Echoes of the Fall

by Hank Early

  “We all know that’s a lie. Chip covered your ties to the Harden School in the article. In detail. And even if you didn’t have ties, you have influence. If you’re willing to exert that influence, you can have the school closed. At the very least, Harden resigns. A new admin is put in place that doesn’t target gay kids.”

  Walsh gave me a look I believed might have been begrudging respect. “Okay, but that’s all.”

  “No,” Chip said. “It’s not all. Before Argent steps down, he has to clear Earl of all charges that might come up because of the investigation.”

  He laughed. “Fine. I don’t care.”

  “You’d better make sure it happens,” Chip said. “If it doesn’t, I send this article to every major newspaper in the country.”

  “Along with the tape,” I added.

  “Right,” Chip said. “And I should also mention that my paper, The Birmingham News, is already in possession of a copy of the tape and the article. In the event that anything happens to me or Mr. Marcus, they will publish both.”

  “How will I know they won’t do that anyway?” he asked.

  “Because if they do, it’ll be on me, and you’ll feel free to retaliate,” Chip said.

  “That’s the last demand,” I said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “A peace treaty. Between you and me.”

  “We’re not at war.”

  “True, but if you stay in the county, we will be. I want you to go somewhere else.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Okay, Chip, let’s go. We’ll publish it. Get your lawyers and PR people ready. This is going to be a nightmare.”

  I stood up, feeling slightly dizzy. I hadn’t planned on asking him to move. Maybe it was too much?

  “Okay,” he said.

  I stopped. “You’ll move?”

  “This county is dead to me anyway. Once I’m elected, I’ll be in Washington most of the time, so …” He shrugged.

  “And you’re dead to it,” I said. “Oh, one more thing.”

  “What?” He looked as angry as I’d ever seen him, though he was trying hard to hide it, to appear in control.

  “You’ve got two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?”

  “Yep. Or the article goes out.”

  “You don’t make de—”

  “I just did,” I said. And with that, I rose, nodded at Chip, and we started toward the front of the house. We’d reached the end of the long back section of porch when Walsh called out.

  “Hey, asshole.”

  I turned.

  “This isn’t over.”

  I nodded. “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “It’s the way it has to be.”

  Chip grabbed my arm and pulled me around the corner of the house before I could respond. When the two men stopped us on the way out to give me back my gun, I offered them a piece of advice. “If I were you, I’d start looking for another gig.”

  It felt good, even if it was hollow. The truth, I realized as we walked to the truck, was that Jeb was still going to be in Congress, and we’d only moved the tumor that was his presence to a different part of an already ailing body.

  But damned if it didn’t still feel good.

  70

  Later that afternoon Chip informed me it was going to be his last night at the Wildflower before heading back to Birmingham. I asked him if he minded taking a ride with me.

  “A ride?”

  “Yeah, I’ll drive.”

  “Fine with me. Where are we going?”

  “Just get in. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Mindy and Ronnie had already checked out that morning, and now it was just the two of us at the motel. When we left, his Taurus was the only vehicle parked outside the long strip of rooms. It felt like the end of something, like we were on the edge of a long story, like a page was about to turn.

  We made small talk as we drove up the backside of Ghost Mountain. He told me about his dog, Sam, and how he couldn’t wait to see him when he got back to Birmingham. I asked him about his job at the paper, his plans for the future.

  “I want to make a difference,” he said.

  “You already have.”

  “I know. It felt good. I don’t want to ever lose that.”

  I understood. What I wanted to tell him was that he would eventually lose the feeling. He’d lose it to the mundane drone of routine and its sometimes insurmountable roadblocks. But I decided not to ruin his day. He deserved to feel good. And, who knows, maybe he wouldn’t be as broken as me. Maybe he’d be able to know the feeling of redemption, of salvation, and hold on to it. Maybe I’d be able to do it too. It was a nice thought.

  “You know,” he said. “Walsh scared me.”

  “He has that effect on people, but you’re safe now. We’ve got the tape and the article.”

  “That’s just it,” he said. “I think he knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  “That I was lying about already sending it to the Birmingham News.”

  “You were lying about that?”

  “Yeah. Truth is, I’ve got the only copy with me now. By the time I mailed it, I could just take it myself, which is what I plan on doing after this.”

  I had to admit, hearing this made me a little nervous, but in reality I didn’t think it changed much. Jeb might suspect he was lying, but he’d have to be a fool to try to do something to either one of us. If he even believed there was a small chance Chip had been telling the truth, he’d be wise to just stand down.

  In the end, I just couldn’t get too worked up about it, especially not in light of what we were going to do, what I was about to tell Chip.

  When I came to the creek and the road shifted steeply uphill, I told him we’d have to get out and walk. I was buying time now, afraid of saying the words swelling inside me.

  We made it to the top of the rise, both of us sweating, breathing hard. The field opened up in front of us, and I saw the single oak out in the middle where I’d paced off my steps before burying Joe. The sun was setting behind the tree, and strands of brilliant orange were ensnared in its massive limbs. The tree appeared to be on fire, the leaves lit with a green-orange cast that was nothing short of breathtaking. A wind swept across the flat field, rustling high grass, cooling our skin from the heat of the day.

