Sunken Graves

by Alan Lee

  “You’re right, Dan, something did happen. I don’t know the whole story but I know more than you. I’m from Roanoke, after all, my ear to the ground.”

  “There seemed to be a big story and then…there wasn’t.”

  “That’s precisely it. Then there wasn’t,” said Lewis.

  “Is Lynch from Roanoke?”

  “No, he grew up in Craig County, just north of here. Do you believe in evil, Dan?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Do you believe people are evil?”

  Caught off guard, Jennings stared hard at his beer, at the trails of carbonation. “The distinction is important?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “People are evil.”

  “You’re sure?” said Lewis.

  "I know it.”

  “How?”

  “Because I feel it in me.”

  “Good. And you see it in others. What is the source of the evil, do you believe?”

  “Is this important?”

  “You’re an impressive guy, Dan. I can tell you’re thinking about taking on Peter Lynch. I hear it in your voice. Lynch scares everyone but none of them consider standing up to him, much less follow through. And I’m curious, once you get past his offenses, will you see him as a broken man? Or an evil one.”

  “It’s his offenses that I take exception with, Craig. I’m not going to get past them.”

  “Why’d he commit the offenses? That’s a harder question than it seems. Answering it causes young men to turn into old men, so don’t answer now. Instead it’s my turn to tell you what I know. Peter Lynch’s first wife left him in California. She filed for divorce, citing spousal abuse. She took half the money but she left him the two boys and a daughter. He was disbarred soon after and he moved to Roanoke, probably because that’s where his brother was. Do you know his brother, Francis Lynch?”

  “I don’t.”

  “He’s a judge in Salem. An impressive man. Similar to his brother, but Francis isn’t cruel. Anyway. Soon after moving back to Roanoke, Peter married again. A widow older than him. A rich widow. Good-looking woman. She has one daughter, a knockout, older than Junior, his eldest son. Following me so far?”

  “Lynch gets divorced in California, returns to Roanoke, and marries an older woman. He marries into money and a step-daughter. Good to go.”

  Lewis nodded and drew designs on the table with condensation. “I know through friends that his second wife and her daughter were in and out of rehab. All the fabulous problems that come with boredom and wealth. Drugs and alcohol and eating disorders. Two or three years later, his step-daughter Kelly turns eighteen and she immediately goes public with accusations that Lynch fondled her and beat her mother.”

  “Kelly Carson. I caught hints of this online.”

  “Right, Kelly Carson. You’re doing your homework.”

  “I’m pissed off,” said Jennings.

  “Now the waters get murkier. She hires a plaintiff’s attorney. Her accusations spark instant outrage online against Peter. There’s an article in the paper. Supposedly the police begin an investigation. Everyone’s talking about it. And then, like you said, poof, it stops. Kelly drops the lawsuit and moves away. Philadelphia, I heard. The police investigation ceases. But the thing that puzzles me the most, me and my gossiping cohorts, is the lack of additional articles in the newspaper. And there was never coverage on the local news channels.”

  “Why not?”

  Lewis spread his hands. “I don’t know. It’s the damnedest thing.”

  “He paid Kelly off and she signed a nondisclosure?”

  “That part is almost a certainty. But the absolute silence is curious. No, curious isn’t the word. The silence from the papers and news stations is frightening.”

  Their food arrived. Jennings and Lewis leaned back to make room and clear the air. They ate a moment.

  “You’d think the local NBC and CBS affiliates would be all over that story,” said Jennings.

  “One would think.”

  “So…Lynch has allies everywhere. In the news studios, killing the story. Is that it?”

  Lewis shrugged, holding the burger with both hands. Barbecue sauce dripped onto his plate.

  “Could be, Dan. But the thing of it is, Lynch isn’t that popular of a guy. He isn’t beloved. Who are these powerful allies? He doesn’t sit on any college boards, he doesn’t run with the ‘in’ crowd, he doesn’t golf with the mayor, he doesn’t live in the posh part of town. Lynch is a lone wolf.”

  “He’s a bully, more like.”

