“If you just—”
He gives me a glare as he finally gets it to stand.
“Okay, never mind.”
He takes a step back, gears up, and swings down hard at the log.
Whap.
The axe head misses, but the log catches the handle, jarring his whole hand. I can see it hurts like hell, but he shakes off the pain.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
He swings again. This time, the axe bites, but the results are less than stellar and the axe is now jammed. He lifts the whole thing up, slamming axe and wood together against the ground, hoping it’ll split, but it only digs a hole in the dirt. He strikes it again and again, slowly worming the axe through the wood until it separates, all except for a long strip of grain that holds the two pieces together. He tears them apart, seeming satisfied but breathing hard.
He takes another piece of wood. This time he makes his selection more quickly. He sets the log up and goes through the same process, working hard to split it in two.
He swings and misses completely.
“Easy, man,” I wince. “I know we’ve been through a lot, but I really don’t want to sew on a toe.”
“Relax,” he pants, as he swings again and again, until it finally splits, the pieces shooting sideways. “There.” He’s sweaty and exhausted.
“For someone who is so skilled in the world of technology, you know very little about the basics of chopping wood, Mr. Wolfe.”
He glares at me, but he’s too tired to argue.
I hold out my hand. “May I?”
He doesn’t say a word, just hands me the axe. I take it from him and toss it on the ground. “Now, I feel a little safer.”
I take a log from the pile and lean one end across the far side of the big log that lies beside the woodpile.
“Okay, now, you interested in learning something you don’t know?”
He says nothing, but he’s watching intently. I pick up the axe, pull it back and swing in a smooth, strong stroke.
Whump.
The head hits and the log splits—safely and easily, despite my non-traditional method.
“My grandpa showed me when I was a kid. The wood doesn’t move and if you miss, the axe sticks in the cross-piece before it ever hits your leg. It also takes way less energy.”
I toss the two pieces to the side and grab a larger log.
Whump.
Again, it splits easily in two. I lay them side by side on the cross log, splitting them into four pieces. I toss them out of the way.
“It’s about surface area, balance, and impact.” I lay another log down. “Want to try?”
I offer the axe back to Charlie and he takes my place. I set a piece of wood for him and step back. He swings and it splits in two.
“Easy, huh?”
“Maybe,” he mumbles, but his face shows surprise at the little effort it took.
I put another block of wood down. He hits it with the axe. Two pieces go flying.
“Well, how about that, Shepherd. You know stuff.” He grabs his own piece and carries on.
“I can help, you know.”
“It’s okay. I need the practice.”
“Well, practice makes perfect,” I joke.
“Hey, nothing’s perfect. Only better.”
He keeps chopping and soon builds a satisfactory pile of firewood ready for the evening.
“That’s lots. Mom and Dad should be happy.”
“Cool.” He seems content with his progress, his face sweaty, his hands dirty and red from the work. “I’m going to see if I can get a cell signal.” He sets the axe by the woodpile and grabs his shirt, heading down the path to the dock.
It’s only after he leaves that I realize he never brought up the missing guy once.
chapter 17
By the time Charlie’s back from the lake, Heather’s returned from town.
“Hey,” she smiles at him. “You’re a bit off the path.”
“Yes, I am.”
Without missing a beat she carries on, “You like cinnamon buns in the morning?”
“I do.”
“Well, then, we’ve got you covered. These are the best in the province.”
Charlie plunks himself down beside her. “The best? Even better than that place on 14th?”
She nods.
He eyes her. “I’m skeptical because I barely know you, but since your Shepherd’s sister, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Well, that’s nice of you.”
Mom calls us to the table and we find our seats.
Charlie takes a place beside Dad and admires the food. “This looks good.”
We fill our plates and Charlie is modest in what he takes, but I’m guessing he’ll be ready for seconds before the rest of us. And possibly thirds.
“Hey, City Boy. Pass the salt,” Heather calls out.
Mom and Dad laugh. Charlie gets a big smile on his face and hands over the shaker.
Even though he’s been to our house in the city a couple of times, he’s never been so warm and social. Watching him with my family now, it feels like he’s always belonged at this table.
He polishes off his first plate and reaches for a second helping of pasta salad. “This is really delicious. Who made it?”
“Ben,” Mom answers.
“Excellent work, Mr. Shepherd,” he says, shovelling more into his mouth.
“Charles, please don’t speak with your mouth full,” Mom cautions.
I swear he’s taken aback by it, but he chews and swallows before replying, “Sorry, Mrs. Shepherd.”
Dad leans forward to top up his wine. “So how was it out West?” he asks.
Charlie waits a moment, but he’s only finishing what’s in his mouth before he answers. “Seattle was a good scene to explore, but no point in staying anywhere too long.”
“Mom said you were in British Columbia,” Heather says.
