by David Yates
Now, as Braden stood receiving the warm Gulf wind on his face, he once again tried to recreate that “clenching” feeling in his mind. At the corner of the deck stood a small, three-legged wooden table, its surface just large enough to support the potted plant that rested there. Braden concentrated on the table and bore down with his mind. Nothing happened; the table just went on standing there.
Braden turned and sat in the canvas deck chair, letting his gaze scan the water. His thoughts turned to Silas. That Silas was still alive Braden had no doubt. He had been gone when Braden regained consciousness, and there had been none of his men left to carry him out. Also, he was certain that it had been Silas who had shot him in the back and murdered Manny. Although there was no one there to see it, Braden's blue eyes turned ice-cold at the thought of Silas. He remembered telling Manny (telling all of them, for that matter) that he didn't think he could just kill someone in cold blood. Now things were different; Silas had done that much. For it was Silas who had turned Braden into a true killer.
"My friend,” Braden said to himself, “you signed your own death warrant when you killed them. I will not rest until you are in the ground."
And there was something else; something that Manny and Charlie Archer hadn't known. Something that added even more fuel to Braden's already-blazing anger. About a week before her death, Sam had told him quietly one night that she was pregnant.
It was time to begin searching for Silas.
Braden boated in to Gus’ store. He walked in the door (a little bell jingled above his head) and strode up to Gus, who revealed the remaining six teeth in his head in a grin.
"Hey, kid, how ya doin'?” Gus drawled in his Southern accent.
Braden tossed Gus his boat key. “I'm doing okay, Gus, how about you?"
Gus caught the key deftly with one hand, displaying the grace which he still possessed even at seventy-something years old. It was the grace which had allowed him to play professional baseball at the AAA level for sixteen years in the Braves, Cubs and Cardinals organizations. He had even been called up to the majors several times during his career.
"Aw, fair to midland, I reckon,” Gus replied. He eyed the boat key and favored Braden with a wry sideways smile. “I take it you wanna borry my truck agin."
Braden allowed Gus a small smile. “Yeah, if you don't mind."
"Nah, go ahead an’ take her,” Gus said. He tossed Braden the truck keys. “I'm stuck here til closing, ennyway. Jus’ make sure and replace the gas like you done before an’ I'll be happy."
"You got it,” Braden said and walked out the door with a wave.
He walked to Gus’ truck, a ten-year-old Ford F-150 that had seen better days. Braden got in and fired the engine. He put the truck in gear and rolled onto the road, heading north.
When he reached Tallahassee, he stopped at a convenience store and asked the clerk if he could look at the phone book. The clerk plopped it down on the counter without a word. Braden got the addresses of several electronics stores and thanked the clerk, who nodded sullenly but still didn't speak.
Braden visited four of the electronics stores, picking up a little of what he needed at each place. By the time he headed south again, there was barely enough room for him in the front seat of the pickup. It was stacked to the roof with electronic equipment.
He drove straight to the boat dock and unloaded the truck, then parked the truck where he had gotten it and returned the keys to Gus. He retrieved his boat key and headed back to his house. The round trip had taken about four hours.
By eight o'clock that night, Braden had converted one of the two bedrooms in the house into an office. There was an old wooden desk in the dining room. He had dragged it into his new office, and it was now covered with electronics. He had needed more desk space, so he had brought in a small folding table that he had found in the boathouse and had set it up next to the desk. More electronic equipment covered its surface. He sat down at his new computer and began the search.
Braden settled into a structured daily routine. He woke up around seven, went for his morning walk, then came home and had a light breakfast. He worked on the computer until lunchtime. After lunch came his work out on the beach. The workout would usually take about two hours, including tai chi. If he needed to make a trip to Gus’ store for supplies, he did so after his workout. If not, he returned to the computer until dusk and then had dinner. He usually relaxed on the deck after dinner for awhile, then it was back to the computer until eleven, then a shower and bed. At seven the next morning, the cycle began again.
If someone had been able to observe Braden at his daily routine, they might have said that it was a boring, mundane existence. For Braden, however, it was anything but mundane. He was driven by a singular purpose, and there was no force on earth that could dissuade him from his course. He was relentless and meticulous in his pursuit of Silas. The fury never completely left him, even while he slept. It was always smoldering below the surface, waiting for the day that it would be unleashed.
Braden was in Gus’ store, picking up a few needed items. He was handing Gus the money when a voice said beside him, “Aren't you hot in that thing?"
He turned and saw an auburn-haired girl in her late-teens looking at him. She was dressed in denim cutoffs and a blue bikini top. She wore sandals on her feet. He glanced down and saw that she was referring to the black duster he wore. “It's not so bad,” he said.
"I'd be burning up if I was wearing it,” she said. “If it's later than April 1st and I'm south of the Georgia line, this is the uniform of the day for me.” She executed a pirouette, her arms spread. She rotated 360 degrees and ended up facing Braden again, a smile on her face. “Isn't that right, Gus?"