  “Oh he’s more complex than that, Dan. He’s a sociopath, pure and simple.”

  Jennings wiped his hands on a napkin, his burger gone. “I have a vague awareness of what a sociopath is, but humor me?”

  “A sociopath has a significant personality disorder. A sociopath doesn’t care about the feelings of others. They don’t or can’t empathize. Often it’s caused by childhood trauma and so the sociopath has a hard time controlling his anger, living a normal life.”

  “A sociopath has no conscience.”

  “They have one, but it’s weak. And they only form attachments with a few people.”

  “Violent?”

  “Usually. They manipulate and intimidate to get their way. Sometimes they are effective at running companies because they’re so headstrong.”

  Jennings finished his beer, giving him a chance to process. Crossed his arms and tilted his head upward toward the ceiling.

  Sociopath. A scary word for a scary man.

  “Sure sounds like him.”

  Lewis popped a french fry and nodded. “Lynch thrives on fear, I think. He likes to see the fear and panic he causes. If you dig far enough into his past, I’d bet money you find an antisocial personality disorder diagnosis. I’m sure he’s been sent to court-mandated—”

  Lewis paused. He sat up straighter and cleared his throat.

  Jennings noted the sudden change. “All good?”

  “Don’t turn around, Mr. Jennings. Keep looking at me. And play it cool.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Lewis’ eyes fixed woodenly on Jennings’ plate. “Peter Lynch’s brother is here. Francis. Don’t turn around.”

  A ball of ice formed in Jennings’ stomach. The brother. “Is that a problem? He’s a local judge, right?”

  “It’s… It’s not a problem. Francis isn’t a sociopath. He’s dangerous but he has a moral compass his brother doesn’t.”

  “You know him?” said Jennings.

  “I know him. I taught his wife, matter of fact, in my twenties. And we…kept in touch. I feel guilty, is all. Talking about his brother has me worked up.”

  “Okay. You look pale, Craig.”

  “He sees me. He’s coming this way.”

  “Should I ward him off?”

  “I’m alright. Just…I’m alright.”

  Francis Lynch approached from behind Jennings and stopped at their table. He blocked out the overhead lights.

  Lewis forced a smile. “Francis, I wondered if that was you.”

  “Craig Lewis, what a treat. You didn’t think you’d sneak out without saying hello.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. Francis, this is my colleague from school, ah, Dan.” He held his hand toward Jennings.

  Jennings had to lean back to take in Francis. Tall like his brother. Clean shaven and pale with the familial thick black hair. Francis looked like a vampire. His brother, a werewolf.

  “Dan,” said Francis. Almost a question.

  Was that recognition? The ice ball hardened within. Jennings nodded in greeting. “Francis.”

  The man towered over them a silent moment, keeping Jennings transfixed, and turned once more to Lewis.

  “Dan’s your colleague, Craig?” Gave him a friendly smile. Hidden behind the smile was meaning.

  “My colleague, Francis, yes.”

  “Good-looking young man, isn’t he.”

  “What I tell myself every morning in the mirror,” sa
id Jennings.

  The Honorable Lynch nodding slowly. When he spoke he did so from the right corner of his mouth, as though the left side was numb. “You two are working on lesson plans over drinks, I’m sure.”

  “How’s your lovely wife?”

  “Rita is fine, Craig. I’ll tell her I saw you.” Francis Lynch waved a black check folder at them. “I intercepted your bills on the way over. My pleasure.”

  Jennings flinched. The generosity felt like a slap. Felt like Peter Lynch throwing money at Ms. King. “You don’t need to.”

  Francis didn’t look at him. “Until teachers get paid what they deserve, I’ll pick up the check as often as I can. Have a fun night, boys.”

  Francis left and all the light he’d been blocking returned.

  Lewis picked up his napkin and wiped his hands and his mouth. He trembled.

  “Lord, that caught me off guard.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m old, Dan. I get jumpy.”

  “You plan on telling me the secret you’re hiding?” said Jennings.

  “We should… I’d like to go.”

