Risen

by Strnad, Jan

"What in the hell—?" he said and he turned around to see Deputy Haws standing over the body of Hiram Weems, the traveling salesman, holding a smoking pistol. Jack and Dolores Frelich stared at the deputy in stunned disbelief. Haws moved his gun over to point at Jack and shot him through the forehead. Dolores screamed and tried to get up and run but she was too slow. Haws fired again, shot her right through the chest, and she fell to the dock with a dead thud.

  Merle took all this in and couldn't believe it. He couldn't get his mind around it somehow, it made no sense. He didn't have time to summon up remorse at the loss of three lives or even to be properly frightened for himself. Then the gun barrel was pointed in his direction and Haws was looking at him coldly and there was another explosion.

  Merle knew he was dying as the impact caught him in the sternum and blew him off the dock. He fell into the cold water and blood streamed from his chest. He surfaced, gasping for air, and Deputy Haws stepped over and got down on his hands and knees and reached down, laid a heavy hand on the top of Merle's head, and pushed him back under. Merle struggled but couldn't break the deputy's grip. After a few moments he gave up. He floated there under the surface, his chest on fire, and watched his blood gush into the water and swirl before his eyes. He watched it and he felt the coldness creep into his limbs and he thought, Here I come, my princess, here I come....

  ***

  In the office of the Cooves County Times where Brant had gone to write up his impressions of the morning's service while they were still fresh in his mind, the phone was ringing. Brant didn't answer. He'd already heard about the accident that claimed the lives of Irma Klempner and the Ganger boy and put Franz Klempner in the hospital, and he was busy in the bathroom with his bowels doing a damn fine impression of Mt. Vesuvius. They always turned volcanic when events weren't adding up the way Brant wanted.

  He sat on the toilet and thought about all the things that were vexing him:

  —That people were coming back from the dead.

  —That Deputy Haws could be murdered and risen and not tell anybody about it, not even his boss and supervisor, Sheriff Clark.

  —That Haws had met with his alleged murderer, the Ganger boy, outside the church just a few minutes before Ganger's so-called "accident."

  —That Irma Klempner perished in a car crash before Brant or anyone else could ask her about the enigmatic "Eloise."

  —That Haws knew that Brant had seen him with the Ganger boy and might do something about it.

  It was all very strange and unsettling and terrifying. No wonder Brant's guts were in an uproar. They didn't want to believe what seemed to be going on any more than his brain did.

  Brant sat with his spinning head in his hands, his pants wrapped around his ankles and a telephone ringing off the hook on the other side of the wall and his bowels threatening to blast him halfway to Timbuktu. He rubbed the palms of his hands together. They were sweaty and cold.

  He felt like a condemned man. He sensed unknown forces descending on him as Galen Ganger must have descended on the Klempners, swooping in like a hawk on a field mouse.

  He had to do something, and soon. But what, damn it?

  What?

  Thirteen

  Peg thought that Brant was pale as he walked into Ma's Diner and ordered a cup of coffee. She smiled at him and he sort of smiled back but his heart wasn't in it. She prepared herself for a let-down.

  All afternoon, all she could think about was tonight's dinner with Brant. She still didn't know what to make of John Duffy's resurrection but her brain had quit thinking about it, bombarding her instead with questions like, Should I mash some potatoes? and What if he hates creamed corn? She was a fluttery school girl again. Brant had brought back to life a part of her that had been dead. Chalk up another miracle resurrection in Anderson.

  Now here Brant came dragging himself in like a whipped dog. He looked shifty. His eyes darted this way and that and he was jumpy. If he'd been a stranger Peg would've figured him for an escaped convict. He even asked if Deputy Haws had been in lately. Since he wasn't on the lam, he must have been planning to break their date and he was just waiting for the right moment to tell her. He kept ordering coffee and watching the people in the diner come and go.

  She decided she had to talk to him.

  "Cindy's filling in for me this evening," she said. He jumped at the sound of her voice, as if he hadn't seen her coming. In fact, he'd been staring into his coffee cup like a gypsy reading tea leaves for the past five minutes. "So I can get off early and fix us a nice dinner," she added.

