"Did you see me, Dad? Janet taught me how to cart-wheel today. I did it about a hundred times.”
Right behind his eyes, the floodgate was moving, pushing forward. His face grew hot and his throat dry.
"Yes, buddy, I saw you and it looked great.”
Ethan smiled; he beamed as most sons did with the praise of their fathers.
"Am I coming back tomorrow?”
"No, pal, tomorrow is for us. We’re going someplace special.”
Peter had already made up his mind to take Ethan to several destinations he had always meant to take him, but somehow always lacked the time. No excuses anymore, nothing would ever be more important than right now.
Ethan looked at his father intently, “Where are we going?”
Peter had a million places in mind, thought of the first one that popped into his head, “Disneyland, we’re going to Disneyland.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kevin was walking in darkness. The sky held the moon at bay, a prisoner of the abyss built of dust and vapor. He traveled on this way for an unknown period of time. Ahead he told himself, just a bit further.
He reached a hillside covered in long plush grass and coarse muted weeds. His legs felt the moisture in the land beneath him, he was getting closer.
It was before him now. A bright moving lake filled with fresh blue water, the surrounding shoreline a swirling drift of rock and grain and sand. He stopped there, letting the image unfold completely. He was sure if he moved too close the scene would vanish and he would be left entangled in a dismal imitation of solace. Something swept past him.
He didn’t look behind him, kept his eyes toward the front. It was peace in all forms. No one was here; he told himself again, no one was here.
Light filtered in through the moonless sky. It was artificial, had to be, it was the middle of the night. Kevin squinted, kept vigil on the water ahead; he didn’t want to leave this place.
Voices began stirring at the edge of the lands around him.
Kevin closed his eyes and pictured the lake, believed in the cool blue depths, washing away the sins of yesterday. When he opened his eyes the water was different, it had moved further away and was now shielded by shapeless forms. Kevin felt a familiar weight pressing down on his soul. His head hurt with the effort to conceal the truth, the empty lost place reserved for him in all worlds seen and unseen.
Kevin felt the sting as the first apparition passed through him. He was helpless to stop them. They found him this way. There was no escape, no refuge from past deeds. Only the truly insane could circumvent a conscience role in the retrieval of guilt. Kevin was not insane; his liberation was not to be found.
One by one the dead appeared.
His dead.
Kevin woke, his dream fading. It was still dark out. He hated that. When the ghosts came to call, he wished only for light.
His blankets were twisted around him, his body positioned at an angle that should have induced a headache. He reached for his pager, checked the time.
He hadn’t had the dream in some time. He hoped it would pass as he sat up and rubbed away sleep.
He wouldn’t return to bed.
Kevin walked to his kitchen, retrieved a bottle of Gatorade and took several short swallows.
His hands were cold, numb in places. That bothered him as well. His paranoia lent itself to thoughts such as these. What if someone were to break into his home as he slept? He would wake surely, but if his hands were numb when he needed them most, what then? Then you would be repaid, Kevin Anderson, then you would be repaid. He laughed in spite of himself. Kevin didn’t believe that really.
He had done terrible things, yes, but he would never turn over his life because his trigger finger was not working properly. Kevin was trained to do one thing, win. If someone, anyone ever forced entry into his home he would not stop fighting until he, himself, or both were dead.
He had met people in his life that thought opposite, gave brief ridiculous statements such as, “If it’s my time, then it’s my time” or his all-time favorite, “I could never kill another human being.” Well, if that “human being” was a low-life piece of shit hell bent on taking your life then Kevin had a certain pet phrase of his own, “Fuck ‘em.”
So many thoughts swam in and out, and all were engaging the same basic instinct. How could he be so different from the rest of the population?
Hemingway had said it; Orson Wells had his take, too. Men who hunted armed men lose their taste for anything else. And the citizens of this world, the sheep who sleep peacefully in their beds at night, do so only because men like him stand ready to do violence on their behalf. He was a necessity. People didn’t want to admit it, and people cursed him every day for one thing or another. But let one of those same people hear glass break at the back of their home, it wouldn’t be God they called to make the bad man go away, it was him, and those like him. Kevin hated to think that way. The self-righteous protector of all bullshit really wasn’t his style, but he had seen enough violence, been forced to perpetrate enough violence, and had listened to enough insulting rhetoric slung at him and the others in his profession that sometimes he just couldn’t help it.
Daylight was still two hours away.
Kevin showered, dressed in track pants and a sweatshirt, and hit the road. He would run for an hour, re-shower, and then head for the office.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Four days passed in a blink. Peter had spent the days watching his only child enjoy the best life had to offer to a ten year old. His thoughts were a wash of what was known, and what had to be done.
He had comprised a plan. His best friend would have to assist. He would have to make his case and pray Kevin would understand. It was impossible, he was sure. Kevin would look at him as if he had truly lost his mind, and in some ways he had.
Ethan was at school, it was nearing eight-thirty. Kevin would be up; he placed the call.
Kevin arrived a half an hour later. He hadn’t seen his friend in over a week. He looked fit as always, fit and alive.
“Sit down. I need to tell you some things.”
Kevin took place in one of the recliners, remarked at the comfort.
