you’d enjoy the freedom.”
Marilyn unfolded her arms, clenched her hands and hissed, “Keep your voice down David! Adam is probably still awake!”
“At some point we’re going to have to tell him something. He’s a smart kid. I think he’s going to notice when we don’t live in the same house anymore.”
Marilyn hit her clenched hands against her legs and stifled a scream. “Stop being so smug! Don’t you care at all anymore?”
Dave picked up the now overfull duffle bag in one hand and draped the shirt and slacks against his back via the loops of the hangers that extended past his shoulder. He studied Marilyn for a moment and realized that her rage, which had never reached this level before, had an odd, calming effect on him—which only enraged her further.
What should he say? There’s a bogyman in the bed of his truck? He was afraid he had lost his mind, or he had a tumor that was doing that for him? She was right—he didn’t care. The bond between them which had previously been strong, and vibrant, had simply withered and died from neglect. The neglect on his part came from the amount of time and effort required by his job—or was that just a convenient excuse? It really no longer mattered. He needed to protect his family. He did not love her anymore, but she was family, and if anything happened to him she would be the one taking care of Adam.
The vision of the shape in the bed of his truck appeared in his head again. Ignoring Marilyn, he went to the nearby window and pulled the blinds to the side to peer out.
Marilyn clenched and unclenched her hands. She was so far past anger that she was unable to speak. Her husband, ignoring her completely, continued to alternate between packing, rubbing his head and staring out window. Nothing she said had pierced the blank look on his face
—a look she was convinced was just another example of the passive- aggressive tact he took every time they had a serious argument.
Screw him!
Living with him was like living with a robot. He did everything that was asked of him, but there was no feeling attached to his actions. His sense of duty had swelled to the point that there was no room left for love, or
friendship—except when it came to Adam. For whatever reason, Adam innately knew how to get past the various obstacles Dave erected. Maybe it was more accurate to say that when it came to Adam, Dave had no obstacles.
The lengthy pause between them was broken by the appearance of Samp- son, who had come up to check on them. He immediately homed in on the duffle bag, which his furry brain equated to a trip to the farm. He rushed over and jumped up on his hind legs to show support of the idea, then rushed off to go sit by the back door and make sure that he was not left behind.
As the clattering of Sampson’s nails on the stairs subsided Dave couldn’t help but break into a small grin. “I guess the secret’s out—I’m going to the farm.”
Marilyn tried to hang on to her anger and her desire to push for some sort of resolution, but she found that whenever Dave momentarily let his guard down the best thing to do was to go with it. Pushing him further just made him put the gates right back up.
“I figured that. But why? You just got back and I thought you had a meeting here tomorrow?”
Dave set the duffle bag back down on the bed and gently laid the slacks and shirt on top of it. He was tired of all the secrets and the fights they fueled. He would lay out the facts. That would be enough for now. Probably more than enough.
“I do, but I need to meet a deputy at the farm in the morning.” She opened her mouth to ask a follow-up question but he held up his hand, asking her to wait.
He gathered his thoughts regarding what might or might not be in the bed of his truck, the state of his marriage and the likelihood that there
would ever be another family event at the farm. “There’s been some strange stuff going on out there over the past few months. One of the game cameras showed a deer being dismembered. The other day all the fish in the large pond were floating on top of the water, dead.”
Dave sat wearily at the edge of the bed and absently rubbed his painful skull.
“What do you mean dismembered?”
Dave stared down at the floor for a moment and then looked up at her. “The game camera is set to take pictures every minute when it senses motion. I’ve been pulling the pics with photos of wildlife and I submit those each year as part of the wildlife census.”
Marilyn nodded, but obviously wanted more information. “So you have pictures of someone killing a deer?”
Dave smiled grimly. “No, I had pictures of a deer being systematically taken apart but whoever was doing it was smart enough to somehow avoid being in the pictures.”
Marilyn drew closer and, somewhat awkwardly, laid a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “And the Sheriff ’s department has the pictures? What are they doing about it? And what do you mean all of the fish are dead?”
Dave shook his head and went back to staring at the ground. “The pic- tures were lost when that crappy old laptop finally died. I don’t know if the deputy actually believes me or not, but I accidentally pulled up the deer’s head from the bottom of the pond when Adam and I were fish- ing.” He rubbed his head again. “I don’t know what killed all the fish. That just happened a couple of days ago.”