  He replied, "Oh. Good."

  "It'll be a treat for Tom, too. He hasn't had a home-cooked meal in I-don't-know-how-long."

  "Um," Brant said. He stirred his coffee, though Peg hadn't seen him put anything in it.

  She felt like she'd just walked up to a boy at a high school cotillion and flirted with him and now she was standing there waiting for him to ask her to dance and instead he just looked at the floor and looked at the ceiling and made some comment about how hot it was. Obviously she had to take the bull by the horns.

  "I figure about seven," she said.

  "Seven what?"

  "Dinner at seven. You're coming, right? You're coming to dinner?"

  "Sure," Brant said flatly, "I'm looking forward to it."

  "Well okay then," Peg said a bit snappishly.

  "Okay," he replied.

  "Okay."

  She spun on her heels and marched away and became very busy with some little boxes of breakfast cereal. He would call her, she knew, about ten minutes 'til seven, after she'd bought groceries and cooked dinner and fretted and stewed and cleaned and made sure everything was just so, and tell her he couldn't come, that something had come up. She started preparing what she was going to say to him then to cut him down to size.

  Brant hadn't completely forgotten about dinner with Peg but it wasn't uppermost on his mind anymore, either. The longer he thought about the day's events the more sinister they became. He remembered how, on Saturday morning, Jed Grimm and Deputy Haws had loaded the Ganger boy in Haws' police car. Was Grimm in on it, too? Had he had a stroke or something in the night and risen and nobody knew it?

  Hell, people could be dying and coming back all over town and who'd know? How could he tell who he could trust and who he couldn't?

  Paranoia is a terrible thing, especially when people are out to get you. If he wasn't careful, Brant could cut himself off from friends and foes alike.

  Okay, Deputy Haws and John Duffy were definitely Risen. What about Reverend Small? No hard evidence of it yet, but he was a maybe. Then again, everybody in town was a maybe. Jed Grimm was doing what anybody would have done in his place, he didn't necessarily know that he was putting the Ganger boy in the hands of the man he'd murdered. Tom Culler wouldn't have confided all his fears about Haws if he was one of the Risen, so he was safe...unless he'd died after leaving Brant's office on Saturday night and come back.

  Wasn't there some test Brant could perform to find out? In the movies, when people were under the control of aliens there was a parasite or little metal doohickey in the back of their necks. Or that other one, the terrifying one...Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The pod people didn't have emotions. But according to Madge Duffy, John had come back better than he was before.

  What was he doing, basing life and death decisions on B-pictures? It was a sure sign that he'd lost the ability to distinguish between fact and fiction!

  Time to return to Planet Earth. Drink his coffee. Have a nice dinner tonight with Peg.

  He watched Peg busying herself behind the counter. She looked at him only once, and then he thought he could see Bowie knives hurtling at him from her eyes. He realized that she'd been flirting with him a few minutes ago and he'd been too busy piling stones over his own grave to notice. With typical male single-mindedness he had let a bunch of nonsensical and probably groundless fears sidetrack him from attending to the real business of life.

  He imagined himself ex
plaining it all to her. Even in his head it sounded absurd. Peg's affections were a locked room which she had opened the barest crack. If he came across sounding like a madman, it would slam shut in a heartbeat.

  No, there would be no explaining. Apologizing. Groveling if needed. But no explaining. He'd confide in someone else, but not Peg, not yet.

  He waited for her to glare balefully at him again. When she did, he smiled and gave her a wink. She glanced away before he could read the expression on her face.

  He drained his coffee and walked over to the register. She was already ringing him up before he got there, as if she was anxious to see him go.

  "I'm looking forward to tonight," he said.

  "Oh?" she said. "That'll be a dollar."

  He had a dollar bill but he dug for a five. If she had to make change, he'd have about ten more seconds to redeem himself. He leaned in and spoke with a voice he hoped was rich with sincerity.

  "Listen, I was distracted there, a few minutes ago. Things on my mind. I'm sorry. I get too wrapped up in my own thoughts sometimes. If it happens again, it'd help if you'd call it to my attention. Any subtle hint—pour coffee in my lap, slap me with a waffle...."

