Marilyn

  She cried, she let it all go for a moment, she didn't wipe the tears away, these were not drops of sadness. They were the after-effects of happy times, once past and gone. She needed to feel them on her skin, she let happiness trickle into her pores and into her mouth, swallowing the salty, content taste.

  'We made a den in the living room out of our old cushions and blankets, we even made a sign to hang up outside, “No grownups allowed”. Apart from me, that was. I was the exception to the rule. Jack fell asleep in my arms, and I watched him sleep for hours. He was so innocent and peaceful, like an angel. I never wanted to let him go. In the morning, he told me how happy it made him that I was home from work, that I had a chance to play and spend time with him. I've missed some of the most important parts of his childhood, but I was there for that one night, and it meant so much to him.'

  'Does Jack have any brothers or sisters?' asked Elwood.

  'No. After Jack was born, there wasn't enough time in the day to think about that. Howard and I had talked about it a few times, you know, in passing, but we both knew it was never really the right time in our lives.'

  This time she cleared the tears from her face.

  'What about you, do you have any other children?'

  'No, but that's not through lack of trying, mind you. June always wanted a little girl, I suppose most women do, it just never happened for us. We were blessed with Robert, and I'm thankful for that.'

  Marilyn sank in her seat, the fleeting smile passing from her lips.

  'Do you think we'll find him, Elwood?'

  'Of course we will.'

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Rupert John Russell threw the remnants of the cold coffee and congealed sugary gloop down the back of his throat, swirled it around his mouth and swallowed. He thumbed the blind open and watched, just like he did thirty seconds ago, and thirty seconds before that. 'Come on, you bastard, where are you?'

  He bent down under his desk and dragged out one of many cardboard boxes, full of office decorations that he had been too lazy to set up. He foraged through, pulling out a hand-carved crucifix that he had picked up on one of his summer vacations.

  'Boss?'

  'Jesus Christ, Davies. Don't you know how to knock?'

  'Sorry, boss, just I've got some news, that's all.'

  R.J. Looked at Davies impatiently, waiting.

  'Well. Spit it out, what is it?'

  'Oh, umm. Yeah, sorry, boss.'

  He cleared his dry throat with a gargle and splutter.

  'I've got hold of Peters and Torrance, they're gonna keep an eye out.'

  'Good. Good work, Davies. What did you tell them?'

  'I didn't give much away, Sheriff. Just made up some bullshit like you said, boss,' he said, proudly.

  'Good, what about Brewer and Langston, you get a hold of them, too?'

  'Sure did. They weren't impressed. Said you're leading them on a wild goose chase.'

  'They did, huh?' he replied with a slight grin. 'Well, fuck them both. Are they out there now, setting up a roadblock?' he asked, turning and placing his mug on his desk.

  Davies scratched his head with a muddled look on his face.

  'I assume so, boss. I told them it was important and to get it done as soon as possible.'

  'Good work, Davies. I'm proud. Now. I want you to have a look at the power supply,' he uttered, his hand stroking his face, covering his mouth. 'I want to see if we can’t get some sort of alternate power running to get these computers working. I want to see who this fucker is. I want to see his face.'

  'Sure thing, Sheriff. Anything else you need me to do?'

  R.J. thought about it.

  'That'll be all, Davies. Thank you.'

  'OK.' Davies turned to leave. 'Hey, boss. What's that?'

  R.J. looked down at the carving in his hand.

  'This? Nothing, just something I used to believe in a long time ago, that's all.'

  Davies left as quietly as he had entered, his head held high.

  TWENTY-SIX

  'I hope we're getting double pay for this bullshit, Brewer,' Langston rambled, scrunching up his tiny nose and mouth on his enormous, unsymmetrical face.

  'I'm freezing my fucking balls off, and that sheriff has got us sitting here like chickens ready for the slaughterhouse. Can't believe the cheek of that bastard, sometimes.'

  The two men sat in the police cruiser at the edge of town, about a hundred yards from 'Argyle's Garage and service station'. They watched the old puddles ripple and scatter across the street, under tyres and down storm drains, and new ones form.