He thought through what else, if anything, he should say at this point. Letting Marilyn in on some of what he had experienced felt good. To go any further and truly tell her about the headaches, the dark images
in the photos and his own concerns about his stability was problematic, particularly in light of the fact that they were likely about to enter nego- tiations over the custody and visitation of Adam. He’d told her enough. For the good of all involved, he’d spend the next couple of weeks out at the farm while he tried to piece all of this together.
Marilyn stared down at Dave, who continued to stare at the floor. The act of telling her what he’d been hiding seemed to have exhausted him. She noted the lar
ge number of new gray hairs around his temples and his ears. Regardless of what else was happening between them, she wanted to console him. Her hand moved to gently touch his head and a thought ran across her mind that stopped that motion cold.
She reached down and pulled up on his chin so that he was forced to stare at her. “Are you telling me that someone is running amok on our farm, killing deer and poisoning our ponds, and you still brought Adam out there to spend the night?”
He opened his mouth with the expectation that he would have his usual, snappy retort on hand, but was not prepared for this perspective, and how bad he looked. One of the only things he had left was his belief that he was a good father. But, of course, the short answer to her question was yes. It was stupid to have brought Adam out there, but he did not want to disappoint their son. He was also selfishly worried that telling the truth would mean that he’d be forced to sell the farm—before he’d more recently realized that their failed marriage was likely going to compel that regardless. He could add that he slept on the couch with a shotgun at his side for safety, but that was probably not going to aid the cause.
There is one thing, however, that her question clearly conveyed. He re- moved her hand from his chin and stood so that he was looking down into her eyes. “I appreciate your concern on my behalf.”
He strode back in to the closet and quickly reemerged with an even larger number of shirts and slacks on hangers. Striding past Marilyn without
making eye contact, he combined this new pile of work clothing with the others he had already pulled out and started to walk out of the room before Marilyn put herself in his path.
“So that’s it? You’re just going to storm out of here?”
Dave stepped to one side and brushed past her on his way to the door. Without pausing or turning he called out, “Stop pretending to care, and I’ll do the same. It’s probably easier for everyone that way.”
His attempt at a surly exit was ruined by the appearance of Adam in the doorway. Dave leaned down to pick him up in his already-full arms and got a bit further into the hall. He tried to close the bedroom door behind him as well, and was mostly successful.
Dave deposited his bags, and Adam, onto the carpeted floor. He gently stroked the hair out of Adam’s eyes.
“Daddy, why is Mommy crying?”
Dave turned to look at the still open portion of the doorway and heard the anguished sounds of Marilyn weeping. He turned back to Adam and tried, and failed, to smile. “It’s okay buddy. Mommy’s just a little sad.”
Fresh sobs from Marilyn immediately undercut Dave’s assertion. “Are you fighting? I heard fighting?”
Dave walked over to the door and shut it—catching a last glimpse of Marilyn disappearing farther into the room to muffle her crying.
“It’s okay buddy. Sometimes grown-ups fight.” He pulled on the door- knob one more time to make sure it was closed, and then ruffled Adam’s hair. “Help me out here and go back to your room and go to sleep, okay?”
Adam stared at him, unmoved. “Why are you leaving again?”
Dave’s knees could not take any more of the bending, so instead he dumped everything he had been holding to the floor and moved into what was called “Indian-style” when he was a kid but was now described in the politically correct world as “crisscross applesauce.”
“There’s just some things I need to do out there. I’d take you with me but it won’t be any fun.”
Dave leaned his head against the edge of the door, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Adam lifted his small hand up to Dave’s gray head and rustled it. “I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”
The tears ran freely from the corners of Dave’s eyes as he leaned forward to kiss Adam on the head and then painfully got to his feet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Fishy
The next morning Dave stood at the top of the dam wall of the lower pond. Deputy Evans stood a few feet away. They both watched the surreal setting below them as hundreds of vultures feasted on the bloated remains of the dead fish. The wind and the wading birds had pushed most of the carcasses to the tall grass in the small amount of shallow water lining the east side of the pond. Most of the flesh had been picked off the exposed side of each fish, so the large, ungainly birds thrust their beaks deep into the empty rib cages of the larger fish and attempted to flip them over to gain access to the slippery, decayed meat that sat on the other side.