Peter sighed, paused a moment, started again. “I have cancer.”
Kevin’s smile removed itself completely. His face turned a shade of gray, his eyes softened. “Oh no, no, no, what are you talking about man, you’re the healthiest guy I know.”
Peter was unable to hold his gaze, “I found out last week, my headaches, there’s a mass, they can’t operate.”
Kevin was standing, “Oh Christ, what are you telling me Peter?”
Peter looked up at his friend, “I’m dying, quickly.”
"How long?” The word’s had venom, Kevin was stationary.
"Six weeks.”
Kevin sat back down. He put his head in his hands and started to shake. Peter leaned over to place a hand on his back. Peter heard the words barely reaching beyond Kevin’s lips, “How?”
“The doctor gave no reason, said sometimes there isn’t one.”
"More tests, Peter, a second opinion. We’ll find a specialist.”
"I saw the x-rays, took all the tests, it is what it is.”
Kevin felt like an asshole, he was reaching, reacting, while his friend was consoling him about his own impending death.
"What can I do?”
Peter heard the pleading in that sentence, refused to lose his bearing; he had one chance to ask what needed to be asked.
"I need you to end my life.”
Kevin was speechless.
"Listen to me please. I’ve thought about this every minute of every day since I got the news. It’s the only way.”
Kevin began to speak; however, he was cut off.
"Let me say this, please. I waste away in a hospital bed, mind rotting, body melting away, my savings is gone and Ethan will have nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing.” Peter had to stop and regain control of the words. “If I die on duty, Eth
an gets everything--my life insurance, survivor benefits, the works--you and he will be set for the rest of his life.”
It became clear to Kevin at that precise moment. Peter intended for Ethan to live with him. Ethan would become his responsibility, his child to raise, all of which was acceptable, all except for the part about him killing Peter.
“Peter, of course I will take care of Ethan, but I will have no part in harming you.” Kevin couldn’t even say the word kill.
"Then who Kevin? You are the only one that can do this. I know you’ve killed men before. Hell, I witnessed you kill two on duty. I saw you man, saw the way you operate, how many others? How many? I bet you’ve never told anyone, have you? You need to be that guy one more time, for me.”
“No, Peter, no fucking way.”
“Have I ever asked you for anything?”
“No you haven’t. You feel this is a good one to start with? Jesus Christ.”
“I can’t go out like that.” Peter was starting to cry. “You have to help me. Help me do this. Save me.”
Kevin stood, pulled his dearest friend into his arms; they stood that way for some time, neither one speaking, just the sadness, the overwhelming unease.
“I can’t kill you, Peter, not you. You’re all the family I have.”
Peter slowly pulled free, sat back down. “I’m going to die, Kevin. I’m going to die in a very ugly way. I can’t do it. I can’t have my son see me that way, remember me as a fading tragic memory.”
Kevin was numb; he understood the words, found it hard to place them between he and his best friend. It was the difference between people like them and the rest of the world. It was the choice any warrior would make.
“How? How do you see this thing---”
Peter spoke softly; he laid it all out for Kevin, down to the smallest detail.
When he’d finished, Kevin nodded. Peter made him say it, made him promise.
Kevin promised.
Kevin drove the lengthy expanse of dirt and rock which led to the cabin of his childhood. Since that time it had been the scene of countless memories, mostly of him, Peter, and recently, Ethan. An old log structure equipped with the modern necessities, Kevin had visited whenever he could. It was surrounded by forest, his nearest neighbor two miles in either direction.
After leaving the Marines, he had spent his time between here and his home figuring out what lay ahead. He slept, ate, trained, read, and that was all.
His grandfather had taught him about survival here. What he could and couldn’t count on. He had fired his first shot up here, made his first kill. He was seven then. Kevin unloaded the rear compartment of his jeep and walked inside. The place always smelled like home. Cool, alive, there was a taste of smoke from the large rock fireplace which was used nearly every night he spent here. He placed the few items he had brought on the small dining room table. He would be here two days. He wasn’t hungry and doubted he would be. He spent the first morning walking alone in the woods.
The day brought clouds and mist and air thick with dew. He didn’t notice. It was his favorite time of year, always had been. He walked and walked. His thoughts would not clear. He didn’t want to be inside, didn’t like the idea of being enclosed. He found a spot high above the mountain range. A few brief pulls and steps and he was sitting atop a piece of granite roughly the size of his jeep.
He sat still, his heartbeat the only sound in his ears. Below him lay the world as it was intended to be, as God had imagined.
What God? Kevin thought. The thought lingered though he didn’t want it to. Kevin had always been a man of faith, a boy of faith for that matter. He attended church only three times. Kevin didn’t believe his mistrust in organized religion would shield his heart from God, so he prayed, every day he prayed and thanked God for something. Now he was unsure and it weakened him, blemished his soul. His head and heart ached with the toll. Kevin looked around seeing none of the beauty. He walked back to the cabin.
Once inside Kevin turned the dial three times, pulled, and retrieved his grandfather’s Remington. Only one person had ever seen this rifle.
It was crafted in 64’, and it was untraceable.
