by R.M. Haig
White lines sped by in blurs, racing at him out of the black then trailing off to die behind as reflective glimmers in his mirrors. Words etched in glass marked their departure, and the words dug into him like the claws of a frightened cat desperate to escape the clutches of an overzealous child. Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear, an eternal warning so profound to him, now, that the phrase screamed all throughout his mind... screamed and chanted incantations with the chorus of double indemnity, you goddamned fool.
He was numb and cold, shell shocked and distraught in the hazy fallout of emotion in excess. The colonial ranch was far away, now, though the events which had transpired seemed to linger in the ether... traveling with him in his flight.
The mental recording played in his mind from beginning to end on a constant loop, from the sounding of the house alarm to the squealing of his tires on the pavement of Atlas Avenue East, with every excruciating moment in between brought to him in high definition with Dolby THX surround. The moments of rage and ire, the moments of agony and torment. The seconds that seemed like hours after he dropped his bag on the passenger seat of the Malibu and waited for the tears to come. Those lonely, desolate seconds in which crying seemed like the only logical thing to do -- but in which he had discovered that he simply couldn't cry anymore.
Perhaps he'd gone to the well too many times, perhaps he hadn't gone enough to keep the pressure up and the reservoir filled. Perhaps, with the final gasps of hope and promise, his tears had simply willed themselves to die and in so doing had left him forever. There had been a stinging sensation for a moment, but nothing more... and soon, even that had passed, leaving anesthesia in its wake.
He drove for hours in silence, cruising through the night like a torpedo fired at the ghostly images of warships scuttled long ago. The roads were empty, as vacant as his spirit, and he felt the plight of the Mary Celeste in his heart... the futility, the absence of purpose, the cessation of responsibility. Perched on every concrete barrier and overpass were sirens, singing their sweet siren song of double indemnity in tones of peace and tranquility that beckoned him to come... to come crashing into their arms like the haggard sailors of old, who met their fate on the rocky shores of Anthemoessa in answer of their call. Their voices were so sweet, singing their aria of respite and repose so clear and strong... singing for him and him alone, in the cold, anonymous embrace of this dark and stormy night.
When the sign declaring Indianapolis - 160 Miles floated by him on the concrete ocean, he felt the hands of sleep and death pulling at his eyelids with their soft and bony fingers. With hours left to ride, he turned the radio on to stimulate his mind.
The first station to tune in was Young Country, and that simply wouldn't do. He was a hard rock man at heart, but any port in the storm -- just so long as the natives don't speak in drawls and twangy notes. The next played the rock of yesterday... close enough, he figured. As if by design, the playlist of the auto-shuffle DJ seemed perfectly synched-in to the events and mood of the evening... the rhythm of the state in which he lived.
First, it was The Doobie Brothers telling him that What a fool believes, no wise man has the power to reason away. Then it was Lou Gramm declaring in my life, there's been heartache and pain. I don't know if I can face it again. Soon after it was Golden Earring and I'm fallin' down a spiral, destination unknown. Then Queen, you can beat him, you can cheat him, you can treat him bad and leave him while he's down. That one was a conundrum...
She hadn't beat him, or cheated him -- or even treated him bad.
What had she done? Left him while he was down? Was that all?
Before he had it figured out, the most damning tune yet came through the speakers in the plaintiff wail of Steve Perry, telling of his torrid affair with Sherrie and how it holds on... holds on. You should've been gone. Yes, he thought, she should've. Knowing how he made her feel, she should've been gone... long ago, far away.
Oh Tracy, our love... holds on... holds on... double indemnity and it holds on... holds on...
Christ, he wondered, what did happen to us?
Where did we go so wrong?
It had all started out so perfectly; so sweetly, so innocently, and now... now --
None of it made any sense... none of the causes were clear, none of the root problems, none of the intentions...
Oh, I wanna let go... you'll go on hurtin' me... you'd be better off alone, if I'm not who you thought I'd be...
He wasn't who she thought he'd be -- wasn't who he thought he'd be... who the fuck was he? Christ, he didn't really know... didn't really want to know, didn't think it was possible to know... didn't think it made much difference anyway.
Cut... and that's a wrap, it's in the can...
It's over...
It's done...
It's all been done...
Why?
Who threw in the towel?
Or was this a knockout?
A doctor's stoppage?
A win, a loss or simply a declaration of no contest?
Nolo contendere?
Was he persona non grata?
Ego te absolvo?
