by Bryan Nowak
Tears streamed down Waylon’s face. “I saw a head, Matt. A fucking head. That guy, you know the hiker that came through here a few weeks with that girl. I think his name was Carl Johnson or something.”
Matthew slammed on the brakes, causing Waylon to lurch forward in his seat as the sound of screeching tires filled his ears. Matthew pulled the truck over to the side of the road. His complexion drained of color, taking on a grey pallor. The implication of what Waylon said wasn’t lost on him. “You mean Carl Jensen? Are you telling me that you saw the head of Carl Jensen in the lake today? Do you even realize what you’re saying, Waylon? Holy shit!”
The two men sat in silence for about a minute. Waylon reached over and handed his friend the flask of whiskey. Wordlessly, Matthew took a long drink. They sat there for a few moments more, staring at the open road.
Past the turn off which took people back into the main part of town, toward the church and a few boarded up businesses, they’d merge with the highway. Both men essentially shared the same thought; if they kept going on this road, how far could they make it? From there, the road would take them to Richmond, Washington D.C., or even Pittsburgh or Philadelphia. It might just be possible to outrun the shit-storm likely on the horizon for the little town.
“We need to go see Donny,” Matthew said. Hitting the accelerator, he flipped on the emergency lights. Bad news never got better with age, and this news was as bad as it could ever get.
****
Donny Swenson sat back on his thick leather couch with a book and a nice cup of tea. A lovely evening, to sit by the window and watch the odd rainstorm play with the trees and puddles forming on the driveway. Under normal circumstances, he’d be at church, watching over the staff and answering phone calls. But, for now, the rare relaxation of a day off hit the mark.
In the distance, a flock of geese flew lazily across the horizon. He thought briefly about how majestically the birds flew as they headed off to parts unknown. The way they maintained a ‘V’ shaped pattern across the sky suggested order in a disorderly world. Like an arrowhead without the shaft released from an archer’s bow. That was the right word: order. Exactly the way he liked his town, the town of Riapoke.
The estate, inherited from his parents, sat in the dead center of 250 acres of forest. All the homes on this side of town did. The home and property, if sold, would probably be valued at five million dollars or more. However, since moving into his parent’s home in Riapoke, life became far easier, with all the advantages the town fell over themselves to provide. Ten years ago, if anyone suggested he’d come to pretty much own the town, he’d think them nuts.
His sixteen-year-old daughter, Beth, strolled through the house. Having found the tennis racket she’d misplaced, her current search involved a missing pair of tennis shoes.
“Daddy, have you seen my shoes?”
Shaking his head at her quest, he said, “No Darlin’, you know, if you put them away where they belonged.”
She huffed at his well-rehearsed line. “Oh Daddy, you know I love you. Take it from me, that line needs to find a good retirement home.”
He knew instinctively where they were; however, finding them wouldn’t teach the child not to leave stuff around the house. Beth needed to learn how to take on more responsibility. As the heiress to an inherited, and some newly accumulated fortune, she’d learn responsibility if it killed him.
Beth, meant everything to him. She grew into the spitting image of her mother, who left him shortly after Beth was born. He’d been left to raise a daughter all alone when The Master selected a new wife for him. A mousy woman named Helen, she fulfilled the role as well as anyone could. They married in a small ceremony at the church and, although they’d never had an emotional connection, his new wife fulfilled his needs and helped raise Beth until Helen died from an unforeseen illness a year ago.
As a child, his German grandparents insisted everything in life be planned and regulated. This suited Donny well. Dinner served promptly at 6:00, and God help you if you came late. Shoes were put on for school at exactly 7:15. Not 7:14, not 7:16. Some called them control freaks; however, the beauty of order gave his life meaning.
Strict controls were part of his upbringing. He relished and stuck to them.
Days off never promised relaxation. Most of the time he spent walking around in circles, looking for something to do. His daughter eventually became irritated and sent Donny out to take a long walk, if only to give her and the staff a few moments of peace.