  “Sure.”

  Jennings dropped cash on the table for the tip and they walked out. Lewis paused in the cold parking lot near his Honda Accord. Jennings gave him time.

  They were alone.

  “You’re right, Mr. Jennings, there’s more. Listen a moment.” A deep breath that fogged when he released. “I’m gay.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did you know?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Most people don’t. I’m out of the closet but I also don’t advertise. Some of our colleagues know. Not all.”

  Jennings nodded and didn’t reply.

  “Francis Lynch and his wife have an open relationship. At least, his side of the arrangement is open. I don’t know how social she is. Francis’ flings are with men.” Lewis shivered and zipped his coat.

  “With you, I assume.”

  “Years ago. I’m not proud of it. Before anything happened with Peter and his step-daughter.”

  Jennings, understanding now. “He called me your good-looking colleague. Said you and I were doing lesson plans over drinks.”

  “Exactly. I caught jealousy. Though he has no right.”

  “Craig, you think Francis helps his brother skirt the law?”

  “I don’t know. Francis is…well, he’s not nice but he isn’t a monster. He’s level-headed. Respected, where his brother isn’t. Whatever trauma affected Peter, Francis caught some too but he’s brilliant and functional. He’s not an active criminal that I know, but it’s been years. He’d always pay for things. He’d say teachers can’t afford anything, not even justice.”

  Jennings’ truck was parked next to the Honda. He leaned against it, shoved hands into his pockets.

  “Our trysts ended when…when Peter caught us,” said Lewis.

  “Caught you? Oh man.”

  “The most unlucky thing you can imagine. Peter walked into a coffee shop in Blacksburg and there we were. You wouldn’t believe the scene. He laughed and laughed and belittled us. The other patrons were so put off that they left. He mocked his brother, and Francis just sat there. I knew it, said Peter, I knew you were still a fag.” Tears now ran down Lewis’ face, his eyes shining in the white parking lot lights. “Afterward, Francis told me when they were younger Peter beat him with a pipe and broke his mouth. The teeth on his left side are dentures and some of the muscles never regained feeling after surgery.”

  In his mind, Jennings watched Francis speak from the left corner of his mouth. “Damn.”

  “In the coffee shop that day, Peter publicly humiliated Francis. If someone of consequence had been there, or if someone thought to record the tirade, Francis’ career might be over. No one would take him seriously ever again. He ended our relationship immediately.”

  “Craig, this is something you should have brought up earlier.”

  “I know. I know, but I knew you’d think my testimony was tainted because I have a personal reason to hate Peter.”

  “A lot of people have a reason, sounds like.”

  "Everything I said is true. That was a dark time for me, and I wasn’t thinking, and I haven’t done something like it since. But the grim facts about Peter, they’re legitimate.”

  “I believe you,” said Jennings.

  “Thank you.” He wiped his eyes. “Thank you. For an old man I’m a mess, aren’t I.”

  Jennings’ head swam. He’d walked straight into a hornet’s nest and he felt it all buzzing, didn’t know which way to run.

  Lewis said, “I wish I was strong enough to stand up to Peter. But I’m not. No one is, not even his brother.”

  “One thing that gets me. A girl came forward with allegations about being molested. And the police didn’t follow up? And when it was over, Lynch was allowed to scrub the whole thing off the internet?”

  “She wasn’t a girl when she came forward. She was an adult.” Lewis was sniffing and trying to stop.

  “Still. This isn’t Nazi Germany, you can’t control facts or the media.”

  “The whole thing is corrupt and one man is to blame. I am a pacifist, Mr. Jennings. Daniel. Entirely against violence. But I confess I wish someone would kill Peter Lynch.”

  10

  Jennings ran the track the next morning, words bouncing between his ears in rhythm with his stride.

  I wish someone would kill Peter Lynch.

  Killing the man was a little much, of course. But Lynch should be held accountable for his crimes. If there were any. Mocking your brother wasn’t one. This was America and you were allowed to be an ass.

  He showered and toweled, unable to scrub off Mr. Lewis’ fear.