Quod nomen mihi est?
Double indemnity, motherfucker, double indemnity...
No -- not now -- not yet... but soon... soon enough, indeed.
Occasionally, the emaciated hand of the reaper tugged at his steering wheel... pulled him in the direction of the rocks, of the sirens singing on them... but he counteracted the action each time... difficult though it was.
He just couldn't understand... couldn't figure out how he'd ended up this way, how he ended up in this place... this dark and lonely place...
Destroyed, Tracy said... he'd destroyed himself... destroyed his business... destroyed his credit... destroyed his marriage... destroyed his family... had he? If so, how? If so, why?
Shit, he didn't know... didn't remember, at least, if he had known before... did he know before?
With nothing to do but think as the white lines passed him by, he decided this was his chance to figure that out once and for all. He mulled it over -- and over -- and over... but he still couldn't come up with any answers, couldn't come up with any hints as to why he'd done the things he'd done.
What had he done?
Nothing... was that the problem?
He hadn't done anything?
Had just checked out?
Well, there was the money... he did do that... threw it away, basically... but he had good intentions, that nice vacation was always just a spin away... that fancy necklace for his honey was just a roll of the dice from being under the Christmas tree... the nice new floor for the bathroom just a double down from being real... but then, the 7's landed just out of alignment... but then, he crapped out... but then, he was dealt a king and, fuck, that's 23... he was in the hole, and they needed that hundred bucks to meet the mortgage... he would have to win it back, so another hundred on the pass-line to recover... split the sevens, because I can't leave until I've won that fifty back... change that twenty for more quarters, because I can't leave without that money... where's the ATM, because Tracy's gonna have a fit... but there's nothing left in the bank, so I'll just take a cash advance off the Visa -- I'll pay it right back, though, once I've won enough...
That he did... he did ruin his finances, his credit...
...but, so far as his marriage was concerned, he never raised a hand to her, never let her go without, never lied about anything besides the money, never confided in another, never put his dick somewhere it didn't belong, never told her how important she was to him...
Fuck, he did pull away from her... but not because she did something wrong, just because he realized he wasn't living up to her expectations. Because he didn't earn enough, didn't provide enough, because he was selfish in bed, because his love handles were getting bigger while their bank account was getting smaller, because their house wasn't as nice as her friend Ellen's was, because their car wasn't as new as
her friend Tina's was, because they didn't have a boat like her friend Linda had, because they couldn't go to the fancy restaurants that her friend Sue went to, because -- because he just wasn't man enough for her... because he didn't deserve her...
It was easier to hide from her... easier to make her hate him, the way he hated himself, because he did hate himself and, therefore, she should hate him too -- because he was a failure...
That he did, too... he did ruin his marriage, his finances, his credit...
...but, so far as Garrett was concerned, he never yelled at the boy, never denied him any toy he wanted, never spanked him, never belittled him, never missed a milestone, never failed to recognize his progress, never helped Tracy take care of him...
Fuck, he made her bear that cross alone... made her change his diapers, made her cook his meals, made her take him to his appointments, made her worry about his schooling, made her manage his medications, made her -- made her do it all...
Why?
Because she would?
Because she could?
Because she did?
Because he was ashamed of the boy...
Because he was disappointed in the boy...
Because he wanted a normal boy...
Because he wanted a boy that could talk, that could use the bathroom on his own, that could read and write and control himself, that he could teach to hit a baseball, that he could teach to catch a football, that he could teach to shoot a puck, that he could teach about girls, that he could teach to be a man, that he could show off to his friends...
Because he was pissed at fate for having done that to the boy... for having done that to him.
That he did, too... he destroyed his family, his marriage, his finances, his credit...
...but, where his business was concerned, he never failed to work a case, never turned down a client, never charged a dollar more than was justified, never cheated to get ahead, never really gave a fuck about it to begin with...
Yeah, he had kind of let it go... it was boring, it was tedious, it was menial, it was not what he had expected, it was beneath him, it was all about who was fucking who when they weren't supposed to, and who was milking the insurance company for money they didn't deserve, and where the punk teenager that couldn't stand to be around his parents anymore had run off to, and stupid shit that doesn't make a lick of difference in the grand scheme of things... so he quit trying... let everything go to pieces...
That he did, as well... he destroyed his business, his family, his marriage, his finances, his credit...
...but when it came to himself, he never --
Fuck, there's no use...
That he did, just the same... he destroyed himself, his business, his family, his marriage, his finances, his credit...
