“I didn't do anything.”
“Carter, you should come with me.”
The barrel of the gun bumped the floor. Was the boy going to let go of the weapon?
“I don't want to.”
Wade backed up and headed for the door. “I think you should. Ericka told me what happened.”
“She saw us,” Carter said, his voice deep and quiet. “Me and Ericka. She saw us. I wanted Angela so bad I could taste it. She was going to leave me. She was the one going to college. She was going to have a future. She had to be smarter than me.”
Wade sighed. “We'll work through this. There isn't much time. We should go.”
Carter bit his lower lip, draining the color from the face. They remained there for several seconds, mentor and protégé, absorbed in the quiet of the house.
At one time he considered Carter his friend, an example of his success. Then the drugs, the women.
Just like dozens of teens before him.
BAM.
A shot of pain rolled through Wade's head and he stumbled backward, smacking the wall with his body, tumbling to the carpet. The butt of the gun connected with his temple again. Wade scrambled, searching for escape.
Screams issued from Carter's mouth as he punched a hole in the wall. The mattress flipped on the other side of the room, drawers collided against the wood paneling.
Time to run.
Staggered, Wade pushed himself to his feet. “Stop it, Carter.”
The young man's face contorted in a scream, veins bulged from his neck. “I'm not responsible for what that whore did.”
Wade rushed for the bedroom door, holding the wall for support as the world spun around him. Bouts of dizziness competed with a volcanic headache that rolled out from the knot on his forehead. At the door jam Wade steadied himself and drew in precious breath.
Carter's shoe connected with the small of Wade's back. Thrust into the hallway, his body collided with the drywall and slumped to the ground.
BAM. The gun blasted a hole in the ceiling, spraying plaster and bits of wood in every direction. Wade rolled to his stomach and covered his head with his hands. As the dust settled, he pulled himself arm over arm across the carpet, thrashing down the hall. Carter cocked the gun again.
“She insisted on Boston. She said she'd call and I would see her on holidays. We couldn't have a baby, but she fought me. How was I going to take care of a kid?” Carter's teeth clenched. “Get up.”
Wade stood, muscles burning, shoulders hunched, hands over his head. Doubt. Anger. Jealousy. He was a trapped rat.
“I want you to leave,” growled Carter. “Don't ever come back. I didn't kill Angela. She was going to ditch me for someone else at college. I'd be old news. She deserved what she got. She told me she was on the pill.”
“You can't do this.” Wade pressed his back against the wall, inching toward the living room. “Don’t walk away from your problems and leave Angela like this.” Any kindness he felt toward Carter melted away. Anger took its place. “I'm tired of making excuses for you, Carter. Either you accept your mistakes or….”
The gun rose. Carter motioned to the front door.
“There are consequences for our actions,” croaked Wade. “We all make mistakes. We can't....”
Carter held the barrel of the gun even with Wade's eyes. “I think I told you to leave.”
Wade froze. The moment seared into his brain. He resisted it, fought the urge to hate. He couldn’t remember Carter like this. If anything, he wanted to remember him as the little boy who helped him feed the homeless, followed him everywhere. Wade tried to hold on to that sweet kid, but he couldn’t. Those glassy eyes.… They glared down at him, judging years of wasted time.
Crushed, Wade burst through the front door and ran off into the night. His feet dug into the dusty ground, breath echoing in his head. He anticipated the sting of a bullet entering his back, waiting for the kid to mow him down. The front yard blurred as he made a frantic dash into the darkness. Wade reached his truck, threw open the door, and fell inside.
He drove away from Carter's house, blind, half-crazy. In a moment of panic he jerked the wheel toward a gravel lot, threw the truck into park, and wept. Tears flowed down his face and neck. He lost everything that night: a young woman he thought of as a daughter, years of work, safety, his own pride and dignity. He wanted to pray, but his words reverberated off of the roof of the truck.
Hate filled his chest, swelled his lungs, and inflated what was left of his soul. Cold fury replaced warmth toward his fellow man. Though he did not turn his back on God, he no longer maintained the strength to face Him. Everything good died in front of that train.
He would make things right. He would have revenge on Carter and all people like him.
No matter the cost.
CHAPTER FOUR
The church rolled back into focus.
Wade sat alone in the last row, his arm numb from hanging over the back of the pew. Cheers erupted behind him as Tom and Linda left the church and crowds of people threw handfuls of birdseed at them.
The rapid beat of his heart slowed little by little. This is what anger bought him. Instead of being in the limo next to Linda, he sat alone in the church while his best friend took his place.
Revenge seemed so good until then. Carter’s repayment lay at hand. He’d planned to do it weeks earlier, but too many distractions sprang up. Linda and Tom constantly pulled him out of his house. They took him to the mall, out to dinner. Three weeks before the wedding they enjoyed a weekend trip to Mammoth Caves in Kentucky. The three of them shared a cabin, cooked s’mores over a campfire, and played cards until dawn. Wade had friends and his focus on work wavered with all of their game nights and day trips.