"Right as the mail, Kendra,” Gus agreed. He was eyeing the two of them closely with a goofy little smile. Braden saw the look and didn't like it. He thought he knew what it meant. Braden thought, He's going to try to play matchmaker, as sure as I'm standing here. And right now, I don't need it or want it.
She took a step closer to Braden. “Well, you know my name now. I'm Kendra.” She stuck out her hand.
Braden picked up his bagged purchases. “Nice to meet you,” he said without looking at her. “See ya, Gus.” He turned and walked out the door without looking back.
Kendra watched him go. After he was out the door, she said to Gus, “Who is that guy? Do you know him?"
Gus nodded. “Name's Braden. He's stayin’ out to the old Jackson place. Been there for, oh, I'd say goin’ on three months now."
"What's his story?” she said, still looking at the door.
Gus shrugged. “Don't know. He's real private. Keeps to hisself. Never talks about hisself, never said where it was he come from. Seems like a good enough kid, though.” He looked sideways at Kendra, the goofy little smile back on his face. “Why? You inderstid?"
Kendra smiled herself at the old man's pronunciation of “interested". She looked thoughtfully at the closed screen door. “I just might be, Gus. I might be at that."
Later that evening, Braden was taking his regular after-dinner siesta on the deck. He was leaning back in the deck chair with his eyes closed; not sleeping, just relaxing. He heard a voice call out from below.
"Hi."
He opened his eyes and looked down. Kendra was standing there on his stretch of beach. She was holding a small bouquet of flowers loosely in front of her. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a loose-fitting summer dress.
Braden stood up and walked to the rail. “What happened to the ‘uniform of the day'?” he asked.
Her chin dropped slightly and she looked at him coyly from the top of her eyes. “Well, it's not daytime anymore, is it?” she asked.
Braden glanced up at the clear, starry sky. “No, I guess it isn't, at that."
"I understand you just moved in recently,” she said. She held up the flowers in one hand. “I brought you a housewarming gift."
Braden hesitated. Both sides of his brain were warr
ing with each other. We really don't need this right now, said one half. But she's severely pretty, retorted the other half. You know the work we have to do, the first half said; we don't have time to get involved with anyone. The other half fired right back. But she seems so nice, and she's even brought us a gift. What are we going to do, send her away? Be rude to her and tell her to leave and never come back?
To that, the first half had no reply. And so Braden leaned over the rail and said, “Just a second, I'll be right down."
He turned and walked down the steps on the left side of the deck. She met him at the bottom and handed him the flowers. He could smell her perfume. It was maddeningly attractive.
"Welcome to the neighborhood,” she said.
Braden took the flowers. “Thank you,” he replied.
After a brief, slightly uncomfortable silence, she said, “Let's try this again.” She stuck out her hand. “I'm Kendra."
This time, Braden took her hand gently. He couldn't help noticing that her skin was as soft as silk. “Braden,” he said. For a moment, Sam's face swam into view in his mind. He forced it away with more than a little guilt. Kendra must have seen it in his face.
"Is everything all right?” she asked.
He smiled at her, trying to shake off the guilt. “Yes, I'm just...I'm just a little distracted."
"Anything I can do?” she asked.
"No, thanks,” he replied. “It's just that I have this...project that I'm working on, and it takes up a lot of my time.” He looked at his watch. “In fact, I really should get back to work,” he added apologetically.
She looked slightly disappointed. A small worry line appeared on her forehead. She obviously didn't want to leave. “Well, tell me about this project. Maybe I can help you."
Braden thought about the way he wanted to explain it to her. He couldn't very well blurt out, “Well, there's this guy named Silas. I'm searching for him, and when I find him I'm gonna cut off his apple-sack and play field hockey with his nuts."
What he did say was, “It's pretty important, but I really can't talk about it.” He shrugged. “Sorry,” he finished lamely.
Now her disappointment was obvious. Braden saw the look on her face and said, “I'll tell you what. If you can come back tomorrow around six p.m., I'll have a couple of steaks on the barbecue and we can have dinner on the deck. How's that?"
Her demeanor changed immediately. Her face lit up in a brilliant smile. “Great! It's a date. I'll bring the wine."
"Uh oh,” said Braden.
The worry line reappeared. “What?"
"Well, I don't actually drink wine. No alcohol at all, in fact."
"Oh, okay, no problem,” she said, recovering nicely. “Then I'll bring the Diet Pepsi?” It was a question.
Braden nodded his head once. “Now that's more like it."
She turned to go. “I'll see you at six tomorrow,” she said.
"Hey, by the way, where did you come from?” Braden suddenly asked. “Do you live on the island?"
She pointed south. “Yes, my parents have a house about three-quarters of a mile down the beach. It's the pale green one."
Braden nodded. “Yeah, I've seen it. I've walked by it before on my walks down the beach."
"I know,” she said lightly. She smiled. “I've been watching you walk by for at least a month now."
She wiggled her fingers at him and bounced off down the beach. Braden watched her go. The two halves of his mind chose that moment to start arguing again.