Oh, and his liver... yeah... can't forget the liver... it could well be shot... he'd drank enough whiskey to float a battleship around, as Lynyrd Skynyrd once said...
What a fucking heel, he thought... what a heel am I for doing things so terrible... what a heel is the universe for setting me on this path... what a heel is life...
You don't deserve to live, he thought, because you're a fucking asshole... because you're a piss-poor husband, you're a piss-poor father, you're a piss-poor person, you're a piss-poor man, you're -- you are just not good enough... at anything... you never were... you never will be... you never could be, because -- because... because...
Because what?
That was presumably the question... presumably the secret... presumably... presumably...
Just because?
Double indemnity, that was presumably the answer... presumably the key... presumably... presumably... definitely..
Eventually, he was in Garthby... at The Best Western...
A hundred and ten fucking dollars for a night...
The desk clerk explained that since it was after midnight -- four-thirty AM, to be exact -- the room would be his until Saturday at noon, so there was that at least. He would've foregone it all together if not for the horror he saw when he caught a glance of himself in his rear view mirror. He didn't look at his face, he couldn't stand the site of himself, but the scraggly black hair standing up all over told the tale of how he looked... not fit to see his friends -- not Donnell or Louie, at least -- whom he hadn't seen in, Christ, was it sixteen years or more?
Chucky wouldn't care how he looked, he wasn't one to judge... wouldn't judge Darkwing, his blood-brother... his most beloved friend for life... his idol... his best and treasured pal... shit, how could he have just left Chucky behind? Left him to rot in that trailer park? How could he have just shirked him off, cast him away like so much garbage? Just let their bond fade to black, shrivel and die entirely?
What was more important than keeping the promise he made?
The promise to keep him safe?
Tracy...
Tracy was more important... and boy, how he'd taken care of that relationship... how he made it sparkle and shine...
It was time to make it right, though, to live up to his word -- at least one time -- before... before...
Shit, shave and shower, first... shit, shave and shower, and then -- tying up loose ends... at least this one loose end... and then, double indemnity...
SEVEN
Nathan Dawson
March 16th, 1992. 6:00PM
Burlwood, Indiana
"Who is she?" Darkwing asked, spinning the focus wheel of his binoculars to get a better look.
Chucky didn't know, Launchpad didn't care. The blonde girl in the distance was just another kid to them -- a girl no less -- and she was probably crawling with cooties. Chucky didn't like cooties, he had them once before. The principal at school had found them in his hair when he dug through it with those toothpicks. Darkwing and Launchpad didn't know about that, though, and Chucky wasn't about to admit it.
"We're wasting time, Jake," Donnell objected. "We're never going to find the Dawson kid if we sit here all day staring at that chick."
"But she's beautiful," Jake replied, tracking her every move as she carried a box that was way too big for her down the ramp of a U-Haul truck. "Do you think she's gonna live here?"
"Duh!" Donnell said. "Why else would she be helping carry all that shit in?"
Chucky grimaced. Launchpad swore a lot -- too much, really. More than any grownup he had ever met. Momma said that was because his family was low class. Chucky didn't know what that meant, but he thought maybe it just meant that they were black, which he knew already. There were other black people in Burlwood, but not many... one of the teachers at his school, a guy who worked on horses at the race track and another family in the trailer park. None of them besides Launchpad's parents had any kids, though, so Chucky didn't know whether they were low class or not.
"Look," Launchpad continued, "are we gonna go look for Nathan Dawson or are we gonna stand around with our thumbs up our asses? Because if we're gonna just stand here, I'm going home -- it's too fuckin' cold for that!"
Darkwing didn't say anything, he just kept watching the girl. She was going in and out of the pink trailer on the corner of Applewood and Oakwood, doing her business with no idea that she was being watched. The trailer, which was just up the road from Chucky's, where they stood, had been empty for quite a while. That wasn't unusual, though, there were lots of empty trailers in Burlwood Meadows since they found Joshua Banks. They had all been full, once, but people were moving out all the time. Momma said that was because they were scared and there was nothing in Burlwood worth staying for -- just the horse track, and even that was in decline.
Some of the empty trailers weren't very nice, but neither were some of the ones that had people living in them anyway. Chucky's wasn't very nice... it was small and dirty, and sometimes the toilet overflowed and water got all the way to his bedroom. Momma said they had to stay there, though, because she didn't have much money since Papa moved back to Tennessee and stopped sending her any. Th
ey didn't have much money before he moved, either, but at least Papa always knew how to fix the toilet so that it wouldn't spill all over the floor.