In the distance, flashes of light pierced the canopy of trees with beams of red and blue. Donny never remembered Matthew ever driving his truck up the driveway with the emergency lights on.
What does that idiot want?
Donny examined his cup of tea for answers. Through careful and creative planning, and of course The Master’s help, Donny managed to force all of the actual law enforcement officers out of town soon after relocating to Riapoke. With a fictitious police department on the books, Donny managed a good stage show when officials from other parts of the state needed to pry into their business. Several trusted townspeople filled out the ranks of the non-existent sheriff and deputies when it became necessary.
For the last eight years, Matthew had functioned as their one and only legitimate law enforcement official. Matthew, a handful at times, was prone to indulging his independent streak. A native son, he insisted on doing things by the book where the lives of the residents were concerned.
Until recently, he’d been trustworthy. A few details came to light recently, however, that gave Donny second thoughts. Getting rid of Matthew would be a difficult task. Matthew had the confidence and trust of the townspeople and could challenge Donny’s authority if he wanted to.
Donny watched the lights shine brighter and brighter until they threatened to give him a headache. The truck pulled up in front of the house. Flinging open the front door, he glaring down at the man who dared intrude on this peaceful day.
From the truck, he was shocked to see that in addition to Matthew Tanner, Waylon Anderson also stumbled out, almost falling to the ground.
“Matthew, turn off those damn lights!” Donny yelled.
He seemed to disregard the order, waving Donny off as he approached the stairs leading up to the main house.
“Damn it, Tanner, turn off those fucking lights now.” Donny didn’t like being ignored. Matthew, looking annoyed, returned to the truck and flipped a switch, dousing the emergency lights. “What do you mean coming to my home with those lights on?”
“Donny, we ain’t here for tea,” Waylon answered. “We’ve got business, and it’s important.”
Donny let out an annoyed sigh. “You’d better be right.”
Waylon had committed himself to the cause and proved a useful tool to Donny. Waylon worked for the approval of Donny and The Master. The Master loved servants like Waylon. Never needing any cajoling or prompting, a good follower who did what he was told like an obedient dog.
“Well, let’s get on with it. This is my day off and I have no intention of wasting it talking to you two.”
“We need to talk inside,” Matthew said.
Donny glared at Matthew like he’d glare at an insolent student who’d disobeyed his teacher. “We’ll talk whenever and wherever I decide we will talk, Tanner. You have no right to speak that way to your better. Remember your place.”
Matthew stiffened and took a step toward Donny, who stepped back a few paces, instinctively intimidated. “Donny, we either talk inside … in your office, or I’ll arrest you for interfering with a police investigation. And then we can talk in my office, which is considerably less comfortable.”
Donny waved his hand in front of his nose in an attempt to diffuse the tense situation and hide his own fear. “Jesus, Tanner, have you been drinking?”
Donny knew he owned Matthew; however, on the books Donny’s only official capacity was as the town’s reverend and mayor. Matthew, in theory, had the power to arrest him.
“Yes, we both have,” Waylon offered. “After we’re done talking, you’ll do right to have a few snorts yourself.”
Donny fumed internally at the lack of respect. He wasn’t sure how to handle it. “Suit yourselves, boys. Step inside, and you can explain the liquor on your breaths. And you, Matthew, drinking on duty?”
In no mood to carry on a lengthy discussion about the morality of drinking on duty, Matthew pointed at the house. “Your office, now.” Once again, he succeeded in intimidating Donny.
Not something Donny particularly liked, preferring to be the primary force in the room. “As you wish, Tanner. This had better be good. You’re treading on thin ice today.”
They proceeded through a marble entryway and walked down a dark paneled hallway. At the end a set of oak double doors stood imposing and heavy. The Swenson family crest, carved into the wood, intimidated all visitors to the space. It was and audacious thing. A shield with two falcons entwined in battle. Next to each bird, two swords crossed. The family motto was emblazoned on the bottom of the shield in a scroll. Auctoritas non veritas facit legem. ‘Authority, not truth, makes law.’