“Yeah, I was picked up by a couple driving a huge boat of a car outside of Everett. They had their air conditioning cranked so high, I was freezing, but I didn’t want to be rude and ask for a blanket. And even though they were only taking a ferry out of Burlington, they took me all the way to the border so I could walk across.”
Dad, reliving his own youth, says, “I hitchhiked across Europe after high school and I used to love strolling into countries.”
Charlie nods but doesn’t seem to have any aspirations for such an adventure.
“What were you in bc for?” Mom asks.
This time he doesn’t have food in his mouth, but he still pauses a little before responding, “Dealing with some family stuff.”
“Someone out there you know?”
Charlie nods. “Yeah. My dad.”
Last time we talked about it, he’d said he never knew his father, so this comes as a surprise, but he doesn’t add anything else about the man and no one in my family chooses to pry.
There’s a bit of an awkward moment before Charlie changes the subject. “Anyway, by the time I was ready to make my way back, I was out of money, so I ended up working as a farmhand.”
I drop my spoon for dramatic effect.
“Yeah, yeah, Shepherd. And I was about as good as you’d expect. Do you realize how bad cows smell?”
“You are a city boy!” I tease.
He shoots me a look but continues, “I did some work, hauling fruit from orchards to the stands for a week, and that got me a bus ticket back to Calgary. But I was stuck next to a guy who smelled like cheese, and although I really like cheese,” he says, gesturing at me as if I’ll back him up on this point, “this wasn’t good cheese.”
I sit back and watch him entertain Mom, Dad, and Heather. It’s interesting to witness. The frustration and surprise I felt whe
n he reappeared at my door has melted away, and I’ve remembered that feeling of connection I had with him through all the troubles last fall, and how I knew by the end of it that I could trust him with my life.
chapter 18
By the end of the evening, almost every plate is empty and we are all full. Charlie stands to clear the table. “Anthony and I can clean up.”
I’m not quite sure what I think about him volunteering me, but I rise and help out.
Mom, Dad, and Heather meander outside as we get to work. He fills the sink with water. “So how’s basketball, All Star?” he asks.
“It took a while to get back into it, but it’s good to be back on the court.”
“Yeah, I saw some of your games.”
Really? “Which ones?”
“I don’t know. That one at that school near that place. Oh, and that other one.”
I catch him grinning and know he’s just messing with me.
“But hey, you’re good out there. You’ve got what it takes. Well, except for the passion.”
I glare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hey man, you have a lot of drive, but you need something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, I’m not your coach. I wouldn’t worry though. You’ll find it. You’re that kind of guy.”
This is classic Charlie—giving you a compliment while simultaneously punching you in the face.
He’s not done, though. “So what was it like going back to school after stopping a serial killer?”
“I don’t know,” I say, defensive, thinking about Sheri, the bad dreams, the head games, the whispering in the hallways, and now Jodi’s threat of going all Big Sis on me. “What was it like for you?”
He passes me a handful of cutlery to dry. “Can’t tell you. I didn’t stay around much after a few weeks.”
“Why not?”
“Well, they thought I was weird to begin with. Once word got around about what we did, they’d gossip every time I walked by. I couldn’t handle it.”
“So you went to visit your dad?”
“Eventually.”
“You never mentioned him—”
He sets down the plate he’s scrubbing and shakes the suds off his hands. “Shepherd, I don’t want to talk about this stuff. It’s not fun and it’s not interesting. So let’s stop, okay?”
I nod. “Is that why I quit hearing from you?”
“Come on, really? You sound like an ex-girlfriend. ‘You never talk to me anymore, you don’t text—wah, wah, wah…’ You and I have nothing in common really, except being good at stopping bad guys.”
I set the glasses I’ve dried into the cupboard. “One bad guy.”
“So what. We did it, didn’t we? No one else did. Certainly not Gekas.”
“And we made such a mess of things that he almost walked.”
He ignores me. “Whatever, but if all you want to do is go to school, play basketball, and hang out with your buddies, that’s fine. Just don’t expect me to wait around.”
“Why not? You’re the only who understands what I went through.”
“Oh, so this is just about you?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I get that it was hard on you, but holding onto the past isn’t my thing.”
“What about you telling me never to forget?”
When we’d first started searching for Sheri, he’d told me to never let her memory die. His intensity had seemed to come from someplace secret.
“Remembering her and whining about the past are two very different things,” he tells me now. “One is about using it to do something and making a change in this world. The other is the complete opposite of that.”
I fold the wet towel and hang it over the oven handle to dry, “What about the dreams? The bad memories I just can’t shake?” I glance over at him. His back is turned as he pulls the plug to drain the water.
“You know, when I was working in the orchard, there was this dog that kept hanging around, wanting to be my friend. I hated it because it had the same colour fur as that one from the basement.”