"I agree with Launchpad," Chucky said timidly, drawing shapes in the snow with his foot. "It is pretty cold out here."
"The Dawson kid is probably dead anyway!" Launchpad added, but Darkwing never took the binoculars from his face.
"Like Gary Duncan and Joshua Banks?" Chucky asked. That made his heart beat faster, even though the thought had occurred to him before.
"He's been missing for two weeks!" Launchpad said. "That's way longer than the other kids lived after they went missing! The Butcher probably cut him up days ago!"
Chucky thought this over, and realized it was probably true. Nathan Dawson, who was ten, had disappeared thirteen days ago from the Citgo by the horse track. His mom had left him in the car while she went in to pay for gas -- she shouldn't have done that -- and when she came back out, he was missing. The television news said she saw a blue car speeding away, but she couldn't tell what kind or who was in it.
The whole town had been looking for him ever since, trying to figure out where he was. Darkwing had decided the three of them should try, too, because every set of eyes would help. Chucky didn't like that idea... he hadn't liked finding Joshua Banks at all, so he figured finding Nathan wouldn't be very much fun either. Donnell didn't seem to care either way, but he said his parents argued a lot, so anything was better than being home.
"If we're gonna be outside in this cold," Launchpad continued, "we should at least go sledding down Muddlefoot Hill!"
"No!" Chucky blurted out. "We're not going sledding on Muddlefoot Hill!"
The hill, named by Chucky after the neighbors on The Darkwing Duck Show, was a small knoll at the back of the trailer park, not far from Darkwing's house. Sledding down it wasn't scary -- it wasn't high enough to be scary -- but the good side to sled down faced the trees of Booger Woods. That made the idea of sledding down it very scary to Chucky, especially after what happened there last year.
What if he got going too fast and couldn't stop before he was in the woods? What if Pennywise saw him come sledding in and decided to grab him, like he grabbed Joshua Banks? Like he probably grabbed Nathan Dawson from that gas station... grabbed him and ripped him to little pieces, then tore his cock off -- just like he did before.
"Relax, guys, we're gonna look for Nathan!" Darkwing said. "Just let me watch for another minute..."
Launchpad rolled his eyes and cursed, but Chucky didn't hear exactly what he said. Whatever it was, Chucky kind of agreed with him... he was getting tired of just standing around outside in the snow. They were supposed to be walking the neighborhood, looking for blue cars and trying to see who they belonged to. Darkwing said he had seen lots of blue cars around, and some of them belonged to people who were speficious, or something like that. He thought one of them could be the person who took Nathan Dawson, and he wanted to figure out which one it was.
It was getting late, though, and Chucky wondered if they would have a chance to look at all before it got too dark. Darkwing had been worried about time when they had to wait for Chucky to get his boots on, but now it was him wasting time, by looking at that girl. That was irritating to Chucky, but he wasn't brave enough to say anything.
He always had a hard time getting his boots on so it took a few minutes, so what? Launchpad said it took so long because he was too fat. That if he lost his gut it would be easier for him to reach his feet. That hurt his feelings almost as much as being called stupid or retarded, but Darkwing didn't stop him because the girl and her family were unloading boxes from their truck and taking things into the pink trailer. Watching her was more important than defending his friend... that made Chucky sad.
"Look, they are moving in," Launchpad snapped. "She's gonna be there every day, you can look at her more later!"
"Okay," Darkwing conceded, "okay."
Even after he said it, though, he didn't lower his fancy binoculars. They were really powerful, and probably too expensive for a kid to be playing with. They had been his dad's binoculars, actually, but he had taken them over, now. He always seemed to be looking at things with them; looking at people he thought were speficious or at things he thought were strange. Chucky thought that was because Sheriff Rambo had asked him to keep an eye on Booger Woods after they found Joshua Banks' parts there. Darkwing seemed to like Sheriff Rambo -- wanted to help him out by seeing something -- by seeing anything -- that might help them crack the case of The Butcher.
Chucky liked Sheriff Rambo too, who wouldn't like to have Rambo as their sheriff? He couldn't figure out why he didn't look the same as he did in his movies, though... that didn't make any sense. He had a big belly, now, and his hair was short and blonde instead of being long and black. He never showed off his bazooka either, which Chucky really wanted to see. Every time he asked about it, Rambo just laughed and said It's in the trunk, Chuck.
