In Silent Graves

by Gary A Braunbeck

  “Bobby, come on, calm down—”

  “...and all I wanted to do was scare you a little, that’s all, just a little sadistic teenage show of something to remind you that I was your big brother and I was the one in charge so you’d damned well better listen to me, so I grabbed a fork off the table and threw it at you. A fork. It couldn’t have been a spoon or a plastic cup or a wadded-up dishcloth or something like that, no...I had to grab a fork. I remember how you looked up and saw it coming, and then you tried to move out of the way but somehow you managed to jump right into its path. It caught you in the side of your bare foot, your right one, and then you dropped to the floor, screaming. Your face was all red and tight and there was so much pain in your eyes...the fork had gouged three little holes in the side of your foot and they were bleeding. I ran into the room and tried to put my arms around you but you kept backing away like you thought I was going to beat you...I kept saying, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ over and over and you kept crying about how bad it hurt and tried to get away because you were scared of me—”

  “—shhh, Bobby, please, this isn’t doing you any good—”

  “—then I guess the pain got to be too much because you stopped trying to get away from me and pressed your face against my shoulder and said, ‘It hurts, Bobby, it hurts, make it stop.’ Like I was just your big brother who could make the hurt go away and not the asshole who’d hurt you in the first place.

  “OhGod...it was the first time in my life that I ever saw the pain I caused another person—it wasn’t just the physical pain, hon, that was bad enough, I know, but the moment...the moment I threw that fork at you I was no longer your big brother who you looked up to and loved, I was just a monster...”

  “Please stop, Bobby, please....”

  “...and I know it wasn’t the worst kind of pain a person could experience, but I think it must have been the first of its kind for you. I’ve tried to forget it over the years, or excuse it by saying that I was just a self-centered teenager, or that things around the house were always pretty tense, or that you were just being a snot, but whatever argument I use, nothing will ever change the fact that I...I took away a veil of safety for you, I was always the one you came to when you were scared, and that morning I acted just like Dad on one of his mean drunks. You were terrified of me for a few moments, I saw it in your eyes, when I reached out to hug you and you pulled away from me, I saw you realize that you now had no one to turn to when you got scared, that you would never feel safe in the world again because even someone like your big brother, someone who said he loved you, someone who held you when you were a baby and gave you baths in the sink and changed your diapers and read to you and sang lullabies so you would go to sleep—this same loving someone would turn on you and hurt you for no good reason in less time than it took to snap your fingers. OhGod, Lynn, I’ve never forgotten that...things were never the same between us after that....”

  Lynn reached down and cupped his face in her hands, lifting his head. “Look at me, Bobby. I don’t remember that. I swear I don’t.”

  “But you still have those three little scars on the side of your right foot.”

  She stared at him for a moment, expressionless, then, slowly, her eyes widened. “Is that how I got those? Huh. I always wondered.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to ruin anything for you. I never wanted you to be afraid of me.”

  “I know, shh, c’mon....” She gave Emerson a quick look: Get the nurse to give him his shot, okay?

  The detective slipped out the door.

  “Take a deep breath, Bobby, come on.” She helped him to lie down, then brushed some hair off his sweat-dampened forehead. “You need to sleep, you’re still in a lot of pain....”

  “I shouldn’t have done that, I should have always protected you...”

  “You did, Bobby, you always protected me.”

  “...no child should ever have to experience something like that, ever...”

  “Shhh, it’s okay it’s all over now....”

  “...not for them...never for them....”

  The nurse came in with Emerson and administered the shot. “Here you go, Mr. Londrigan, this’ll help with the pain so you can sleep.”

  “Do you...,” whispered Robert.

  “What Bobby? Do I what?”

  “...do you despair?”

  The last thing he saw in his mind’s eye before sleep claimed him was Ian’s smiling face, admiring his birthday present like it was the grandest thing on the face of the Earth, but then it was replaced by the image in the black-and-white police photograph; and a quick mindsputter, and Robert tried to hang on to what consciousness remained him, because he knew that when he woke up he could never return to the world that he’d known; it had died on the banks of the Licking River along with the sweet-natured, one-eyed giant who cooked good cheese-boogies and could work wonders with a needle and thread....

  Chapter 7

  He awoke sometime after four a.m. to find a small basket of flowers on his tray-table. There was an envelope stuck between two of the roses. He tried to sit up, couldn’t, but managed to reach out and remove the envelope.

  Inside was a note, written in Rael’s childlike scrawl:

  Ian died soon after you left. We had to get rid of his body because Death acts like a homing beacon to the gathering powers of chronos. It’s getting bad here, Willy. One of the kids who was born with HIV woke up with the night sweats and can’t stop coughing for very long. I don’t know how much longer I can keep everything together on my own. I’m sorry you had to find out about Ian like you did. I had no way of knowing that guy was going to find him and take your watch. Ian really loved you. That watch meant the world to him. He was very happy that you liked his cooking. It was the last thing he said before he went to sleep for the last time. Don’t let us down, Willy. Please. P.S.—Andrea says hi.