  'Yeah, well. At least it isn't your day off,' Brewer snapped. He was a portly chap, with a receding hairline. 'I should be the one calling the shots here, I mean. Before that fucker got sent here from wherever the hell he came from, I was in the running to be sheriff,' he snarled, angrily. 'I don't know who the fuck he thinks he is, bossing us around, with his stupid faggot name.'

  'True that,' Langston agreed. 'You think this fucker will even show? I mean, you got to be bat shit crazy to driving about in this shit storm.'

  'Who knows? Probably not, sheriff's probably talking out of his ass, just wants to see us suffer,' Brewer grunted miserably, with a tinge of hatred. 'Where the fuck is Argyle, could he be any slower?'

  'I think that's him.' Langston pointed. 'Jesus. He looks like a drowned rat. Poor guy.'

  'Well, at least it ain't us out there. Last thing I want is to spend my day here soaking fucking wet.'

  'He must owe you some big favour, huh?' Langston questioned.

  'I looked the other way when Argyle was fined for parking, saved his lazy ass countless times.'

  They watched as Argyle took three spare cars and a towing truck from his garage and parked them across the main street, bumper to bonnet all the way along, starting from his garage and ending at 'Toby's convenience store', blocking any possible way in or out of the town from the east.

  Brewer threw a mocking smile and a half-arsed wave of appreciation at Argyle from inside the cruiser.

  'Whatya know, the son-of-a-bitch pulled through.'

  Together they sat, huddled in the front seats of the cruiser, warming themselves up on the heaters, and sipping coffee from a Thermos flask.

  The pair didn't say much to each other after that. They sat, waiting for the fight to be brought to them, wondering if it would ever come.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Marilyn and Elwood passed bunches of crippled trees and blocked roadways, often slowing down to avoid the treacherous traps left unintentionally by the might of the storm. Streams of cloudy rain water filled the road, obstructing their route occasionally, but not stopping them, just adding considerable delays to their already tight schedule.

  Their constant back and forth chit chat kept them awake and alert.

  'When she died, my whole life spiralled out of control,' Elwood started. 'After losing both Robert and June, I kinda hit the bottle pretty hard. I was drinking first thing in the morning, and last thing at night, and I ate less and less,' he said candidly, without fear or equivocation. 'It was the easiest way out, especially when you have no one around to tell you any different. I started waking up not knowing where I was, I had cuts on my hands and face from falling, not that I can remember any of it... Hold on, Marilyn.'

  Elwood accelerated, charging through a fathomless plashet that cloaked their vision completely as it washed its muck over the windshield.

  'Then, one day. I got upset, upset and angry, really angry, the angriest I have ever been. All I can remember is picking up my bat and I.. I woke up surrounded by smashed glass and splintered wood, things broken left and right. I had a nasty gash on my forehead, blood on my knuckles and cuts on my fingers. I had even busted up our wedding photo.'

  'Oh, Elwood.' Marilyn reached over, resting her arm on his shoulder.

  'After that day, I promised myself and June and Robert that I would never drink like that again. God knows, they would have never wanted to see me in that state,' he e
nded, licking his lips, looking for his flask.

  They stayed quiet for a tick, watching the ephemeral carnage and ruin on the longest stretch of straight road they had come across so far.

  Marilyn touched on her childhood and upbringing, eventually bringing Elwood up to speed.

