by Greg Walker
He frantically peeled off the ski mask, turned away and threw up, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbled back to his car. The bawling of a cow caught his attention, and he looked to where the quartet had stood. Three had fled, but the fourth lay on the ground, its legs thrashing weakly, the bullet meant for him instead finding the cow. This struck Will as utterly ridiculous, and he laughed out loud, a shrill, high-pitched sound that made him jump. He quickly pulled off the sweatshirt, deciding keeping the evidence until later was too dangerous, and trotted through the weeds to the bank of the creek. He tossed the clothing in and watched it drift downstream and then, increasingly waterlogged, sink.
He got back in his car, did a three-point turn, and traveled out towards the blacktop. He drove slowly, just a man in his car, nothing to see here. At the junction, he had to wait for light traffic to pass. He cracked his window, listening for sirens but heard none, looked at his watch and noted twenty minutes had passed since the robbery; but as much action packed into that time to equal several years of his life before this. Maybe the entire thing if he excluded Ravensburg.
Will drove home, keeping to the speed limit, expecting a police road block to snare him but reached Erie without incident. He stopped at a self-serve carwash at the edge of the city and cleaned the film of dust from his vehicle, trying to act normal but so nervous: suspecting every patron as an officer in disguise, waiting for someone to finger him as a murderer, a SWAT team to materialize and push him face down in the soap and tire cleaner running in rivulets to the drain in the center of the concrete.
He pulled away still at large and drove towards home. As the fear wore off or at least diminished to manageable levels, he finally experienced the buzz he had sought, a fix that filled his body with a sense of lightness, as though he had exchanged the oxygen in it for helium. He wondered if the real purpose of prison wasn’t punishment, but quarantine to keep this sort of behavior from infecting the people, knowing that simple laws couldn’t stop a revolt once people got a helping of this stuff. The more he considered this, the more it made sense. Attach a stigma to what you sought to control, and let the unsuspecting carry that message throughout society, reinforcing it with their frowns and anger and disapproval in a way that guns, dogs and steel cages could not. Let them believe they’re free and on the right side of things, and they’ll accept their chains and shackle each other.
Will had never gone in for conspiracy theories, shook his head in disgust at the 9/11 “Truthers” and laughed at the claims that men had never walked on the moon. But his thoughts right now seemed anything but funny. He’d been there, done that, and experienced true freedom in destroying the template he had accepted as proper conduct for his life. His mind came back round to the killing, and he could understand how that fit, too. It wasn’t man against man, but idea against idea, freedom versus blindness; the latter revealing ignorance in chasing down what it feared and couldn’t understand. Will wished the farmer could have had an epiphany instead of a violent, intimate encounter with the tree and then with his pistol, but was it really his fault that it had come to that? And in light of this, his cowardice took on new meaning. Not cowardice at all, but a built-in resistance to what he now had dared to overcome and embrace.
Now he realized that the divorce papers were a gift from his wife.
Justin.
This new worldview seemed much more flimsy when viewed in light of a child’s innocence, almost barbaric. Somewhat troubled, he decided to think on that later, sure that an explanation would come, eventually.
Will glanced around before climbing the stairs and entering his second floor dwelling, looking hard at a few cars parked on the curb to detect any cops that might have staked him out, not sure what he would do if they had. Go down shooting, maybe. Satisfied that nothing appeared suspicious, he opened the door and slipped inside, locking the door and exhaling in a sigh of relief and exhaustion. The sun had started to set, and aside from a few rectangles of golden light that slid through the venetian blinds to rest on the wall, the apartment was dark.
And from that darkness came a voice.
“Hey, Will.”
Chapter 15
Brody watched as Will fumbled with the zipper on a duffel bag he had carried inside, then dropped it and pawed at the lock. Amused, he stood up from the easy chair and crossed the floor. Will spun around and actually bared his teeth, appeared more animal than human and with flight denied, ready to fight.
“Settle down. It’s Brody. We need to talk.”
Slowly Will’s face relaxed. He slumped against the door and slid to the floor, burying his hands in his hair.
“What the hell have you been up to?” Brody said, not afraid but wary. He expected to surprise Will when he arrived home, but this reaction seemed a bit extreme.
“Who do you think you are, breaking in here?”
“Who do you think you are, asking me that question? I own you.”
“Nobody owns me.”
Will wouldn’t look at him, but the defiance in his voice sounded out clearly. Much too clearly. Brody wondered if Will had started taking drugs and with them gained some artificial courage. His misgivings at drafting him into another enterprise increased. He wondered now at the meaning of his dream – that is, if it actually had a meaning. If so, maybe it suggested not that his own actions would bring about his damnation, but rather that Jon and Will's participation could act as a stone to drag him to ruin. For now, however, he needed to reestablish his dominance, and think about the rest later on.
“Look at me Will.”
Will pulled his hands out of his hair and slowly turned his face to Brody, his expression neutral.