  As soon as he finished reading it, the note crumbled to dust in his hands.

  He tried to find more tears for his lost friend but could not.

  He spread the embroidered handkerchief over his chest, crossed his arms on top of it, and drifted back to sleep humming “In My Room.”

  Chapter 8

  The next five days—the last the man I once was would ever know—passed quickly. From his hospital bed, Robert made a series of phone calls to his lawyer, his stock broker, and his bank. It was amazing how quickly the detritus of a life could be gathered up and readied for disbursement.

  True to his word, Dr. Steinman kept Robert only forty-eight hours before releasing him.

  As Steinman was replacing the large bandage on his head with a smaller one, Robert asked him a very odd question. Steinman stopped what he was doing, wrinkled his brow, and said, “I’m not sure, I’d have to look it up.”

  “Would you mind terribly? I know it’s a strange request, but I can’t remember which one it was.”

  Finishing up his work, Steinman handed Robert two written prescriptions and said, “Don’t run off, I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

  Robert dressed himself in the clothes Lynn had brought during one of her vigils while he was in the coma. She had remembered to bring his wallet; there was more than enough money for him to take a cab back to the house and not have to bother his sister for a ride. That was good; he didn’t know if he could do what had to be done if he saw her again this soon.

  Just as the nurse rolled in the wheelchair that would take him down to the lobby, Steinman came back and said, “The right.”

  “Which one?”

  “The little toe on her right foot. How did she lose it?”

  Robert shrugged. “I don’t remember.” He shook Steinman’s hand. “You want to see me when?”

  “Two weeks. Call my office and make an appointment sometime in the next few days.”

  “Will do.”

  “Mr. Londrigan?”

  “Yes?”

&
nbsp; “I’m really happy that this is all behind you. Now you can get on with your life.”

  The nurse helped him into the wheelchair, and then took him down to the lobby that was part of a hospital that was part of town that was part of a state that was part of a country that was part of a world to which he no longer belonged.

  He would never see Dr. Steinman again.

  * * *

  The cab dropped him at the house. He went inside, removed a couple of envelopes from a wall safe in the room that was once his study, located his overnight bag, then grabbed his car keys and went back out into the world to which he no longer belonged.

  His lawyer had all the necessary paperwork ready. Robert signed the forms, thanked his lawyer for getting everything taken care of so quickly, then took his copies of the paperwork and walked the two blocks to his next appointment.

  The stock broker’s office was located on the seventh floor of the building that also housed Robert’s bank. Everything he had requested had been taken care of. Robert signed over the stock certificates, handed them to his broker, who then handed him a thick Manilla envelope and a sizeable cashier’s check, minus commission and various transaction fees. “It’s our policy that you be accompanied out of the building by a security guard. The check’s made out to you, but there’s fifty thousand dollars in cash in that envelope.”

  “I’m going downstairs to the bank,” said Robert.

  The broker shrugged. “Even so, you’ll have to be accompanied by security.”

  The guard stayed with Robert all the way down to the bank, then stood near the lobby exit while Robert went back into the manager’s office.

  “I have to say, Mr. Londrigan, that we’re sorry to be losing your business.”

  “I have no idea how long I’ll be abroad, and I’ve always been the type who prefers to have his cash on hand when traveling for any prolonged length of time.”

  The manager nodded in sympathy. “I envy you—a trip around the world. Not that you don’t deserve it; not after all that you’ve been through. Which reminds me: Did you receive our flowers and sympathy card?”

  “Yes, it was very considerate of you, thanks.”

  The manager began placing a series of multi-page forms under Robert’s hand for his signature here, here, and here. When that was done, he also handed Robert a thick Manilla envelope and a sizeable cashier’s check.

  “You have the necessary information?” asked Robert.

  “Yes, sir. All you need to do is sign the check in the manner detailed on these instructions and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Robert took the check his broker had handed him less than thirty minutes ago, endorsed it, and handed it to the manager. “I deeply appreciate your keeping this confidential. I know you had to...sidestep a few rules to help me do this.”

  “It’s easier when it’s a question of depositing funds.” The manager signed a couple of forms, then slipped them into an envelope along with the check. “Done.”

  Robert shook the manager’s hand. “The deposit won’t be credited until Monday, right?”

  “You have my word.”

  “Good. If she found out about this before I left on my trip, she’d slap me silly. I figure once I’ve left, she’s stuck with it.” He grinned. “But she’ll keep it, don’t worry about that. My sister is nothing if not practical.”

  The security guard not only accompanied him out of the building, but insisted on walking Robert all the way to his car. Robert thanked him, then stuffed all the envelopes into his overnight bag, zipped it closed, and drove from downtown to the Indian Mound Mall, where he made several purchases at various stores before dropping nearly ten grand at the electronics warehouse outlet. After that, he stopped for lunch at the Sparta, where he wrote a letter over his cheeseburger—which, while delicious, wasn’t nearly as good as Ian’s.