I shudder at the thought of the dead dog the killer had left for us to find.
“Every time I thought about it,” Charlie adds. “I’d remember that smell of rotting flesh and wanted to gag.” He watches me. “So you know what I did?”
I wonder if I should let him finish this story.
“I went out and used a day’s wages to buy the best piece of steak I could. Then I cooked it, sat down, and shared it with that dumb mutt in the orchard.”
I stare at him, confused.
“Sometimes our monsters make sense and are right in front of us. But sometimes, we don’t want to see them because they’re obvious and that scares us, and that’s when we need to lean into the fear, because it’s never, ever going away.”
“What are you talking about?”
He wipes the counter clean and hangs the cloth over the tap. He examines the kitchen, admiring his work. “Should we join the others?”
“Charlie?”
He beams from ear to ear. “Aww, Shepherd, you know what I’m saying. I’m going to go searching for that missing guy, Terry, and sooner or later, you’re going to help me.”
chapter 19
Charlie heads outside to join my family by the fire and I rush to catch up to him, to argue with him, but he’s too fast and is sitting down beside them before I can say anything. He finds a spot between Mom and Heather, so I sit across from him beside Dad.
Heather roasts a marshmallow and hands it to Mom, who squishes it between two halves of a sandwich cookie.
Heather offers the stick to Charlie. “You want to try?”
“No, thanks, I’m still full from supper. Besides, I don’t want your brother having to worry about me burning down the forest.”
I’m too flustered to deliver a comeback and can only force a grin.
“Well, then, you’re definitely not allowed,” Dad, who may have had one too many glasses of wine at supper, pronounces “or I’d have to punish you… after you cut all my wood and did all my dishes—”
Mom chimes in, “And made you coffee. You’d feel so guilty, it would ruin you.”
Charlie smiles, enjoying the kidding and the compliments.
The fire is warm and meditative, and we all stare quietly into the flames. I glance at Charlie occasionally, but he’s ignoring me. He’ll keep nagging me to find this missing guy until I agree to help, and I’d like to keep saying no, but I’m certain he’ll break me eventually. When he gets something into his head, it’s hard to derail him—he’s like a dog with a bone.
“Well, old man, ready for bed?” Mom asks, and I see Dad doing the slow blink, trying to fight the sleep that’s beginning to overtake him. He nods and the two of them go up the stairs into the cabin.
Heather sits beside Charlie. I want her to go up to bed as well, but I’m not sure what I’ll say to him when she does.
“It’s late enough,” Heather says, peering into the fire “but I’ve been quiet for too long.” She turns to Charlie. “You know that shit you two pulled last year?”
I look at her, slightly shocked. She’s never spoken about those days to me. Ever.
Charlie nods, keeping his guard down. “Yup.”
“That was the stupidest thing anyone has ever dragged my brother into. And you deserve every ounce of hate I hold for you.”
Charlie nods again, smiling.
“But you stopped that—” she changes her tone and continues, “you stopped him. And you saved those two girls. And you definitely protected the ones he never got to, the ones we’ll never know about.” She glances over at me. “I only wish that you two had stopped him sooner.”
Charlie watches in the firelight and I think he�
��s gotten off easy, but she’s not done. “But I don’t know you and I don’t know why you’re here and I don’t trust you. If you do anything that hurts my brother, you can bet your ass I will hurt you back.”
She gazes into the flames for a moment longer before finally pushing herself out of her chair. “Well, I think that’s enough for tonight. Make sure you pour water on the fire before you go to bed.”
Charlie watches as she ascends the steps, disappearing into the darkness beyond the firelight. He picks up a stick and stirs the coals.
“Why’d you come to me, Shepherd? Why’d you ask me to help you when Sheri disappeared?”
“I don’t know. You seemed like the kind of guy who knew how to solve problems.”
“Why not wait for the cops?”
“It seemed like they were going too slow and Sheri would be…”
“She was dead, Shepherd. Even before we started.”
I study him, watching the orange flickering pull him out of the darkness.
“You knew that from the beginning, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So why’d you help?”
“Because we needed to find her, no matter what.”
I move over, sit beside him, taking the stick he’s stirring the coals with from him. “If we go searching for this guy, Terry, he’s probably dead too, right?”
“Yes.”
“And we may never find him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why bother? If it’s too late?”
“Because we’re here. And doing nothing is more harmful than us trying.”
“See that’s the thing. I don’t get that. You like this stuff and you’re good at it. Why do you need me?”
“Well, since your folks were nice enough to give me a place to stay and food in my belly, having you with me as I come and go looking for answers would sure make things run more smoothly.”
“And that’s it?”
Charlie winces, like he’s in pain. “You’re not really going to make me say this, are you?”
“What?”
“You—” he sighs dramatically, gesticulating with his arms. “We… You… Help… Complete… Make whole…”
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