Many of the fish dragged all the way onto land had turned into im- promptu ant mounds with thousands upon thousands of fire ants swarm- ing over them. The vultures knew better than to attempt to poach prey already claimed by the ants, and there was plenty of rotten flesh to go around.
The carcass of the largest catfish still floated out in the middle, its bloated side slowly sloughing off into the now fetid water. Dave watched as yet another vulture attempted to land on the large feast, and once again found that its added weight pushed the bloated mess back into the water. The vulture’s cry of indignation at getting wet was added to the other squawks and screeches from the assembled feeding crew. This attempt, like the others, failing, the vulture released its talons and beat at the air to regain flight with its now damp wings.
Dave took another picture with his phone. He checked the output, gri- maced, and then put the phone back in his pocket. “I’m not sure how I’ll categorize this for the wildlife census—can I claim to have created a feeding trough for the vultures?”
His attempt at humor failed miserably, likely because there was no humor left within him. He was a skinny, tired, beaten man.
Deputy Evans, her department-issued camera in hand, snapped several different shots of the grim scene in front of her. “And the fish die-off happened Tuesday morning?”
Dave stuck his hands into his pockets and absently kicked at an ant bed at his feet. There was no reaction from the ants, probably because they were all busy eating rotten fish. “Yes. I spent the night Monday, and came out here first thing Tuesday morning on a walk.”
Deputy Evans grimaced as the wind brought her a wave of stink that nearly made her vomit. She held her nose, closed her mouth and moved several feet farther down the dam wall. A nearby vulture’s only conces- sion to her presence was to slowly move to the far side of the fish it was working on. Deputy Evans blew out the breath she had been holding, snapped a couple more shots and then brought the camera down to her side.
“Shall we go back to your house so you can sign a statement?”
Dave nodded, and the two of them walked gingerly through the once- again tall grass, dodging vultures and ant hills, pushing their respective hands against their noses to try and block out the stench. With Dave in the lead, they said nothing as they made their way back up the hill and into the pasture that separated the pond from the house.
Deputy Evans’ cruiser was parked sideways next to Dave’s truck. Dave walked between the vehicles and then stomped his feet on the concrete patio before reaching down to pull off his boots.
A muffled, buzzing noise came from somewhere close by. Dave mum- bled something and then pulled his phone from his pocket. He entered his code, and the screen, which had been left on his email inbox, was already full of bold, new messages. He touched the screen a couple of times and saw that the incoming call was from yet another client. He hit ignore, turned off the vibration mode and put his phone face down on the table.
Dave ran his fingers across his face, sighed heavily and said, “Sorry, where were we?”
“You look tired Mr. Reynolds. Everything OK?”
Dave smiled sarcastically and spreads his arms for emphasis, “Everything is just great—that’s why we’re here isn’t it?”
Deputy Evans put up with quite a bit for her job; crude language, sexual innuendo, machismo and the rest. The one thing that still got under her skin was sarcasm, and her face showed just how much she appreciated Dave’s comment.
Dave noted her reaction, realized he was being an ass, and attempted to restart. “I
’m sorry. Yes, I’m tired. It’s been a long few weeks.” He thought about that some more. “It’s actually been a long few months.”
Deputy Evans nodded, and Dave took that as permission to move for- ward. “So what exactly would you like me to say for the report? I’ve already told you what I know, which isn’t much. I went down to the pond and it was full of dead fish. I sent you a text later that day and now we’re here.”
Deputy Evans nodded again. “We’ll make sure we document everything we can for the report. I also need to ask—do you have any issues with your neighbors or anyone else in the area that I should know about?”
Dave shook his head no. “I pretty much keep to myself when I’m out here. I’ve had problems with break-ins in the past, and those could have
come from neighbors, but I haven’t had any confrontations or issues with neighbors.”
He felt that the spirit of this statement was true, provided that Bill Jen- nings wasn’t part of the discussion. Then again, technically speaking, nothing had actually happened between him and Bill. They just didn’t like each other. At all.
Deputy Evans made a cryptic note in her pad. “What about back in Houston? Is there anyone there who knows where your country place is, and would go to the trouble of coming out here to get even with you for something?”
Dave immediately thought of Marilyn, and then had to stop the begin- nings of a sarcastic smirk. Marilyn had no doubt thought about setting fire to this place at one time or another, but she’d never actually do any- thing like that. He tried to envision her skulking through the tall grass with a vial of poison—
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