by Joshua Brown
“That’s the second time I’ve heard Earth Mother today. That’s got to be it then,” I replied. I saw Ruby step outside, walking over to me but stopping when she realized I was on a call. “Tell me more about the artifact? Any little bit helps.”
“What I could dig up on it is that it’s used in the purification of dark magic and demonology. This whole religion and belief system is a rabbit hole of its own. It’s like they pulled from every source they could find and chose the most interesting things from each to create their subdivision. The eagle represents strength and endurance, delivering the Gods’ message to the messengers of hell. The green gem, jade, links to the Earth Mother, giving her strength and nurturing her soul. The sunstone is what burns the darkness away with pure fire. The see-through one….” I heard Aaron shuffling around, trying to find his answer. “Rutilated Quartz used as an antenna to amplify your intentions. Seems whoever’s going about this thinks Lynne Sawyer was a demon, and he performed the exorcism.”
“Jesus, that woman was butchered for some bullshit?”
“I guess so,” Aaron sighed.
“Thanks for the hard work,” I said.
“Anytime, boss, hope it helps in your search for this sicko.”
We said goodbye, with Aaron telling me had was off to follow the hipster around. I told him to stay safe, cut the call, and got out of the car.
“Jack, you actually came. I can’t believe it,” Ruby shouted, rushing into my arms. I gave her a hug.
“I don’t go back on my promises,” I replied. Ruby didn’t need to know I was contemplating ditching her that morning.
“He’s so excited to see you,” she said, taking my hand. Somehow I doubt that, I held my tongue from saying it. “And as you requested, I’ve got meatloaf in the oven and mac and cheese boiling in the pot. Willy and Pete say they’ll be over later tonight. They’re having dinner with the wives and kids.”
“It’ll be good to see everyone again.”
Ruby led me into the house, never breaking her grip on my hand. My parents' place hadn’t changed in all the years I’d been gone. The same wooden desk stood in the entryway, red-upholstered chairs in the living room, small dining room table. Entering the front door felt like I was stepping through a time machine.
The only real difference was the flat screen tv, and the worn-out cushioning of the sofa. Ruby led me through the house, wasting no time and getting me to the kitchen. My mother stood there, eyes out the window, while she scrubbed a few dishes. She didn’t make much attempt to look at me, but with the way things ended the last time we saw one another, I don’t blame her.
“Hey, Ma,” I said.
“Hi, Jack,” she replied, still unable to face me.
“I hear we’re having mac and cheese tonight. Is it your world famous?”
If I was going to do this, I’d give it my best shot. The past was the past, there was only the here and now. That was a challenge of its own. Every room in this house reminded me of another torment. Even the kitchen carried nightmares of lashings from my father’s belt for reasons I couldn’t remember.
My mother didn’t speak right away, and I heard a sniffle. She wiped her face with the back of her wrist, finally turning to face me. She gave a fragile nod of the head, forcing a smile onto her face.
“Momma’s famous mac,” she said. She walked towards me crying, burying her face into my chest, arms around my waist. She stood there weeping a while before speaking again. “Oh, Jack, I’ve missed you so much.”
I brought a reassuring arm up, patting her on the back. I didn’t have the heart to say it back, even if as a lie. She pulled back, trying to compose herself, wiping tears away with a cloth strung over her shoulder. Unlike the day before, Ma wore a nice dress that evening. It was another long one, and the make-up she applied for my arrival was smudged from the crying.
“Take off the coat and hat, son. Get comfortable, make yourself at home,” she smiled when the tears finally stopped.
I did as instructed, tossing both my garments over a plastic chair beside a radio.
“How’s Dad doing?” I decided it best to get lost in another conversation.
“He’s not well. Not at all,” Ma said. “The doctor gave him a few weeks to live a while back, and every day that passes, I can see it coming.”
What the hell do you say to something like that?
“At least Ruby and the boys are here to help, right?” The first words to leave my lips, and they were better than awkward silence.
“Your sister’s been doing a mighty fine job helping us. You’re gonna move in with momma when it… happens, aren’t you, baby girl?” Ma wrapped her arms around Ruby. Ruby hugged her back in support.
“Sure am. Can’t be having you living here all on your own. Especially not with a killer on the loose,” Ruby said.
“That won’t be a problem much longer,” I said, leaning back against the wall. I rolled up my shirt’s sleeves, crossing my arms together. “We’re doing everything in our power to bring the killer to justice.”
“You had him right under your nose and let him get away the other day,” Ma sounded accusatory. “It’s that bastard across the street, Jim Heath.”
I let it slide but didn’t add anything to it. I wasn’t in the mood for a fight, not today. It was already hard just standing here; if tensions grew hot, I don’t know what I might’ve said or done.
My silence must’ve been a good enough message for Ma, and she spun around wide-eyed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean….”