  "I'll remember that," she said, handing him his change. Her gaze was encouragingly knifeless.

  "I thought I'd stop by the hospital and have a chat with Doc," he said. "I'll look in on Annie and explain that you're at home whipping up a gourmet dinner, okay?"

  "Okay," she replied. Warmly, this time.

  He peeled a dollar bill out of the four she'd handed him and left it on the counter. "For the waitress," he explained. "You wouldn't know if she's seeing anyone...?"

  "I think she is," Peg said. The way her lips curled into almost-a-smile gave him the shivers.

  Brant was on his way out when he turned with an afterthought.

  "Say...do you know where Tom would be about now?"

  "Oh, are you two partners again?"

  "In a way. Does he hang out anyplace particular on the weekends?"

  "You might try the reservoir. Other than that...." Peg shrugged.

  Brant thought for a moment, tapped his finger on the cash register, smiled. "Well, if I don't run into him before, I guess I'll see him tonight," he said, and Peg nodded.

  Brant turned and nearly bumped into Madge Duffy. They exchanged greetings and Madge made a beeline for Peg.

  Brant started across the street. He stopped in the middle and pretended to pick up a lucky penny, but actually he was sneaking a peek back at the diner. Madge still hadn't taken a seat. She and Peg were chatting about something, and the look on Peg's face told him it was serious. Peg nodded to Madge and then both women unexpectedly looked at Brant. He hurriedly pocketed the nonexistent penny and walked off with what he hoped was a jaunty air.

  ***

  "He's damned lucky to be alive," Doc said, referring to Franz Klempner. "He's got some cuts and bruises and a few cracked ribs, probably some whiplash, but a wreck like that? I'd have expected worse. Much worse. He's got a guardian angel, that's for sure."

  Brant nodded. "You never know. When I was...." He caught himself. He'd almost said, "When I was a reporter."

  "I've seen people walk away from wrecks that should have killed them, and I've seen the opposite. Maybe the Reverend pulled some more strings."

  Doc chuckled. "At this point I'm ready to believe anything. You saw Duffy at church, didn't you? The man hasn't looked that healthy in ten years."

  Brant weighed his options carefully. Should he tell Doc about Deputy Haws or not? His paranoia urged him to proceed with caution.

  "Maybe Duffy isn't the only one," he said. "Maybe there are others who've risen."

  Doc seemed taken aback.

  "Why would you think that?" he asked.

  "Just thinking out loud. There doesn't seem to be any reason for Duffy to be picked for resurrection. Maybe the phenomenon is more widespread than that. Maybe Death's on a holiday or something."

  "That would be my cue to retire," Doc offered. "But surely if there were others, we'd know, wouldn't we? If you came back from the dead, wouldn't you tell somebody about it?"

  "I would, if I didn't mind sounding like a nut. Duffy's death was well documented. He couldn't come back quietly and go on about his business. But if I died, say, in my sleep one night, say I had a stroke, and I came back the next day, I might not even know it myself. Except for any changes, of course. And I wouldn't go buttonholing people and saying, 'Look at me! I died and came back!' They'd measure me for a strait jacket."

  "I see your point. I think."

  "I'm just saying...what if Madge Duffy hadn't phoned the police after killing her husband? What if she'd killed him and buried him under the petunias? Then he'd come back, claw his way out of the flower bed, and how would we have known? Madge wouldn't have broadcast the information, and even now, Duffy isn't saying a word."

  "But she did call the police. We know he died."

  "We know that about Duffy, but what about everybody else in town?"

  "Such as...?"

  "Such as everybody! You, me...everybody!"

  "You think the entire population of Anderson's come back from the dead?"

  "No! I'm just saying that they could! Christ, when I say it out loud, it sounds crazy."

  Doc raised one eyebrow. "You said it, Brant, not me."

  Brant leaned forward, propped his arms on Doc's desk. "What if I could cite a specific case, a person who died and came back, but for some reason kept the information to himself?"

  "Who?"

  "I'm speaking hypothetically. If I did find someone like that, what would it mean?"

  "It would mean he didn't want his name in your newspaper."

  "But it could mean a lot more, couldn't it? Like, a conspiracy."