“I do own you. And until I say otherwise, that’s how it is. You with me?”
Will looked at the floor, and glanced over at the duffel bag, but didn’t answer.
Brody stepped closer. “Will? I need an answer. Not leaving until I get it, and I believe you mean it.”
Will lunged sideways towards the bag. Brody had anticipated this and reacted quickly. His boot came down on Will’s hand. He didn’t stomp, didn’t want to break anything, at least not yet.
Will howled in pain. Brody lifted his foot and Will yanked his hand back, brought it to his chest and cradled it there. His eyes burned his fury, but still of an animal sort devoid of reason. And fear. Definitely some fear there.
Good, we’re getting somewhere.
Brody picked up the bag, and by its weight and how the single item inside fell to the bottom, he knew immediately the contents. His concern deepened. He unzipped the bag and took out the gun, recognizing it as the same pistol used to kill Chris.
“You planning to shoot me, Will? I thought you were smarter than this.”
Things were getting interesting. In what way, he didn’t know yet, but he would before leaving, even if Will needed more encouragement through the always revelatory implementation of pain.
“Where were you just now?”
Will hesitated, and Brody suspected he was determining whether he possessed the balls or skill to lie. He waited, wanting Will to work it out for himself. He would learn, but each learned at his own pace, and Brody would not circumvent any necessary lesson.
Sullenly, Will said, “I robbed a hardware store.”
“Say that again.”
“I robbed a hardware store.”
Too much attitude. More work to do here.
“Where? Here in town?” Brody stepped to the window near the door and peeked outside. That Will could have drawn the police here had never occurred to him. Not that he had done anything that they could prove or knew about, but he certainly didn’t need to be found in the apartment of a hunted criminal, holding a weapon that as a convicted felon he was not allowed to possess.
“No. A town called Loudenville. I killed someone too.”
Brody stared at him. Will stared back, the prolonged eye contact a clear challenge. He could find out more afterwards about Will’s activities: tr
ue, fabricated, or embellished. The time had come to school him.
“Stand up.”
Will obeyed, but slowly. Too slowly. Brody punched him in the jaw. Will stumbled and then staggered into his small kitchen. Brody followed, catching his arm and putting his fist into his stomach. As Will doubled over, he brought his knee up into his face. Not too hard. Not yet. Not until he had to. Then whatever it took. But hard enough.
He let Will go and he fell down on the kitchen floor, gasping and coughing. Brody rummaged through some drawers and found a steak knife and dropped it on the floor next to Will.
“Pick it up, if you want to take this further. Fists can only do so much. But if you fail, I cut off a finger. For starters.”
Will glanced at the knife, then reached for it. Brody smiled a grim smile and readied himself for an attack. He wanted Will to exhaust himself and with it any belief that he could win, leave him enough strength to continue the fight as long as he wanted until Brody had no choice but to put him down for good. And if that meant he never got up again, so be it. Maybe not here and now, but if necessary, it would happen. He felt sad that it might go that far, still liked Will for what he represented to his own lost youth and idealism, however dark in the eyes of most.
Will hesitated and then reached further to touch the knife handle. But instead of picking it up, he shoved it so that it slid across the floor, banking off of a crack in the linoleum and skittering underneath the ancient stove. He lay there, waiting for Brody’s instruction. Waiting for permission to move.
Making some real progress now.
“Get up. If you’re done, we’re done. But I want you to answer one question. Who owns you?”
“You do.”
No hesitation. Either he hid his resentment or it had been beaten out of him. Good enough for now.
“Get some ice for your chin, and then we’ll talk.”
Brody kept a poker face as Will told him about the robbery, the pursuit, and the four shots pumped into the farmer. On one hand he was amazed at what Will had done, how quickly he had gone from the silly man throwing rocks at his car to a killer. Maybe even felt a little proud. But his deeper reaction was disquiet, the earlier perception of Will as unstable bolstered by the new material. He had worked with guys like this before. Usually they became too great of a liability to keep around, and so they ended up buried in the woods - Chris not his first such interment - or at the bottom of a lake, like Marcus. They were a danger to themselves and to those around them. Brody had wanted to work with Jon and Will specifically because they were not like the people he had associated with before prison.
He still held the gun in his hands, and considered turning it on Will and ending this. He could make it look like a suicide, and then tip off the police to what Will had just confessed. Case closed, no reason for them to look for another shooter or for motives beyond simple craziness. A guy goes over the edge, and as an act of remorse blows his brains all over the room. But the thought of partnering with the law in any capacity turned his stomach. Will deserved better.
"Will, that's an amazing story. I have to say that I'm proud of you." He sensed Will's need for his approval, and saw no harm in giving it. Not a total lie, anyway.
"I just stopped by to let you know that I plan to get started on our operation soon, and to make sure you're still on board. From the looks of things, you're more than that. You're already sailing. But let's keep it cool for now, okay? Nothing else until we go for the big one. I'm going to keep your gun, just so you don't get tempted with it sitting around here. Just lay low. Go to work or do whatever you do. Look for an e-mail from me."