  'We met at eighteen, Howard and I, you could say we were childhood sweethearts. He was so loving and caring, he was like no other man I had ever met. He was gentle and passionate and took an honest interest in things I had done, things I wanted to do, and supported me when times got hard.' She remembered, 'My parents loved him almost as much as I did. I was married at twenty-two but already obsessed with my new career, putting my home life second place in my priority hierarchy. At first, Howard was over the moon at my success, throwing parties and special dinners each time I got a promotion or a raise, but then it became too much for him, and I was too blind to see that, too blind to see the strain it was putting on my marriage.' Her voice was weak and strained. 'We stayed together anyway, for Jack's sake, which I know now is wrong, and we shouldn't have done it. Children have a sixth sense when it comes to things like that. Jack knew, he could feel it, the atmosphere at home was a tough one, when I was there anyway, which wasn't often. ‘Howard,' she sniffed, 'Was… is a teacher. A maths teacher. About a year ago, I suspected him of having an affair. His phone calls to me become less and less frequent, and when we did talk, his voice was empty and forced and didn't really have all that much to say to me. I ended up taking a week off work to spend time at home with Jack and Howard during the summer holidays. But Howard kept making these awful excuses to leave the house each day and he would come home late every night.' Her voice grew louder, fierce. 'I could smell women, well… perfume on his shirts, he must have thought I was an idiot.' She calmed herself the best she could. ‘Anyway, I confronted him about it and he admitted to it. He had been having an affair with his colleague Linda for eighteen months. I was stunned how casually he admitted it. Not hiding or bending the truth, he had no shame.' She said rapidly, ‘I threw him out straight away, but not before I had said my piece. I worked the notice on my job, taking extra hours to save a little bit of money for me and Jack.' She sank into her seat and her voice slipped into a timid whimper. 'We were alone now. I guess I never learn. It was my job that destroyed my life. I should have just quit when I saw the great big flashing warning signs, but I was blinded by my own stupidity and ambition.'

  Elwood listened intently. There was a moment of silence as he took off his glasses to rub his old, tired eyes, and clean the lenses.

  'Marilyn, you can't keep blaming yourself. It's not fair to you.' His well thought out speech was interrupted, indefinitely.

  'Look, there. A sign. Can you see it from here?' he asked, urgently.

  Elwood pointed his bony finger at the windshield, aiming at a signpost just showing itself in the distance.

  'I see it, I see it. I can't read what it says, though.'

  Marilyn squinted her eyes, they both did. An odd habit that people do without thinking. She wormed in her seat, eagerly.

  'There, there. I see it. Hang on, it says… Town four miles.'

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The five of them sat at the dining room table to eat their food. It was nothing fancy or extravagant, just a good, hearty, home-cooked meal. Julie Dunn had neatly laid the glass table with a pink cloth, black placemats and white coasters. She spread candles along the middle but didn't light them. They chatted civilly all the while, but it was mainly Walter and Julie doing all the talking. Andrew watched, prodding his food around with his fork, playing with it, forgetting his manners at the table, throwing in the odd thought when he felt like it.

  'David is an excellent saxophone player, he's been playing for over two years now,' Walter exclaimed, curling spaghetti around his fork. 'I'm very proud of him. He even saved up his pocket money to buy that jumper he's wearing.' Walter looked over at Jack, his eyes filling up.

  'Aw, Andrew, isn't that sweet?' Julie chuckled. 'If you don't mind me asking, where's your wife, that's if you're married, of course.'

  'Oh, I don't mind. We left her at home, didn't we, David? I thought it would be nice to do something together, father and son. Plus she isn't really a fan of long trips in the car, she always moans that there's nothing to do.' Walter laughed.

  Jack listened but remained uninvolved. He was first to finish his food, he wolfed it down, leaving nothing on his plate. He finished his milk, and wiped the milky moustache from his top lip. He noticed Lizzy watching him from the corner of his eye, but did not look up at her. He eyed the room up and down, around and around, back and forth. He guessed he was just trying to get a feel for the house and the Dunns. They had family photographs hanging on the flashy decorated walls. Day trips out, holidays, birthdays, occasions that were meaningful, snapshots of happiness, lives without lies and deceit. This was how families were supposed to be.

  This room was posher than the living room, he guessed it was where they would entertain their guests at Christmas and birthdays. A show room for the wealthy.

  A chandelier dangled from the ceiling, not so subtly screaming, proudly, ‘look how expensive I am’. It was the first one Jack had ever seen and guessed it would be the last. They would never be able to afford one at their house. He wondered how much longer it would be before they set off. They had no transport, no suitable clothing, nothing.