  We stood there, taking it in, and I found myself thankful we’d arrived when we had, at dusk, when the world settles and cools, when new possibilities arise out of the remnants of past fires, where the present has no choice but to linger and reverberate.

  “It’s beautiful,” Chip said.

  “I need to tell you something,” I began.

  “You already said that at the motel.”

  I nodded. “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “It’s about Joe, isn’t it?”

  I turned and looked at him. He read the answer in my eyes. I reached for him, praying silently, reactively, that he would let me hug him, let me apologize. He did, and then I told him everything.

  When I finished, the sun was gone and the stars were out. I thought of Harriet, of James Joyce and his nets, of Rufus. I thought of Jeb Walsh and all the sacrifices it had taken to finally penetrate his armor, even the slightest bit.

  But most of all, I thought of Mary and how I needed her. I needed her right here beside me. I needed her to see this field, this fallow and beautiful soil that no one was left to tend. But then a voice came to me, a whisper, and I knew it was right.

  Time to move on. Time to forget. Time to start climbing out of the past.

  So I did.

  * * *

  The next morning, after I’d said goodbye to Chip, Rufus showed up at my house. He was more gaunt than usual and he had a busted nose, but otherwise he looked fine.

  I embraced him, squeezing so hard he grunted that he couldn’t breathe. I let go, grinning at him.

  “Got a sandwich or something?” he said.

  We went inside, a
nd he sat at the kitchen table letting Goose lick his hands and wrists. His shades were gone, and the chemical burns around his eyes were visible. He seemed lost in thought, so I let him be while I made the sandwich.

  “Here,” I said, putting it in front of him. He ate greedily and drank four glasses of water.

  When he finished, he slid the plate away. “Tell me she’s dead.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “She’s dead.”

  “Thank God.” And then he put his head down on the table and began to weep. When he finished, I told him everything that had happened while he was gone, careful to leave out the parts about Harriet. I was planning a more dramatic reunion, and I didn’t want to spoil the surprise. He frowned the whole time until I got to the part about blackmailing Jeb Walsh. It was only then that his tight, down-turned mouth loosened and curled into something resembling a smile.

  * * *

  A little while later, Rufus and I went for a ride out to the east side of the county.

  It was a cool day for early August, and I thought I sensed a whiff of the coming fall in the air. It made me feel hopeful, like there was a chance for redemption after all. The summer would die with dignity, as it had lived. There was a lesson there, I thought.

  We took 52 east, the road virtually empty except for a beat-up pickup truck in my rearview, three men squeezed into its cab. They looked tired and dirty after a hard day’s work. I guessed they were construction workers or maybe carpenters.

  I was working on how to begin what I needed to tell Rufus when he spoke.

  “I blinded myself,” he said. “Out of guilt.”

  I kept driving, saying nothing, waiting for more.

  “When Harriet jumped, I wasn’t sure if she was dead or alive, but I was sure she’d jumped because she wanted to live, not because she wanted to die. Do you see the distinction?”

  I might have if I’d been able to focus better. Hell, I’d hardly heard him. The words I blinded myself were still rattling around in my head. I was trying to make sense of them. It would be a long time before I ever did.

  “What?”

  “Sometimes being willing to die is the opposite of wanting to. Living ain’t living when you spend your time trying to keep your head down, trying to be somebody you ain’t.”

  I nodded. That made sense.

  “I’m trying to get it right. Say it right.” He shook his head. “There’s a way to live, and you can’t be afraid of dying.”

  “Only the dead are safe,” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  I glanced at him and could tell he was pleased with the phrase.

  I still wasn’t ready to tell him where I’d found it, though.

  “I have dreams. My mother called it ‘getting rode by the witch.’ Scientists call it sleep paralysis. Both of them are right and both of them are wrong. What it really is, is something worse. It’s the past pushing its way into the present.”

  I’d heard a little about sleep paralysis, enough to know it could drive people insane.

  “Is that why …?”

  “That’s why I did it. I thought if I couldn’t see anymore, it would stop.”

  “Did it stop?”

  He nodded. “For a while, but I don’t think it was because I was blind. I think being blind just gave me something new to focus on, something for my subconscious to work out, to make sense of. The shadow girl came back recently. Even blind I saw her.”

  “Shadow girl?”

  “Yeah. That’s who I see. Her face is always hidden, though.”

  “Who do you think it is?” I asked.

  “I know who it is. It’s Harriet. It’s her damned ghost.”

  I was about to tell him he was wrong when the truck behind us made a move out into the left lane to go around me. I slowed down, letting it pass. As the truck pulled up alongside us, I glanced over. The man nearest the passenger side door glanced at me and looked away. He looked familiar.

  In fact …

  I sped up a little, trying to get another look, but the truck sped up too and kept just a little ahead of me.

  “What?” Rufus said as the truck finally created enough separation to merge in front of us. I tried to see the man’s face through the back window of the cab, but I just couldn’t make out any details.

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  “Not sure about what?”

  “A truck just passed us. I think I may know one of the men inside it.”