Will nodded, a small smile on his face. Brody felt like he addressed a child or an imbecile, felt pity and some remorse too for what he had to do. Like a dog a man has poked and teased to encourage aggression, then has to be put down after biting the neighbor's kid. He would come back in a day or two and use Will's gun to do the deed, had decided it was the only way; he needed to plan it out, not get caught up in the moment now when things could get sloppy.
"What happened here, that little skirmish? Not going to be necessary again, right? You know who's in charge?"
"Yeah. Sorry about that. Just...going out there on my own. Things got a little crazy and I wasn't myself. I'm sure you know all about it, right Brody?"
No, you were yourself. And that's the problem, Willie.
"Sure. No harm done. So take care of yourself and we'll talk soon."
Brody put his hand out and Will flinched, and then smiled sheepishly on realizing he had been offered it to shake. He took it and squeezed harder than necessary, and Brody squeezed back and smiled. He turned around and walked out of the apartment leaving Will to bask in his short-lived glory. At least he got to go out on a high note, not die a stupid death courtesy of testicular cancer or some teenager texting down the highway and right into the path of his car. No, Will had earned himself something of a status. Just unfortunate he'd also earned himself a bullet in the brainpan.
Brody sighed and walked the three blocks back to his car, planning to drive home and pay a similar visit to Jon tomorrow, but conducted in a much different tone and with a different ending. He had definitely decided to call off the entire thing, and leave the threat of the pictures and bodily harm to him and his wife as the sole deterrents. Jon seemed much more sensible, and Brody expected he would never need to speak with him again. But he hoped the man had taken something away from the weekend that he could use. He wouldn't tell Jon what he planned for Will, but he was a smart guy and would connect the dots, allow him to draw the conclusion that Will had threatened their little conspiracy and paid the price. Even more reason for him to shut up and if not...well, he would do what he had to. He always did.
Chapter 16
Jon watched the water flow, thousands of gallons before his eyes; always the same, always different, the changes in its path imperceptible as it slowly eroded the rock that defined its course, so that no one witnessed it and the viewer, if there was one in thousands or millions of years, could believe that it had always been that way. So much like the average life, small changes in appearance – a slowly expanding gut, laugh lines carved into skin, gray hair overtaking the natural color - not visible to those around on a daily basis but only to a friend or acquaintance encountered at the grocery store or a reunion years since the last meeting. But attitudes, personality, all of that never seemed to change, only became more tightly wrapped and firmly set inside an aging body.
But he had changed, and in a remarkable manner. At least Erin thought so, and in more places than their bedroom. And she had responded in her own way, those changes rippling beyond him and infecting her.
She had suggested the trip to the Poconos, and together they had gone online and rented out a rustic cabin hidden away in the woods for a five night stay. Both had taken time off of work; time earned and stacked up and never used and Jon couldn’t understand why. But it didn’t matter so much, the why, only that they were now together in this place, and it seemed possible that they could be together when they left, more than share the same physical space defined by the boundaries of their house but occupy it together with shared goals and purpose. Sort of what marriage had been about in the first place, or at least in theory. They had money too, not rich, but without children and his salary added to hers from a job as a receptionist at a local doctor’s office, they could easily afford this trip, and more in the future. Erin had talked about traveling more extensively, and he liked the sound of it, could forget for a while that he had a date with Brody and Will sometime soon that might change the course of his life again.
They were currently touring Bushkill Falls, a private natural area where admission bought a hike on wooden boardwalks and staircases and some natural trails to eight separate waterfalls. Recent rains had brought their flow up to levels that begged for appreciation, and a Thursday in springtime assured the place wasn’t packed with tourists. Jon liked it nearly empty, just like his campgrounds.<
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He and Erin had held hands often while strolling the grounds, and they now stood together while viewing the main falls, a bridal veil type that fell over 100 feet into a raging plunge pool agitated by the impressive force of the water. Entirely worth the eleven dollar admission fee. But as he and Erin grew closer, the events of the past weekend and the uncertain upcoming finale grew heavier and harder to bear. How could he keep something so monumental hidden? He had wrestled with it during the five hour car ride to get here, and stayed awake after making love while she slept beside him, an arm thrown over his chest and sleeping contentedly.
“What are you thinking about, Jon?”
“We have to talk about something Erin. Something big.”
She pulled back from him and looked into his eyes. He saw fear there, fear that something would now enter their re-kindled relationship and tear it apart, and suspicion that his behavior had been an act leading up to some sordid revelation. And while he couldn’t promise that their marriage would survive, he felt a lump in his throat when considering that they now had something to tear apart, something potentially vital and not a dry husk to wither and erode and blow away in the breeze, but instead something with new roots to grow and hold it, if they took care.