by Marc Buhmann
He whipped around, saw Harold in the doorway.
“Jesus!” he huffed.
“Sorry, but I got curious. What…”
And then he saw the room and turned white.
“Out!” Stavic shouted, following after him.
“Who—?”
Stavic had his phone in hand. “I don’t know, but I’m calling in the cavalry.”
* * *
It was warmer out than it had been, and Claire had the cleaning bug. She’d let this place go over the last several months and it was time to tidy up. A fresh breeze came through the open window pushing the stale air out. She wanted this place back in tiptop shape by the time Emily returned home.
She began immediately after Emily left for school, starting on the first floor and working her way up. She dusted and vacuumed and mopped, and by ten o’clock she was onto the second floor. Claire went to her room, tackling the obvious things first. She stripped her bed and tossed old magazines; a chickadee sang outside the window.
She went to the closet—it had a slight musty smell to it—and stared at the mess. Claire needed to take an inventory and decide what to keep; there were way too many outfits she no longer wore. But first the laundry. She pulled out the hamper and sorted them into piles. After she was done in here she’d clean Emily’s room, grab her laundry and add them to the mix.
All these old and outdated clothes. Maybe this weekend she could get Emily to go to the store with her and help her update her wardrobe. She could use a little of her savings, and it would be nice to have a mother-daughter day, something they hadn’t done in… how long? Claire flipped through the shirts and dresses tsking herself. God! When did she become old?
Claire was about to close the door when a box caught her eye. It was shoved in the back corner, barely visible in the shadows. On the side was written in bold letters DEVON. She slid the box out and stared at it. She’d completely forgotten about this, a collection of her ex-husbands relics from before the divorce. She’d stashed a few things she hadn’t been ready to part with, more for Emily than herself. While he had crushed her, Devon had been Emily’s father and she deserved to have something from him.
She pulled the flaps and opened the box. On top were an assortment of photos, some group shots while others of just Devon. There were a few cassettes of her husbands favorite music, a couple of books, and other trinkets. And there was the manila envelope with the divorce papers, still unlooked at after all these years. At some point the metal fastener had broken free and the flap easily lifted, the white papers within visible.
Claire began to wonder if the divorce was legal if she’d never even looked at these papers. Maybe there had been something else she’d needed to sign and never did? But that was stupid, she realized. If that were the case her attorney would have contacted her. Claire was tempted to pull the papers out, finally cement the divorce by seeing it in writing, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She tossed the envelope back into the box and put it on a chair next to the dresser. Maybe she’d finally give it to Emily once she’d had a chance to sort through it all.
Emily’s room was next. There was a slight dirty odor, so she opened the window. The room itself was decent enough, definitely not the best she’d seen of her daughter, but certainly not the worst. There weren’t dishes caked in food or half-filled cups around the room. There were, however, clothes scattered about and a desk covered in papers and books. This wasn’t typical of Emily—she was usually so meticulous with everything in its place—but she was a teenager and teenagers sometimes got lazy. And who was she to judge anyway?
Claire sorted Emily’s clothes and tided up her desk and changed the sheets on her bed. The vacuum bumped something under the bed. She killed the power and reached under and pulled out an ashtray. Two stamped out cigarette butts were in it.
Smoking? When did Emily pick up that nasty habit? She was going to have to speak to her about this.
The nightstand drawer taunted her. If her daughter was smoking what else was she keeping hidden from her?
No! You’re invading her privacy.
True, but she was still her mother, and this was her house, and she had a right to know what her daughter was doing. It was her responsibility to protect her.
Claire opened it. She breathed a sigh of relief, almost laughed, as nothing jumped out at her. She’d half expected to find drugs or drug paraphernalia stashed in here. Cigarettes weren’t good, but there were far worse things Emily could be doing to rebel. Tobacco she could handle.
She stood and went to the trashcan next to Emily’s desk, picked it up, and dumped the butts into it.
And her heart stopped.
She reached in, hand trembling, and lifted out a thin plastic bag. Through it she could see the contents. Hoping, praying, she was wrong she reached in and pulled out the box. A pregnancy test.
Her mind was a whirlwind, didn’t know what to think. Was Emily pregnant?
She opened the box but it was empty.
Breathe, she told herself. Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe it was her friend’s. Jessica.
But how could she not? The last thing she wanted was to see Emily making the same mistakes she’d made. If that happened then she had failed as a mother.
Claire sat there a while, unsure how to react. She was going to have to talk to her about this.
I need a drink.
Yes. She could really use one right now.
* * *
Willem shut the front door and locked it. A sunbeam streamed through the partially closed curtains, dust particles visible in the air. A cold beer would be good right about now, but since his estrangement from Elliott he’d sworn off alcohol. Instead he grabbed a cola from the fridge, popped the top and took a long drink, one that produced a hiccup.
No more delaying it; he opened and dug through a drawer finding a black address book buried under miscellaneous junk. With book and cola in hand he sat at the table. He stared out the window wondering if he was ready for this.
His hand hesitated over the address book. Assuming Elliott still had the same number would he even talk to him? Maybe not knowing was better.