When Launchpad cursed again and announced he was giving up, Darkwing finally stopped looking at the girl. Of course, he tried to lead Donnell and Chucky in the direction of the pink trailer when they started to canvas the neighborhood, but Donnell insisted that they go the other way, instead. Darkwing didn't like that, but he followed when Launchpad started storming towards his house.
They walked around the park for hours, sneaking and creeping through the crunchy snow and dropping prone on their bellies every time they saw a car that was even remotely close to blue. They would lay as flat as possible to avoid being seen, then Darkwing would look through the binoculars to see if anything speficious was going on. Chucky would try to crane his head to get a look as well, but Launchpad kept yelling at him -- telling him to hold still or saying he needed to hide behind something because he was too chunky to blend in just by laying in the snow.
They found three cars that Darkwing decided were interesting enough to tell Rambo about, and he got a chance to do so just a few minutes after the street lights had come on. They were walking along Tikiwood near Pikewood when he drove up, flashing his police lights and chirping with his siren to get their attention.
"Boys," he said sternly, "what in Sam's Hell are you doing out at this time of night? Don't you know there's a curfew on right now?"
"Hi, Clyde," Darkwing said.
That mortified Chucky. Momma told him to respect the law, and calling an officer by his first name -- calling any adult by their first name -- was something that you just shouldn't do. It didn't seem to bother Sheriff Rambo, though, if anything it made him nicer.
"Hello, Jacob," he replied with a smile, then nodded at Launchpad and Chucky. "Donnell, Chuck," he said. "Look, I'm not trying to bust your chops, boys, but it's dangerous for you to be out here -- what, with everything that's been going on."
Launchpad nodded back cautiously, his parents had told him to be careful of the police, too.
"But we're all together!" Darkwing answered. "We're not alone, just like you said! You said we shouldn't be out alone, that we had to look out for each other!"
"That's true," Rambo explained, "but you can't be out after dark, even if you're all together... it's just not safe."
"We're looking for Nathan Dawson, though!" Darkwing said. "We're trying to help you find him!"
For some reason, hearing that made all the color run out of Sheriff Rambo's face. Chucky saw it happen, his smile falling slowly to a look that reminded him of his own face after he had a tooth drilled by the dentist. It looked like Rambo went numb, like someone gave him that shot they give so that the drilling doesn't hurt. The drilling hurts anyway, and Sheriff Rambo looked just like that. Like a person who just had his tooth drilled and it hurt, even though it wasn't supposed to. He didn't say anything at first, just sat there looking at them with his after-drilling face. Nobody said anything, actually, and there was what Momma would've called an awkward silence for a little while.
"Get in
, boys," he finally said, looking numb and as though the drilling hurt.
Since he was the police, they listened -- they didn't want to get arrested. He said he was going to drive them all home, each to their own house, where they had to stay until at least the next morning. Along the way, Darkwing asked about the family they saw moving into that pink trailer.
"Oh," the Sheriff said, coming back to life. "That's the Swete family. They just moved from Ohio and they're a very friendly bunch."
"They have a daughter," Darkwing replied. "A girl our age, with blonde hair."
"Yes, Tracy is her name, I think."
"Tracy," Darkwing said dreamily.
"Yep, Tracy Swete... she'll be going to school with y'all starting next week." Rambo took his serious tone, his police voice, as he said "I want you boys to keep an eye on her. She doesn't know anybody around these parts, and she's gonna need some friends. Can you promise to look out for her?"
Darkwing promised eagerly. Chucky and Launchpad did too, but not as excitedly as he did.
They were closest to Launchpad's house, so he got dropped off first. Darkwing's should've been next, but that would mean going close to Booger Woods. Chucky didn't like to go anywhere near Booger Woods after the sun went down, even with a grownup -- even with Rambo, who had his bazooka in the trunk. Darkwing knew that, so he asked the Sheriff to take Chucky home instead.
When they got there, Rambo made Chucky promise not to go back outside at night. That would be an easy promise to keep, since Chucky was afraid of the dark -- even when he had his flashlight. When he got inside, the television said that Nathan Dawson wasn't missing anymore...
Nathan Dawson, who had been alive and all put together just two weeks ago, but was all taken apart now... taken apart and dead, dead like Gary Duncan and Joshua Banks...
Nathan Dawson, whose parts were found frozen in the snow... frozen and spread all around, behind the old church in town.
EIGHT