  Benji Lynch walked the halls again, eyes down, his one-day suspension served. The other students largely avoided him. During lunch he submitted eight history assignments and his grade jumped from a 56 to a 71; he could play football. He didn’t look like a boy who’d been beaten with a phonebook.

  The hallways were loud and hot with testosterone, like a locker room. Tonight was the football game and winning meant glory and playing in the state championship. Fork Union Military Academy was already traveling, passing Charlottesville in two buses, a caravan of fans and family trailing behind. They’d stop for dinner and arrive at Salem Stadium around six. Jennings didn’t bother trying to maintain order during fourth period. Righteous fervor couldn’t be quenched.

  After dinner, Jennings drove a bus of boarding students to the Salem field, bus one of four. He led the way. The frenzied young men knew who waited at the stadium—young women. Girls from Roanoke and Salem and farther off were capitalizing on the opportunity to visit the isolated Crusaders, boys with trust funds and a reputation for trouble. Phones warmed in sweaty hands, feverishly making plans.

  The dusk deepened and powerful HID lights blazed to life, illuminating the field. Jennings stood at a gate below the southern stands, their home section, making sure couples didn’t sneak into the shadows. He chatted with Chad Riddle, a cop with the Roanoke County Police Department. He was the Academy’s cross-country coach, earning his twin eighth-grade boys reduced tuition.

  Television crews set up cameras near both end zones, and someone launched illegal fireworks in the parking lot. A skirmish erupted when opposing players got too close at midfield during warmups. By the time the Crusaders kicked off, the stadium felt ready to blow.

  The temperature was dropping and soon Jennings could see his breath as he cheered.

  Fork Union tied the game at 7-7 at the conclusion of the first quarter, and Jennings turned to find Daisy Hathaway at the fence with him.

  She wore boots with fur and jeans and a fleece Columbia jacket. Plus a scarf matching her green eyes, and Jennings thought she looked like a bright angel in the cold madhouse, one pure thing.

  She pointed.

  “Above the stands. Those brick boxes at the top? That’s a suite where the titans sit. I see Peter Lynch.”


  “Gods sitting on Olympus looking down at us mortals.”

  She shivered and stamped her boots.

  “I wouldn’t mind being a titan. I bet the heat is nice.”

  They paused as noise avalanched down the stands, someone scoring points. Neither Hathaway nor Jennings noticed who.

  “Were you stationed somewhere hot? In the Army?”

  He nodded. “Afghanistan. But winter nights were cold.”

  “Colder than this?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Who are you, Mr. Jennings?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you went to JMU. I know you were in the Army. But that’s kinda it. You still wear battle armor, I think. Who are you?”

  He kind of laughed through his nose. “I guess I’m still figuring that out.”

  “I need details.”

  “Yes ma’am. What kind?”

  She whacked him with a green-gloved hand. “Stop it, with the ma’am. Tell me about your respected family Peter Lynch is clearly jealous of.”

  He rubbed his chest. “Ow.”

  “That didn’t hurt you. It hurt me.”

  “For some reason, my family makes a big deal about our ancestor being Henry Jennings, a general in the Union Army. He’s my great-great-great-whatever-grandfather. He was in Appomattox when Lee surrendered to Grant.”

  “You don’t think that’s a big deal?” she said.

  “It is, I guess. It’s an odd thing, assuming the rest of us have to be in the military because he was. If your great-great-whatever-grandmother was a respected CPA or dentist, would you think you had to be one?”

  “I’d rather teach.”

  “Me too, but I’m going off the family script. My grandfather was a major general in Vietnam. My father retired as a colonel. My brother broke ranks and went to the Naval Academy. A huge scandal.”

  “What a traitor. Is he still in the Navy?” she said.

  “Yes. A captain stationed in Italy. My mother’s forgiven him.”

  Hathaway watched him with eager eyes. Jennings got the impression it mattered what he said. It mattered and her interest was a physical force. He shivered, not from the cold.

  “So you had to join the military,” she said.