  After finishing his lunch (and leaving a tip that was three times the cost of the meal), he put the letter in an envelope, sealed it, then drove over to a nearby travel agency and spent close to three thousand dollars.

  Then he drove to the three-hundred block of Granville Street.

  A few minutes later, he stood in front of his parked car looking at an empty lot where his late mother-in-law’s house should have been standing. A large sign at the front of the property proclaimed This Lot For Sale. Ideal For Home Building. He and Denise had been here last year at Thanksgiving, not long before the woman died. Robert had been given a tour of the house. He’d helped Denise remove her mother’s effects after the funeral.

  Standing here now, he couldn’t for the life of him recall what she’d done with the woman’s possessions.

  “Can I help you?” came a voice.

  Robert blinked, then turned to see an old woman with a small pull-cart of groceries standing a few feet away.

  “Do you live around here, ma’am?”

  “Yessir. Lived here most of my life.”

  Robert gestured toward the empty lot. “How long has this been here?”

  “This? Oh, Lordy, I guess it’s been four, five years since that place burned down. Sure do wish that someone would buy it already. Darned lot’s an eyesore, you ask me.” The old woman stared at him for a moment, then said, “Hey! I seen you on the television. You’re that Londrigan fellow, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The old woman took his hand. “I want you to know that my Harold and me, we felt really sad about what happened to your wife and little girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  “They ever catch the guy that—”

  “A couple days ago.”

  The old woman nodded sadly. “Well, that’s something, anyway. You doing okay?”

  “I’m getting there.”

  She looked at him a moment longer before letting go of his hand. “Well, it was a real pleasure meeting you, Mr. Londrigan.”

  “Thank you for...for saying what you did about my wife and little girl.”

  The old woman said nothing, only nodded sadly once more—Robert suspected that all her nods looked sad these days, even if she was happy as a clam—then continued, pulling her little cart along behind her. He had a momentary impulse to offer her a ride but stopped himself from making the offer when he saw her turn left and walk toward the steps of an old Victorian-style house where an old man—her Harold, no doubt—came out the front door and, despite her objections, lifted the cart onto the porch for her. Robert couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t object too much to his assistance; in fact, she seemed to be hiding a smile. That’s my Harold, always looking out for me.

  He cast one more quick glance at the empty lot, then waved at the old couple, even though neither of them saw him do it. As he drove away it occurred to him that he hadn’t asked the old woman’s name. He hoped he hadn’t come across as rude.

  He checked his new watch, bought only a few hours ago; it wasn’t quite three-thirty yet. Danny should be alone at the house.

  Once there, Robert was both disappointed and relieved to see that Lynn’s car was gone; only Danny’s rusty pickup truck sat in the driveway.

  It’ll be easier this way, he told himself.

  He grabbed the new overnight bag he’d purchased at the mall and double-checked to make sure everything was inside.

  Danny looked at first surprised, then worried when he answered the door and saw Robert standing there.

  “Sorry to just show up like this,” said Robert, “but I knew you got home around this time on Fridays and I wanted to catch you alone.”

  Seeing the overnight bag, Danny said: “Decide to come over and do your recuperating here, huh? Good. Lynn was worried about you being alone and Eric’ll like having—”

  “No, that’s not it. We need to talk, okay?”

  “Sure, anything wrong? Looks like that guy hit you good.” He led Robert into the kitchen, where the makings for a ham-and-cheese sandwich were spread over the counter. “You hungry? I’m sorry that Eric and me didn’t actually see you
at the hospital. We were there but you were still unconscious.”

  “I know. Thanks for all you guys did, by the way.”

  “Hey, you’re family, y’know?” Danny finished making his sandwich, then poured himself a cold glass of root beer and grabbed a bag of potato chips before joining Robert at the kitchen table. “So, what’s up?”

  For a moment Robert stared at his brother-in-law, taking the measure of the man.

  “I need you to help me with something.”

  “Sure thing,” Danny said between bites. “You need to move something or have those bathroom pipes finally given out on you? I can come over and bring my tools.”

  “No, nothing like that.” Robert placed the overnight bag on the table in front of Danny.

  “What’s this?”

  “A gift,” replied Robert, removing the three airline tickets from his coat pocket. “I know that things have been tight for you guys for a while now, and that you were hoping to visit your folks in Oregon over Christmas and New Year’s—”

  “—not gonna happen,” said Danny. “I checked plane ticket prices and, man!” He shook his head in the sad way as the old woman with the pull-cart of groceries. “Too rich for my blood. I gotta get the roof fixed and it looks like we’re gonna have to replace the stove. Even with all the extra work the company’s had this year and the overtime, there’s no way we could afford to—”

  “Danny?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re a great guy, you work harder than any man I know, and I’ve always liked you, but sometimes you talk too much.” Robert tossed the plane tickets on top of the overnight bag. “Three round-trip, first-class tickets to Oregon for the holidays. Inside one of the ticket envelopes you’ll find a voucher for a rental car that will be waiting for you. All paid for.”