  Jack collected his knife and fork, placed them with a light ting onto the china plate and pushed it a few inches away from him, notifying everyone that he was done. He slid his arms off the table, under the pink patterned table cloth, and onto his knees, where he squeezed them.

  'Excuse me.' He started, hesitantly. 'May I be excused to use the bathroom?'

  The trivial conversation stopped and all eyes switched to Jack, but it was Mrs Dunn that answered.

  'Of course, dear,' she returned. 'Let me just show you where it is.'

  'Oh, it's OK. I don't want to bother you, I'm sure I can find it,' he insisted with a smile as he climbed from the chair.

  'OK, dear. It's just at the top of the stairs, you can't miss it.'

  Jack smiled, turned his back on Walter O'Sullivan and left the room.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Sheriff Russell took another look at his name, there in large, black print across the paned window of his office door. 'Rupert John Russell. Sheriff'. He twitched his lips up and down and shook his head in disagreement. 'Why the hell did you even take this job?' he asked himself, trusting the walls to keep his questions to themselves. He clutched the wooden cross off his desk and walked over to one of the many hooks and pins that stuck out from the walls and hung it, straightening it up with an uncertain thumb. His only decoration.

  He opened the door for the first time in hours and stepped outside into the main quarters of the police station.

  The station was set out in three sections, not including his office. They had the staff break room at the far back, but that was hardly ever used. Leading in from the left of the main door were two desks, one each for Brewer and Langston. Their desks were cluttered with incomplete paperwork and stained with ring of dry coffee. R.J. looked at them in disgust. A narrow path led the way through the building, separated by three workstations, complete with computers and printers, two one side, one the other. Cracked and patchy white paintwork dressed the walls, staining them with its ungraceful workmanship. The floor was shoddily tiled with cheap and nasty slime green tiles.

  Davies didn't have himself a workstation to call his own, he flitted back and forth to whichever one was available at the time. Right now, he was hard at work in the utility cupboard, trying to get the station out of the dark ages and get some power up and running so they could use the computers; so far, nothing had been accomplished apart from a few electric shocks and some tiny insignificant cuts to his fingers.

  R.J. walked the trail, the in-house joke they called the slime mile, led by the green tiles. Hearing his own squeaking footsteps he called out, />
  'Davies! Where are you?'

  Davies popped his head out from behind the cupboard door, sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes.

  'Here, boss.'

  'Good, Davies, do we have a map, of the town I mean?'

  'Yeah, sure. I think so, what for?’

  R.J. walked to where Davies was, speaking as he went.

  'I've been thinking, up by the old farm house...'

  'You mean the Dunns?' Davies interrupted.

  'Yeah, the Dunns. Don't they have an off road track that leads around town, without actually directly going through Main Street?'

  Davies dusted his hands on his not so clean anymore uniform and scratched at his eyebrow, with his best thinking face in play.

  'Well. Now that you mention it, boss, yeah, they do.'

  'Shit, why the fuck didn't we think of that before? Where's the fucking map, Davies?' R.J. asked, frustration ablaze.

  R.J. walked behind Davies, his shoes biting at Davies's heels, the man had no sense of urgency, on a good day his brain functioned five minutes slower than the average person's, and on a bad day, more often than not, it was like throwing shit into a fan. R.J. huffed and puffed behind Davies, making his frustration apparent as Davies opened and closed drawers at the workstations until he finally found what he was searching for. He pulled it out, unrolled it and spread it evenly over the floor.

  'This should be pinned to the wall, Davies,' R.J. complained, just for the sake of it, trying to make himself feel better.

  The two men bent down and studied the map for a long while, following tiny trails with their fingertips and mombling incomprehensible splutters.

  'Davies, wasn't Dunn on the force a few years back?’

  'Yeah, you mean Andrew,' he corrected. 'He left because of his weight problems, he had a mini heart attack not so long back, the work was too much for him.’