Donny pushed open the doors. Long pieces of finely polished wood flooring gave way to several oriental rugs, a large desk, and three chairs.
Matthew and Waylon took seats instinctively as Donny closed and locked the wooden doors.
“Stand up, both of you. You come into my home, flashing lights all over creation like a bunch of idiots. You both smell of liquor. And Tanner, you asshole, ordering me around in my own house. Need I remind you of your place here? Give me one good reason that I shouldn’t turn you over to The Master right now?”
Waylon instantly stood up in response to the rebuke, fear in his eyes. Matthew got up more slowly and put both hands down flat on Donny’s desk, leaning toward the reverend. Staring right into Donny’s eyes with a steely glare which left no doubt he was in no mood for word play, he said, “Waylon fished Carl Jensen’s head out of the lake today.”
For a moment, no one spoke. The three men just stared at one another. Donny’s mouth fell open like a man caught mid-word and failed to carry out its pronunciation to the end. The color drained from his face.
After a lengthy and awkward silence, Donny turned to the large globe next to the desk. Flipping open the secret compartment and retrieving three glasses, he filled them with bourbon. Placing two of the glasses in front of the men, he sat down heavily in the leather office chair behind the desk. “You two better sit down and have a drink.”
Sets Her Heart Aflutter
Meghan questioned if they were lost precisely as a sign for the Hideaway Resort and Convention Center fell into the beams of the car’s headlights. According to the sign, only a few scant miles of road lay between them and a good night’s sleep. The prospect of rest excited her. Kyle even let a yawn or two escape before succumbing to the exhaustion of the drive and the epic amount of food he’d consumed at dinner. Pulling into the reception center’s visitor parking area, eager to get their room assignment, she left Kyle sleeping in the car.
“Good Evening and welcome to the Hideaway,” the perky girl behind the counter said, flashing a set of perfect, pearl white teeth. “I’m Kimberly, and it’ll be my pleasure to help you. May I have your name please?” The overly enthusiastic girl struck Meghan as one of those people whose highest aspirations in life peaked at professional cheerleader. Blond to a fault, expressionless eyes gave her the impression the light was still on with no one at home. She couldn’t be more than a year or two older than Kyle.
“Meghan Johnston, we got in on a last minute cancellation.”
Kimberly flipped through a pile of paperwork sitting on the registration desk. “Ah, here we go. Johnston. Right. I see there are two people in your party. Where is … Mr. Johnston?”
Meghan made a face. “Oh no, not like that. Kyle Johnston is my son. And is presently sleeping in the car.”
The girl stared at Meghan with obvious disapproval at the idea of leaving a sleeping infant in the car. “Do you need a crib or anything?”
“No young lady, my son is seventeen. He’d never fit. Just the keys, please. We’re both exhausted.” Meghan looked at least ten years younger than most women with a seventeen-year-old son, so people assumed Kyle was a baby, if they didn’t know him. However, the girl behind the registration desk seemed unusually dull-witted.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is he cute?”
Meghan needed a second to process the question the girl just asked. “I’m his mother. For your sake, I’ll forget you said that.”
Oblivious to her faux pas, Kimberly just shrugged, flashed an impossibly perfect set of teeth and said, “Okay. Your room is on the second level, near the elevators. We have a complimentary full breakfast at six-thirty, which runs till ten. You can also reserve a boat if you want, either for the full or half day. Just don’t tie up at Riapoke docks, though. They don’t like strangers. They’re kind of odd like that.”
“You’re the second person who’s told me that today,” Meghan mused, more to herself than Kimberly. “Well, okay, can I reserve a small boat with an outboard for the day after tomorrow?”
“Absolutely, I’ll reserve one now and it’ll be waiting for you that morning. Do you want it all day, or just for the morning?”
“Let’s take it all day.” Meghan picked up the room keys and turned to leave.
“Have a good night Mrs. Johnston.”