  Doc's patience seemed to reach its end. "Brant, for godsakes, listen to yourself! I'm tempted to sign your commitment papers myself, right now!"

  Brant sighed. "Yeah, I know," he said. "But something in this town has changed. It's the air or the negative ions or something. Don't you feel it? The town just feels different."

  "Maybe it's you who's changed," Doc said. "Maybe you need a rest. Take a week off and quit stewing about things you can't do anything about. If the Grim Reaper's taken Anderson off his rounds, we'll know soon enough, won't we? Here. I have some medicine for you."

  "I don't want any medi—" Brant began, then he saw that Doc was reaching into his bottom desk drawer and pulling out a bottle of Maker's Mark and a couple of shot glasses.

  "I keep this handy to steady my hands before surgery," Doc said. When he saw the look on Brant's face, he added, "I'm kidding."

  "Don't kid like that around Merle Tippert," Brant advised. "He already thinks you're a drunk."

  "Don't I know it," Doc said. He filled the glasses and handed one to Brant. "Cheers."

  "Cheers."

  Brant drained his glass and set it on the edge of the desk. He waved off Doc's offer of a refill.

  "I promised Peg I'd look in on Annie, and I think I'd like a word with Franz Klempner. Can I talk to him?"

  "Out of my jurisdiction," Doc said. "He isn't with us any longer."

  "Died?! But you said"

  "He went home. Oh, I tried to keep him here, but the stubborn old goat wouldn't hear of it. He asked if he was going to die and I said 'Not today' and he said, 'Then I'm going home.' Against my better judgment, but...." Doc shrugged.

  "Doc, you don't suppose...?"

  "Suppose what?"

  "That Klempner didn't make it out of that wreck alive. That he died and came back."

  Doc Milford reached across his desk for Brant's shot glass. "I'm cutting you off," he said, "You've bagged your limit. I'll walk with you to Annie's room."

  During the walk along the corridor, Brant acknowledged that Doc was probably right about Klempner. "If Franz had come back, why didn't Irma and the Ganger boy? Say...the leg must be doing better."

  Doc's limp had disappeared.

 
; "What? Oh, you mean my hip. Never underestimate the power of a good whiskey," Doc said with a wink.

  ***

  Brant explained to Annie that Peg wouldn't be in to see her because she was cooking a special meal for a special night. He told her he was sorry to take her mother away even for one evening but he hoped that she wouldn't hold it against him. He spoke to her just as if she could hear and understand, and he stroked her forehead and confided to her that he thought he was in love with Peg and he was going to try hard to be worthy of her. He said he had a lot to learn about love and faith and determination, and he figured that Peg was as good a teacher as he'd find anywhere.

  For some reason none of this seemed foolish to him. Maybe he was buying into the myth that Annie was more than a human vegetable, and maybe she had come to symbolize something to him about his own life and the part of it that needed fixing. If he needed to find a miracle to believe in, the miracle of this little girl's recovery would suit him better than a hundred John Duffys and Deputy Hawses.

  As he walked to the parking lot he was unaware of Doc Milford standing at his office window watching him go. Doc's goldfish lay on the doctor's desk, asphyxiated. Doc had pulled it from its tank and plopped it on his desk blotter and watched it flip-flop around for the time it took it to die. He'd never sat back and watched something die before, not when there was something he could do to forestall that death. Life had always seemed so precious.

  Now Doc was wondering what the fuss was all about. The fish swam around in its bowl, around and around, with no meaningful direction to its life. What did it matter if this one fish stopped swimming? He watched it die and felt no remorse. Did Seth watch over the little fishes in the sea as he did over humankind? Doc felt that he must. Would the fish know the blessing of Seth's love as Doc did? He felt it would.

  He picked the fish up by the tail and dropped it back in its bowl where it floated on its side.

  Doc picked up the telephone and dialed the Sheriff's Office. As he'd hoped, Deputy Haws answered.

  "Harold?" Doc said, "It's me. Brant Kettering just stopped by. I think we have a situation." He recounted the conversation with Brant, particularly Brant's theory that the town could be secretly infested with Risen citizens.