It cost too much to stay angry. Carter was not getting hurt—he was. All of those tacky sayings about forgiving someone proved true. It only made him bitter, while Carter walked the streets. His cold heart melted and he bawled like a child.
He could no longer carry a grudge against Carter. The anger would kill him if he didn’t make amends with the past. Time to bury the hatchet.
Wade was, once again, a man on a mission.
# # #
The steel and glass facade at Jokerz screamed ‘desperate.’ Girls in mini-skirts trotted into the club on heels so high they may as well have been stilts. A dozen smokers lurked in the entryway puffing on nicotine.
Wade pulled out his list. He’d already visited six bars. Jokerz was the last. He asked around at each one trying to find Carter. People knew all about him. Some were happy to talk, others thought Wade was a cop. They said the young man basically lived on the bar circuit. If he couldn't find him there, then he couldn't be found.
A dank urine smell lingered at the entrance. Great. Perfect end to a long night.
Wade pushed through the door and into the dark hole. Loud club music thumped from the back of the room. Colored lights swirled as young people danced. His shoes stuck to the floor.
Wade squinted. A long wooden bar occupied half of one wall. Short black tables dotted the room, none of which were clean. Waitresses hoisted trays over their heads to avoid collision with the drunks.
Suffocating heat came from all directions. Wade unbuttoned his suit jacket. He should have gone home to change after the wedding, but he was so intent on forgiving Carter that he left the church and headed straight for the bars. Now this. A dull ache poked at the soles of his feet. Sleep pulled his eyelids. Wade needed a shower and a full night's rest.
The crowd surged to the dance floor as a pop song blared from the speakers. Six or seven people remained at the bar swilling booze as their peers gyrated at the other end of the room. One of them was a middleweight man with thick black hair shoved into a slight comb-over. He wore an ugly blue button-up shirt under a cheap sport jacket.
The unmistakable sharp line of a once-cut jaw jutted out from beneath the heft. It was Carter, ten years older and thirty pounds heavier. He slouched over the bar, cradling a b
ottle of Coors in both hands.
Time for action. Wade tucked in his shirt and smoothed his sweat-soaked hair. His legs froze as if nailed to the floor. Could he really do this? Walk up to and forgive the man?
Wade pivoted and headed for the door. No. He wasn't ready for this, not yet. Maybe he could come back another time, do this forgiveness pub-crawl when he felt better. Not now. He spent too much time staring at a picture of this kid, plotting his revenge. Was he even ready for forgiveness?
“Wade?”
The young man's voice cut across the noise like a Ginsu knife through butter. He was spotted. No turning back.
Wade pivoted again and forced a smile. “Carter?”
The young man’s face lit up. He jumped off of his bar stool and enveloped Wade in a bear hug, slapping him on the back several times like an old pal. The stench of old beer rolled over him like a wave. Wade froze, unsure of what to do. He was prepared for violence, for anger..., but happiness?
“How you doing, huh? You still working with Mission-whatsit?” spouted Carter.
Wade smiled. Smiled. “MissionFocus.”
“Sure. What you said. Can I get you a drink?”
No way was he ready for this. One wedding and a whole decade is erased? He planned on eradicating this fool and now they were palling around. A lump blocked his throat. Why was he so angry? The kid, now a man, was nice.
Wade tried to get the facts straight. Carter was a murderer. The same man that kissed Angela killed her child. Carter didn't know what consequences were. What about 'eye for an eye'? Justice for the unborn?
The drink. Carter offered him a drink. Wade shook off his dark thoughts, his vision focusing. “No thanks. Maybe some other time.”
“Where you hiding yourself, dog?” asked Carter, settling back on his stool. Carter swallowed a hefty draw from his Coors, his paunch rolling over his belt.
Wade cleared his throat and leaned against the bar, his knuckles rapping the wood finish. If only he could calm down.
“I've been around, here and there. Lots of research. What are you up to these days?”
“Oh, man, you’d be so proud of me.” Carter straightened his posture and pulled his sport jacket tight across his stomach. “I used to be a screw-up, right? But look at me. I’m twenty-eight, I got women all over the place, a killer job selling cars. I’m living the life.”
Carter gave Wade a dirt-encrusted business card and burped.
How sad. The young man was putting on a show for him. Not a good one, either. Carter's jacket displayed at least a dozen beer stains. His shoes were scuffed. Strong odors radiated from him, like he hadn’t showered in days and tried to cover it with cheap grocery store cologne. Carter was a mess, yet he behaved like the world dangled from his fingertips.
Another sleazeball haunting trashy bars. The straw that broke the old man's back.