The rifle was true, the only modification a Leopold ten power variable scope. Kevin rested it upon the earth as he had been taught so many years ago, his target a 5 x 6 piece of steel two-hundred yards away.
The rifle was zeroed for this distance. Habit trained him to check, so he unscrewed the wind and elevation caps, checked the settings, replaced the caps, and tightened them till they would turn no more.
The steel was clear through the glass. He adjusted his folded left arm underneath him, pulled the stock in tight to his shoulder and relaxed. The steel faded, the crosshairs took focus. He breathed, three counts in, three counts out, repeat, on his third cycle, just before taking air back into his lungs he depressed the trigger. Three and a half pounds of pressure brought the sickle shaped piece of metal to the end of its path.
There would be no need to find the target through the scope.
The sound of the bullet impacting steel made its way to Kevin’s ears in less than a second. Kevin let go of the rifle, rolled onto his back and screamed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Peter spent the morning arranging necessary documents. Not enough to draw suspicion, just so Kevin could find them. He left all of his possessions to his son. The benefactor of his life insurance was Kevin. He’d detailed a letter leaving Kevin as sole guardian of Ethan in the event of an untimely demise. Since hearing the words that changed everything, he started a journal, a short collection of thoughts, beliefs, and lessons he wished to pass on to his young son.
He looked it all over and felt the sadness. “An unfinished life” Wasn’t that what Kevin had called his fallen brother’s life, unfinished?
His time for personal grieving was over. His plan was in motion, his decision final. His son would be home in less than an hour. Peter had no delusions of the pain he would feel every time he looked at him. For Ethan it would be just another day in a series of many. He and his father hanging out, maybe playing catch, some dinner, then off to Janet’s while dad went to work. Morning would come, his dad would pick him up, make him breakfast and off to school again, the cycle of his young life.
Only this was the end of that flawless, simple cycle.
Tomorrow, Ethan would be told his father had been killed in the line of duty. A few days after that, he would be handed a flag by a man in uniform. The man would tell him his father was very brave, and he died protecting people, and that he should be very proud.
Ethan would behave as he would expect his father would want him to. He would do his best not to cry, thank the man for the flag, then try to make sense of the life left ahead. Peter wanted to stop right there, but he couldn’t. He thought briefly of a life without Ethan. How he would react if someone came to his door and told him his son was dead. Peter was weak. He hoped that his son was strong. He prayed that somehow his son possessed what he himself lacked.
When Ethan came through the front door, Peter was waiting for him. He ran from the place just inside the doorway and scooped him up. Ethan laughed as his dad spun him around. When he was put down, he hugged his father, hugged him for a long time.
Peter kneeled and looked into Ethan’s eyes. “Is everything okay champ?”
“Yeah, I just love you Dad.”
Hold on Peter, be strong. The words were spoken so often in this house. It was so commonplace for them, still it was different now, but only he knew it.
"I love you, too, son.”
Peter followed Ethan into the kitchen. He watched his boy pour a glass of juice, asked him to pour him one.
Peter invited Ethan to sit at the dining table. They sat and drank their juice, Peter asked questions.
"If you could be anything in the world, what would you be?”
Ethan twisted his face the way boys do when they really think about something, “A tiger.”
Peter laughed, “A
tiger? Wow that would be cool.”
"Wouldn’t it, though? We’ve been learning about them in school. They’re really neat, strong, fast, and great hunters.”
"Okay, let’s say you had to be something that required you to stay in your human form, what then?”
Ethan smiled at his dad, “Then I’d want to be you.”
"Me huh, why me?”
"I don’t know, Dad. You’re just the best person I know.”
Peter motioned for Ethan to come to him. He pulled him in close and rested his chin on Ethan’s head, “You’re the best person I know, too, kiddo.”
Ethan pulled away to look at his father, “Even better than Uncle Kevin?”
"Yes, even better than Uncle Kevin.”
The afternoon was spent this way. Peter took all that he could, not a single second was preoccupied in some unnecessary minor thought. All of his attention, every ounce of his energy and focus were where they should have been all of Ethan’s life.
Peter pulled up to Janet’s an hour later than was normal. Janet opened the front door before either had exited the car. She stood there in front of the doorway waiting for Ethan to come inside.
Peter had placed some cash in an envelope, said it was a bonus for all of the times he and Ethan appeared at odd hours.
Janet did her best to politely refuse the money. Peter was adamant; Janet said she’d just spend it on Ethan anyway. Peter hugged Janet. He thanked her for being so good to Ethan. Janet blushed like a school girl. One last, long hug for Ethan and Peter was off.
Peter drove the streets as he had for the past five years. His head hurt as it had for the past two months. He pulled into the parking lot of an old, rarely used church. The city had a million of them it seemed. He had never really noticed before now.
He found a long wooden bench in a side yard of the brick and mortar building.
He took a seat and prayed. He asked God’s forgiveness for being a coward. He then asked that his son be kept safe and healthy. Peter had prayed many times for the boy. Always, he included health in the request. Finally, he asked God to give Kevin all of the courage he himself could not muster. Now, with everything else, his eyes burned from the tears that clouded them. The tears were consistent with images of the boy, and the thought of never holding him again.
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