To hell with it. He grabbed the book and flipped through it until he found Elliott’s number, picked up the phone and dialed. Might as well get this over with.
The phone rang three times before a woman answered. “Hello?” Her voice was tinny and soft through the handset.
“Beth?”
There was a slight pause. “Yes?”
“It’s Willem. Is Elliott there?”
The pause went on longer. Could it be she didn’t remember him, or just surprised at his call? His tension washed away as her jubilation resonated through the phone. “Willem! It’s so good to hear your voice. How have you been? God, it’s been so long!” Hearing the happiness in her voice brought on a smile.
“Good, good. Is he around?”
“Yes. Hold on.”
He listened as she walked, her footfalls barely audible through the phone. There was a whoosh sound as she covered the mouthpiece, though not enough.
“. . . Willem. He’d . . . talk to you.”
The silence continued, and Willem could only guess what was happening. Elliott was probably shaking his head no to Beth, not wanting to engage in a conversation with him. And then he heard Elliott’s voice.
“Hello?” Elliott’s voice sounded tired.
“It’s Willem, Elliott. How are you?”
“Good,” he said with a slow inhale. “It’s been a long time. Ten years?”
“Something like that.” Willem grew increasingly concerned. Ten years was a long time, but not so long that his brother would sound so… aged. “Is everything alright? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“It’s been a long time,” Elliott said again, as if that answered the question. He coughed.
“You still working in tech?”
“Nah. Got out of that years ago.” He heard Elliott cover the mouthpiece and another cough. “It was a dead end
job, no real career path. I started working as a consultant and never looked back. What about you? Still saving lives?”
“Trying. Elliott—”
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately,” Elliott interrupted. “You and Sam, actually.”
“Sam?” He found it interesting that they both were thinking of their brother in recent days.
“Yeah.” Willem sensed some hesitation on his brother’s part. “Whatever the reason for our fight, I think we should let bygones be bygones.”
Willem was taken aback. He expected some resistance to making amends—Elliott was always a stubborn one. Maybe ten years had mellowed him out a little. “I agree. In fact, I don’t even remember what the fight was about.”
A phlegmy laugh came through the phone. “Really? Funny how that works.”
“You said you’ve been thinking about Sam lately. So have I.”
“Well isn’t that interesting. You dying, too?”
That caught Willem off guard. “Dying?”
“Cancer. Docs say I don’t have much time left. So that’s my excuse, what’s yours?”
“In all honesty, I’m not sure. Just… memories coming back.” If Willem felt uncomfortable before now he was distressed. “How are Beth and the kids handling it?”
“Kids are adults now and are fine. They’ve all accepted the inevitable. In all honesty, I’d like this to be over with so that they could move on.” Another cough through the phone. “Did you ever marry?”
“No.”
“Well then you probably won’t understand, but the pain I see in their eyes every time I look into them, it breaks my heart. They say the eyes are the gateway to the soul, and you know what? It’s true. I never realized it, not until I saw how they look at me now.”
It pained him to admit it, but Willem was jealous of his brother and what he had, for what he was losing. He’d never known love, the longing one feels for their wife or children, the smile received when returning home from work or a trip. The unequivocal joy on a loved one’s face. That had eluded Willem into his adult life.
As if reading his mind, Elliott said, “It’s never too late, Willem. Never.” Elliott cleared his throat. “So why the call after all these years? Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I would have picked up the phone myself if I wasn’t so damn scared you’d hang up or wouldn’t answer.”
“I’ve never known you to be scared.”
“Eh.” Willem could sense the shrug through the phone. “I put on a good show.”
“How long do you have?” Silence on the other end. “Elliott?”
“A week. Two at most.” The defeat in Elliott’s voice was heartbreaking.
Willem needed to see his brother before the end, needed to talk to him, to make amends. He wanted to be there right now. It was a five hour drive, so if he could get on the road in the next hour or two he could be there before nightfall. “I’ll be there tonight.”
He’d expected an argument, but Elliott surprised him. “Okay. I’ll let Beth know. But now I’ve got to go, Willem. I’m tired.”
Willem understood. Elliott was his only remaining family and to set things right it was something he needed to do. “I’ll make the arrangements and be there tonight.”
Relief seeped through the phone. “Thank you.”
“Goodbye, Elliott,” and Willem hung up the phone.
* * *
It had been more difficult to find the cabin than he expected. It had been a long time since he’d been out this way—some fifty years—and his recollection wasn’t what it once was. The road off the highway was overgrown and blended in with the surrounding forest so well he’d missed it the first pass. Back in the day it was easy to miss unless you knew what to look for, but now it was nearly impossible. When he finally did find the road he expected he’d be able to drive the entire way in. That wasn’t meant to be. Just past the two boulders that blocked Oak—the abandoned road that went nowhere—was an age-old tree that had come down in the not too distant past. There was no way for him to maneuver the car around it, so he’d thrown it in park and got out.
Twelve feet up from the base of the tree it looked like lightning had struck snapping the thing in half. The wood was charred black. David could only assume that rain had been coming down at the time and had managed to keep the fire from spreading. Good thing, too. If it hadn’t he’d probably be standing in a cemetery of trees right now.