“It’s fine,” I said.
Ruby gave me a half-assed smile. We were all trying to keep things civil. But it was this pretending that made everything worse.
“Maybe I should go see him, hey?” I kicked off the wall, clearing my throat. I reached for my box of Lucky’s, slotting one between my lips.
“You can’t smoke in front of him, Jack. He’s got the cancer in his lungs,” Ruby said.
I tucked the stick back in its box.
Ruby led me through the dining room, then living room, back to the hall. “Thanks for coming, Jack. I know it can’t be easy, but they both appreciate it. Pa’s really not in a good way. He hasn’t been able to get out of bed in weeks. Doesn’t see a point in getting the medicine, says it’ll only eat into ma’s retirement fund. I don’t think he’s with us much longer.”
Again, I had nothing to say. I don’t know what anyone expected from me, but dropping down and bawling my eyes out wasn’t going to happen. The thought of Johnny Ortega in that hospital bed opposite mine, suffering the cruelty of cancer, hurt me more than my own father. I managed to block the noise in my head that started screaming I should run. I did the same with the part of my brain that tried recalling every horrible memory that happened in this house.
Still, looking deep, I found no more sympathy than I would a stranger.
My father wanted me tough, well, he got his wish.
We ascended the staircase, and I heard the first signs of my dad being in the house with a wheezy cough. After the fit, labored breathing followed, high-pitched squealing with every new lungful.
“That you, Ruby?” I heard his voice. It was soft, weak, muffled.
“Yeah, Pa, it’s me,” she said. We walked over to my parents’ bedroom. The door was only slightly ajar, not enough for either of us to see one another. Ruby took my hand, running her thumb over the knuckles. “You’re going to be okay, Jack,” she whispered.
She must have sensed my nervousness. Maybe it was my staggered breathing or the fact that I was shaking like a leaf. Sure, I’d be okay. But in that moment, it didn’t really feel that way.
“Look who’s here,” Ruby said, pushing open the door.
That’s when I saw him. My father looked like a husk of his former self. In my youth, he was dense with muscle, tanned from the harsh sun, with a full blonde head of hair. Now? His skin looked papery thin, pale, and hung loose around his skeleton. He barely had the strength to move his head from the tv towards Rub
y and me.
He looked tired, long ago stopping the fight, ready for death’s sweet embrace. Pipes hung from his nose, feeding him artificial oxygen, with a heart scan machine strapped to his arm. A drip bag hung at the side of the bed, replacing his need to drink with a saline drip.
His eyes went squint as I stepped through the door. “Jack? Is that you?” he took a deep breath between every other word.
“It’s me, Dad.”
He didn’t speak right away, scanning me from top to bottom. I couldn’t work out the expression on his face if he was proud, disgusted, or something in between.
“Let me go help Momma finish dinner,” Ruby said, stepping by me and walking out the room. I wanted to call her back, ask her not to leave me alone with him, but let her go.
This was a moment of healing, facing my fears and coming out better because of it. That sounded good in theory, but it was only a matter of time until things soured. Because that’s how it always went. A little glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, only to watch my father suck down a bottle of vodka and take out his frustrations.
Dad rotated awkwardly in the bed, wincing with every motion until he looked me dead on.
“So, you’re the big shot New York detective, huh? Coming back to Priest River to whip the sheriff’s department into shape?” Dad asked. I could almost hear the insult ready to follow. “Good, they’re all useless down there. That Freddy Cochran set a precedent for laziness in this town, and it’s passed on to that fool Rodney Stern.”
“They’re a damn nightmare to work with,” I replied, chuckling.
I reminded myself, if I was going to do this, go all in. Don’t hold back. Give this old man his final wish.
Dad started laughing, and I joined him. But he soon came down with a coughing fit, steadying himself by dropping back into the pillow. He wheezed air into his lungs, looking up at the ceiling. He sounded exhausted just from our hysterics.
I fell silent.
“Christ, boy, it’s good to see you again. We’ve missed you so much,” Dad said when he finally got his breath back.
There was a sense of pleasantness that filled the room. No scorn, hate, or care in the world. A father and his son, side by side. Years and the threat of dying really did change him, it seemed.
“You know, twenty-six years is a long time to think. And I’ve done a damn lot of it, too,” Dad couldn’t turn to me again. I didn’t know if it was because of what he was saying or because he was too weak to rest on his arm again. “I never treated you right, Jack. I thought the best way for my oldest boy to live was with gravel in his heart and spit in his eye. It’s how my daddy raised me. Strong and steady, ready for anything if his family needed him.”
He paused a moment, sucking in another lungful of oxygen.