  “So?”

  He had a point. What exactly was the big deal? Coulee County was really small, and you were bound to run into the same folks over and over again. I mean, hell, the whole sheriff’s department was made up only of the sheriff and a few …

  “Shit,” I said.

  “What?”

  I reached for my cell phone and found Chip’s number. He’d be in Birmingham by now, I thought. It rang five times before going to voice mail. I swallowed hard. It didn’t mean anything.

  Did it?

  “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

  “One of the men in the truck is a sheriff’s deputy named Hub Graham.”

  “So?”

  “He’s dressed like he’s coming from a day’s work. And I can’t get in touch with Chip …”

  It didn’t take Rufus long to catch on.

  “You think Walsh has already gotten to him?”

  Before I could answer, the taillights of the truck in front of us came on. I slammed on my brakes, but I wasn’t in time. I plowed into the back of the pickup, pushing it across the road for several dozen feet until both vehicles came to a stop on the shoulder.

  I reached across Rufus for the glove box and my pistol as the doors of the pickup truck flew open and the three men spilled out. I did a double take when I saw that one of them was Jeb Walsh.

  He held an AR-15 in one hand as he stepped out into the road. The third man was none other than Jeb Junior. He, too, carried a high-powered rifle. Only Hub carried a handgun.

  I managed to get my own pistol and shout at Rufus to get down just before the front of my truck was obliterated by gunfire.

  It lasted all of fifteen seconds before the silence settled over us. I forced myself to look at Rufus. His blind eyes were opened in a parody of shock while his lips worked spasmodically as pain racked his body.

  Before I could ask, he said, “I’m okay. Just grazed my elbow. Focus on them.”

  “Okay,” I said, but what could I do? Two high-powered rifles and a pistol against me and my .45? We were both dead men.

  I heard footsteps on the asphalt as someone widened out, flanking the driver’s side door, most likely looking for a better angle or to at least ascertain if we were alive.

  I was just about to come out of the floorboard shooting when Rufus hissed at me.

  “What?”

  “Listen.”

  I tried. I heard nothing, which was somehow more frightening than the footsteps had been. I suddenly realized I did not want to die. Not like this, not without figuring out how to live with myself. And certainly not at the hands of Jeb Walsh. I was already on my way up, ready to fire through my own window, when I heard it.

  The rumble of a coming vehicle.

  I stayed put, realizing they’d have to take cover, and that if the driver stopped, Jeb and his two men would have to deal with one more person. At least.

  I heard boots on asphalt again, then the sound of brakes.

  A car door swung open. I decided it was now or never and raised myself up, sliding my ass back into the driver’s seat. What I saw chilled me to the bone. It was a young boy, and it took me less than a second to guess it was Eddie Walsh. Yeah, based on the forlorn expression on his face and the way he was looking directly at Jeb, I had no doubt. Jeb aimed the AR-15 at his boy from where he crouched near a cluster of honeysuckle vines. Hub was nearby, and Jeb Junior … I didn’t see Jeb Junior anywhere.

  With Jeb’s attention on his son, I had a clean shot at Jeb. I tried to get the window down, but the power
wasn’t working, either from the wreck or the barrage of bullets. I opened the door and stepped out onto the road. That was when Jeb saw me and fired.

  I managed to step back just before he shot, and I used the open door as a shield. The sound of gunfire was eclipsed by a mighty scream.

  It was Eddie. He was waving his arms and shouting at his father.

  Jeb stopped shooting. I chanced a peek around the door and saw Eddie walking toward his father, shouting at him.

  Jeb’s voice cut through the noise. “Get out of the damned way.”

  “I followed you,” Eddie said. “Because I knew this was what you were!”

  I glanced at Hub. He was aiming his gun at Eddie too.

  I stepped out into the road and fired, hitting Hub in the chest. He fell to the ground. Eddie, completely blocking his father from me, stopped and looked at Hub.

  He didn’t even bother to look back at me. Instead, he kept walking, heading for his father.

  “Get out of my goddamn way,” Jeb said as he tried to step around his boy for a clear shot at me, but Eddie was too quick. He moved with his father, the two of them caught up in some primeval and instinctual dance that only fathers and sons know. That was when I heard Rufus hiss at me.

  “To your right.”

  I turned and saw Jeb Junior, still carrying the assault rifle. He wasn’t aiming it at me, though. Instead, he had it aimed the other way, at either his father or his half brother, I couldn’t be sure which.

  By this point, Eddie had reached his father and was trying to embrace him, but Jeb was having none of it. Instead he sidestepped his son and fired several quick rounds in my direction. One of them hit me in the shoulder, pinning me back against my truck. Despite the pain, I was able to see what happened next.

  Eddie reached for his father’s arm and tried to pull the gun away. But instead of separating the arm from the rifle, Eddie only managed to turn the rifle toward himself. A single shot rang out.

  I closed my eyes and my knees went weak.

  When I woke up again, the world had changed.

  * * *

  With what felt like superhuman effort, I opened my eyes. I saw Rufus on one side of me. I turned and looked to the other side and saw Ronnie.