When the cabin came into view he scarcely believed it. It was real! The cabin Lilly had taken him to in his dream existed. It solidified the fact that his hazy memory was in fact true.
David stopped dead in his tracks when he saw movement on the side of the cabin. He pressed himself against a tree hoping to blend in. He watched as a man approached the door with trepidation and knocked. It looked like… Was that the deputy he met the other day? What was he doing here?
With no response he watched Stavic open the door and step in. Another man, this one older, stepped around the cabin and crept up to the door and peeked in.
“Out!” he heard Stavic shout as he propelled the second man from the entrance. What was going on? Stavic put a phone to his ear.
He couldn’t stay here. If he was calling for backup the last thing he wanted was to be found skulking around the cabin.
* * *
They had set up powerful lights that washed away all the shadows. Stavic and Kinney stood outside the cabin’s front door. Everything was red save for Jim Patterson, the county coroner, who was dressed in a yellow hazmat suit. The floor and walls were splattered with blood. Once Deputy Reed arrived he asked him to escort Harold back to his boat. No sense in traumatizing him further.
“This is the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” Kinney said, “and I’ve seen a lot. “How did you find this place?”
“Tour of the river like you asked.”
Stavic felt himself being drawn back to that night in Chicago when he was almost killed. At the time he was a beat cop on the north side of the city. Not nearly as bad as the south or west sides, it still had its own gang problems. In honoring the Mayor’s plan to crack down on crime, Stavic had volunteered to work undercover. It had taken sixteen months, but he’d managed to infiltrate one of the major gangs in the neighborhood, had them convinced he was a junkie living in squalor. Not that that wasn’t far from the truth; he’d started hanging out with the right people that by the end he was living in a skeleton of a burned out three-flat gray-stone. Several homeless people lived there, all of them he’d considered friends by the end. One in particular, Jennifer, he’d become exceptionally close to. While that hadn’t been the first time he’d done drugs it certainly was what got him addicted.
A major drop off was planned of which he alerted his superiors. He and his homeless friends—people who just wanted to make a few bucks to eat—went to the location, met with the runners. The cops were ready and a shootout ensued. One of the drug runners came to Stavic convinced he’d sold them out. Before he could react a muzzle was pressed against his temple. He felt the warmth of the fired weapon tremble against his flesh. Stavic closed his eyes, expecting death, when Jennifer lunged.
The bullet grazed his head and blew out his eardrum. Jennifer ended up taking a bullet to the gut, but it afforded Stavic enough time to wrestle the gun from the drug runner’s hands and blow him away. When it was all said and done most of the criminals had been killed, the others caught. Stavic stayed with Jennifer as she bled out, the sparkle in her eyes fading.
She was gone before the ambulance arrived.
After the experience of being undercover, partial loss of hearing, nearly a bullet to the head, and the death of Jennifer it became too much for him and he put in his two weeks. He was told that when he was ready to come back just pick up the phone—he was a good cop.
To try and clear his mind he’d decided to travel. It was the seventh week being away from home and he was headed back to Chicago when he saw a sign for River Bend. Something about the name pulled at him so he
decided to check it out. As soon as he crossed Willow Creek Bridge he felt like he was home. Everything about it was comforting and safe.
Once he got back to Chicago he called up the River Bend police station and inquired about a position. Turned out there was. One of the deputies was moving and the position needed to be filled. But, he was asked, why would a Chicago cop want to be a deputy of a small town when all the action was in the big city? Stavic answered, Sheriff Kinney nodding in understanding. Stavic filled out the paperwork, got glowing recommendations from his bosses, and met with Sheriff Kinney. He was offered the job on the spot. Less than a week later Stavic was packed and moved, leaving behind the disgusting nature of the human species.
Or so he thought.
The soft glow of an impending sunset illuminated the horizon. He breathed deeply, taking in the crisp autumn air. Wasn’t sure how much longer until snow fell. Couple of weeks at most. He closed his eyes and stretched his back. It cracked. He let out a long throaty sigh, leaned forward, and opened his eyes.
“What do you think this guy was doing out here?” Stavic mused.
“That’s a very interesting question,” Kinney said, and patted him on the shoulder. “I think you should start figuring that out.”
* * *
She didn’t know how to broach the subject of pregnancy with Emily. This was new territory for her, and it scared the crap out of her.
The sun was down and Claire sat in the living room watching television. She stared at the flickering image, the sound low. Hard to believe only a few days ago she nearly died here. She looked at the spot where she’d been found, trying to imagine how she’d looked, what Emily had seen. Emily had told her how terrified she’d been, but she couldn’t imagine it. Sure she’d been scared before, of things Emily did as a child—running into the street, falling out of a tree—but those resulted in moments of adrenalized panic, nothing like finding someone who was for all intents and purposes dead.
Claire wrapped her robe around her a little tighter, tugging the ropes around her waist. She took her cup of hot tea and sipped it wishing for a cocktail instead. But a promise was a promise, one she intended to keep.