What are you doing? the first half fairly screamed. Leave him alone, he's doing great! piped in the other half. The first half started, But...
"Shut up,” Braden said under his breath, watching Kendra get smaller as she receded.
That night, Braden had a horrible nightmare. A specter wearing Sam's face was in his bedroom. The specter continuously jetted blood from its yawning neck. It had bright green eyes which stared at him accusingly. In the odd, disconnected way consistent with dreams, the specter spoke not a word; and yet it spoke volumes. The lips did not move, but Braden still heard its voice in his head.
Stay away from her, it said in his mind. She will never come between us. The specter placed a hand on its midsection. Have you forgotten that I'm carrying your child?
But you're dead! Braden tried to cry out. I'm sorry for what happened to you, I know it was my fault, but you're dead! In the dream he couldn't form the words, but the specter seemed to hear them, anyway.
I love you, Braden, the specter pleaded. Please don't let her take away your love for me.
As if this wasn't bad enough, the Sam-specter was joined by another. The second specter floated into the room from the doorway and came to a stop beside the Sam-specter. Braden was at the same time shocked and not surprised to see that the second specter was Kendra. The Kendra-specter had identical mortal wounds to the Sam-specter. Blood pulsed from her carotid arteries. Braden knew with the certainty only found in dreams that Silas had killed her, too.
As if to confirm this, the Kendra specter spoke in his head. You let him kill me, too. Just like you let him kill her.
The two floated toward Braden simultaneously, their blood mixing together and showering Braden in a crimson flood. Braden shook his head in constant negation. In the dream, he thought wildly, there's not even that much blood in the human body. This knowledge, however, did not stop the copious amounts of blood which was drenching him.
"NO!"
He was sitting up in bed. He looked around wild-eyed, but there were no specters in the room. His heart was thumping hard against his chest walls. His respiration was rapid. He was sweating profusely, and there were tears running down his face. The bedside clock announced silently that it was 2:27 a.m.
He swung quickly out of bed and strode into the bathroom. He turned on the cold faucet and dowsed his face over and over, as if to wash the blood from his skin. He remembered the blood which had spurted out of them, far too much blood than was normally contained inside the human body. As he used a towel to dry his face with hands that were still shaking, he thought the person who said that you can't dream in color was wrong. Dead wrong.
He walked out of the bathroom on wobbly legs. He took one look at the bed and kept walking. He had an idea that he was done sleeping for the night. He walked into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee in the automatic coffee maker. As it was brewing, he went out to the deck and sat down heavily. He watched the moon reflecting off of the Gulf, the welcome sea breeze cooling his body.
Before the coffee was done, he had fallen back to sleep in the chair. This time the dreams were merciful, and he slept peacefully until the sun woke him the next morning.
The dinner plates had been pushed away. Braden and Kendra sat in companionable silence, watching the sun set on the other side of the Gulf.
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” Kendra asked, looking at Braden from the side of her eyes.
"I can't guarantee an answer, but you can ask,” Braden said.
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen,” Braden said automatically. His heart jumped a bit as he realized that was wrong. “No, wait, I'm twenty. My birthday was about a month ago.” He was a bit shocked at the notion that his birthday had come and gone, and he hadn't even noticed it.
She seemed to take it in stride. “I'll be nineteen in a couple of months,” she said. Then she added, “In case you were wondering."
"Well, I have to admit I was a bit curious,” he said.
She leaned forward and assumed a let's-get-down-to-business attitude. “So tell me about yourself. Where are you from?"
After the slightest hesitation, he said, “Washington. State, not D.C."
"Do your parents still live there?"
"No, my parents died.” He was, of course, referring to Joe Bemis and Gwen Wiley.
She gave the obligatory apology. “Oh, I'm sorry."
"Thanks."
He knew that his short answers to her questions were at best unsee
mly, and at worst downright rude. But he couldn't and wouldn't talk to her about his past. All through dinner, the dream from the night before kept playing itself again and again in his mind. By the time the plates were empty, he had decided that he needed to keep her away from him for her own safety. He turned to her.
"Listen, Kendra, don't take this the wrong way. I really like you. Under normal circumstances, I would be happy to see you on a more regular basis. But my life doesn't fall under the parameters of ‘normal circumstances'."
She was listening raptly. “I don't understand."
"I know you don't, and I can't go into details. Let me put it like this. There are some...not-very-nice people who are looking for me. If they find me, they are going to hurt me; but even worse, they are going to hurt anyone connected with me. It's happened to me before, and I don't want it to happen again.” He paused, thinking. “I don't want anything to happen to you just because you know me."
The wheels were turning in Kendra's head, too. “Who is it? Are you running from the police?"
"No,” Braden replied immediately and with sufficient conviction to convince her. “It's not the police. Nothing like that."
"And these people are really that dangerous?” she pressed.
Braden looked her squarely in the eye. “Yes, they are."
She put her hand on his. “Why are they looking for you? Please tell me. Maybe I can help."
Braden lowered his head. “I can't. I just can't. You're going to have to trust me and let it go."