“I’m glad you like what you do.” Wade needed something positive to say. He came there to sort out the past, not to choke on his guilt. Time to get this stuff off his chest. Then he could go home and forget this ever happened. “Listen.… I….”
“And what about you, old man?” Carter trained his eyes on a pack of women. “You keeping yourself out of trouble?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Not me. I live for the stuff. I mean, look at me.”
Beer stains. Stinking breath. Balding. Dead-end job. Look at you....
“Look at me.” Carter drummed his hands against the bar. “I got everything I could want right here.”
Carter slurred his words, tottering on the edge of the stool, knocked off balance by his grand arm gestures. Wade reached out his hands as a precaution, but the young man regained his balance and belched.
“Can we go someplace where we can talk?” suggested Wade.
“What? Man, it’s the weekend. You don’t want to talk when these ladies are on the prowl, do you?”
“Carter, I think it’s important that we….”
“You see? You and me. Two guys out on the town, right?” Carter swilled the remainder of his beer and slammed down the bottle. He motioned to the bartender, “one for my friend, Terry.”
Wade waved off the bartender. He didn’t want a beer. He needed to talk.
“I came here to forgive you,” shouted Wade. The music was so loud....
Carter sneered. “For what?”
“I’ve spent the last ten years angry at you for Angela….”
Carter’s face twisted in disgust. “Angela? Dude, that thing is done, man. It’s behind us.”
“I know it is, but....”
“...you got to let go.”
“I've tried….”
Carter rose to his feet proclaiming his gospel. “Get out there and make yourself happy. Get drunk. Meet a woman, go back to her place, man. Sitting around grousing about the past don't get you nowhere.”
The beer arrived. Carter must have forgotten that he ordered it for Wade and downed a quarter of the bottle.
Wade wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. His heart thumped in his throat. It was hard to look at the young man. “I spent a lot of time blaming you when she died.”
“Me?” Carter's back arched and his eyes widened. “She’s the one who jumped in front of a train. Man, it's not like I pushed her.” Carter stood up, defensive. Wade extended his arms, palms out. He meant no harm.
“I know you didn’t. With the pregnancy.…”
“She was a whore, man.” Carter poked Wade's chest with an aggressive finger, spitting beer with each syllable. “She wanted attention. That’s why I told her she’d either deal with the kid, or we were through. She tried to pin me down and here I got all these dreams. I’m like, ‘you deal with this or we’re done’.” He lifted the bottle and took a long hit. “Let me buy you a beer.” He waved at the bartender.
Wade’s gut hurt as if punched by a heavyweight boxer. He came to seek healing and repentance and all he got in return was—
“No, man. I want to buy you a beer.” Carter stood on the horizontal brass pole at his feet. “I want to buy a beer for the man who posted bail when my own mother left me to rot in juvie.” He raised the bottle and slurped another shot.
The switch flipped. Another drastic mood swing. Wade's scalp tingled and the world drifted away, as if it all happened on television. He snatched the beer out of Carter’s hand and looked him straight in the eyes.
“Don’t you get what I’m trying to say? I came here to forgive you for what you did to Angie.”
Carter slid off the brass leg rest, hands raised in surrender.
“Okay, old man. Okay. I read you. If it means you get to sleep tonight, I accept your apology.”
Carter lunged for the beer and snatched it back. He kept laughing, even as he raised the Coors, spilling it as he swallowed. Suds rolled down Carter’s neck and into his shirt.
Disgusting. This wasn’t at all how he expected this to go. He'd hoped he wouldn’t find Carter at the bar. In a perfect world, the young man sat at home with a baby on his knee and a wife by his side. Maybe he went to college or med school and lived a clean and decent life. Instead he stayed the same lummox that threatened his life ten years earlier. No character. No conscience. No justice. Sometimes the worst thing for a man's heart is to have his bias confirmed.
The young man stumbled, falling back on his chair. He raised the beer and cheered. Some of the other customers did the same.
“I mean it, Carter. I came here to forgive you.”
“Then do it, man. Get it off your chest and hit the dance floor. I don’t care anymore. Forget about that whore. We’re too old for this, right? Show yourself a good time.”
Wade inched away from the bar, sick to his stomach. Bile rose in his throat.
“Here’s to forgiveness.” Carter clinked his beer bottle against his neighbor's glass. Those around him shouted and downed their drinks.
Wade turned and ran. He pushed through the exit and darted into the street.
He spr
inted three blocks, then four. He stopped to catch his breath in front of a liquor store. The red neon lights flickered against his face. A police siren howled in the distance.
So forgiveness looked like that, huh? He put it all on the line, only to have the kid shove it back in his face. Wade paced the concrete.
All of his positive intentions crushed. For what? Carter was the same jerk he was in high school. How do you forgive someone who calls his dead girlfriend a whore?
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