“Good night Kimberly.” The girl smiled at Meghan. Perhaps Kimberly just sounded dim-witted through the pallor of exhaustion and the long drive.
When she reached the car, Kyle woke up from his extended nap. “Hey buddy, rested and ready to take on the world?” she teased.
He stretched his long frame and let out a prolonged yawn. “Rested and ready to go back to sleep.”
“We have our room. I don’t think they realize they’re going to go broke with you eating the complimentary breakfast.” They parked the car and dragged their luggage back to the entrance. Walking into the reception area, Kimberly stood behind the counter as before, this time two younger females had joined her. They giggled and turned toward each other, whispering in hushed voices like this was the hallway of a high school.
Oh God, I hope I was never that stupid as a teenager.
Kyle, not-so innocently flashed them a smile and the three practically melted. “Hello ladies,” he said. Adopting his manliest stride, he approached the giggling trio, but Meghan caught his arm.
“Not now, Romeo, it’s late and we have a lot of fun things planned tomorrow. You can schmooze the ladies another time. Good night, girls.” Meghan shot them a dirty look as she scooted him away from the counter.
“Bit of a kill-joy, don’t you think?” Kyle said. “I just wanted to get a name or two, possibly their phone numbers.”
Meghan growled at him. Not raising Kyle as a piece of meat for wandering eyes, he seemed to enjoy the attention a little too much. The situation reminded her of her own teenage years. Every boy with wispy hair and a cute smile turned her head too. It was too early for Kyle to make girls’ heads turn. Or maybe she tried to mask the fear that her little boy was growing up faster than she imagined.
Just one more summer. Let me have my little boy for one more summer.
The next morning, the day seemed full of possibilities. After a long breakfast of more food than she thought even her son could eat, they took a walk, just mom and son. Then they headed to the beach where she claimed a lounge chair while Kyle swam the length of the designated swimming area. Meghan kept an eye on the girls, who seemed intent on following them, or rather Kyle, around all day.
The woods along the lake shore held a magical allure. They both talked of what life at the University is like, and what lay in store for him. He would be off to college soon enough and for Meghan, it all happened too quickly. For the first time, she spoke to him as an adult and he spoke to her as one as well, not as a child seeking his mother’s approval.
Sunsh
ine and warm air invigorated her. Meghan walked in silence for a short while, thinking over everything that happened to them in life. Right now, everything aligned for once. After a couple of hours in the woods, they returned to the resort and changed into swim wear.
The beach area lay out before them, a long stretch of sand bookended by woods on one end and the small resort harbor on the other. A generous swimming area extended into the lake, cordoned off with red and white ropes and floats letting you know how far out you were allowed to swim.
It was inevitable that either Kyle would find girls, or they would find him. The second the two of them stepped out of the hotel proper, the girls flocked to Kyle. He’d been polite, gently putting them off while he walked beside his mother.
Meghan sighed to herself at the thought of pretty young girls peeling her little boy away from her side. At least they’d hiked together that morning.
It occurred to Meghan that kids always grow up too fast in a parent’s eye, no matter how old they were. She wished Kyle could stay that scared little boy, always insisting on having the closets opened and for her to chase the lobsters away who hid under the bed. She laughed to herself as she remembered the time he got the words ‘lobsters’ and ‘monsters’ mixed up, and it stuck.
“Mom, can I ask you something?”
Meghan sighed at him. “Tired of your old mother already huh?”
“Mom, you’re not old and no, I’m not tired of you. But …” His voice drifted off.
“I’m not cool enough?”
Trying to recover, he said, “No way, you’re plenty cool.”
She shook her head. “Go ahead, play with your new buddies and leave me to die on the beach, all alone.”
“Okay, being a tad dramatic, Mom. Aren’t you?” he said, smirking.
Meghan waved toward the beach. “Have fun, sweetie. Just be back in time for dinner. I have a table reserved. We’re going to do it up right tonight.”
“I will, I promise. Be back at six. I love you, Mom.”