“It took me years to realize what I done to you. And years after to carry that burden, too. I’ve been wanting to call, wanting to catch up; hell, I was ready to book a flight to New York the day I heard I was dying. But…” I saw his eyes turn to me, though his head didn’t move. I stepped closer to the bed, giving him a better view. “But I knew you’d shut the door on my face, and I just couldn’t deal with that. I did wrong by you, Jack. And I know it’s only words, but words are all I’ve got. I’m sorry.”
I felt the swarm of emotion sting my heart. A thousand needles tearing through the fleshy mass and inspiring a thousand emotions at once. Happiness, sadness, anger, all at once, all so powerful they were dull.
Stunned and locked in place, I stood there looking into his eyes. Ruby was right, we did look the same. Only he looked sick, dying, and I felt strong and at the prime of my life. I swallowed hard, clutched my chest, and let out a lengthy sigh.
“I… I don’t know what to say to that.”
“You don’t have to say a thing, Jack. Not a single word. I’m not asking for anything right now. I needed you to hear it, and I needed to say it. I’m not long for this world, my boy. Hell, I’d be lucky if I can make through until morning,” Dad let out another wheezy laugh but controlled himself as not to go into another coughing spasm.
“You know a good friend once told me,” I sat down beside dad gently, taking his hand in mine. “Life’s a journey, but death’s not the final destination.”
Dad looked at me quizzically, brows cocked and confused. “What kind of hippy-dippy bullshit is that?”
I knew he was joking for the first time in my life. But I had no strength to laugh or grin; I just sat there, content.
We didn’t speak for a while, but there was no discomfort in the silence. After a while, dad shuffled in the bed, trying to sit upright again. Our eyes met, and he had a stern look on his face.
“Say, boy…” I almost expected something nasty to slip out next. A heartfelt moment followed by a disaster wasn’t beyond the circumstances, but instead, he said. “I don’t suppose you have a ciggy on you? Your mother’s been tossing mine out since the doctor’s meeting, and well, I’m all but dying for a cigarette.”
I reached into my pocket and handed him a smoke. I lit it up and got another for myself. I wasn’t going to be the one to deny him a final puff. And there wasn’t much point in stopping him now, anyway.
“Lucky Strikes, hey?” he asked.
“The cigarette that won world war two,” I replied.
“Well, they kicked the hell out of my lungs, but there ain’t nothing better than a good old Lucky,” dad smiled. I haven’t seen those lips twist jolly since I was a boy.
He managed to get through the whole cigarette before the tar burdened his lungs. He coughed and hissed and clutched his chest. Decades of fighting and hiding from my past led me to this point, and in it, I felt content. There were no memories as I looked down at him, no struggles or strife.
It was just me and my dad. Father and son.
I went down for dinner a little while later and got an earful from both Ruby and ma for giving my dad a cigarette. I let them dish it out. This is what a real family did, right? They acted foolish and brash and tore at one another’s necks, but it was all in love and jest at the end of it.
We ate together and sat around reminiscing on stories of our lives from the last few decades. But I never did stay long enough to see Peter and Willy’s arrival, as, after dinner, I got a call from Freddy Cochran.
“Jack, where are you?” he asked, voice panicked.
“I’m at my folks' place,” I replied. I supposed he’d be pleased to hear it.
“I’m sorry to break you away from it then. I need you to come down to the Lincoln McDonald’s farm. You remember where it is?”
“Sure, used to steal ears of corn from it every Sunday after church,” that was before they exiled me from the holy grounds, that is. “What’s going on, Fred?”
I was on my feet, pulling my coat on while I waited for his response.
“Dominic Cornelius is dead, Jack. The bastard got another one of the investors.”
“How long ago did it happen?” I asked.
“Not long. Blood’s dripping wet. I’m guessing not longer than half-hour at most,” Freddy said.
I said goodbye to Freddy and made my apologies for my hasty leaving. They understood, of course. I went upstairs, saying bye to my dad too.
“Hey, Dad, I’ve got to run,” I said, stepping through the door.
“What, no? You can’t leave so soon. Your brothers are coming by to play some board games,” Dad replied. It was strange hearing him talk about board games like this was a normal family get-together.
“Freddy Cochran called. There’s been another murder. They need my help with it.”
Dad sighed. “You shouldn’t work so hard, boy. You’re going to rush yourself into an early grave.”
“You do what you’ve gotta do, right?” I tapped him on the shoulder, and before leaving, I said. “But look, Dad, you’re going to be alright. You’re a fighter, tough as nails, just like me.”
We both knew it wasn’t true, but I thought I’d say something to ease him thr
ough the pain.
I left right after, making a final stop across the street at Jim Heath’s house. I knocked on the door, only to be greeted by an older woman at the door.
“Hello, sonny, how can I help you?” she asked.
“Sorry to bother, ma’am, is Jim home?” I replied.
“He is, yes. He’s having a bath. Do you want me to call him?”
“No, I don’t want to be a bother. Has he been in all night?” This was it, confirmation that Jim had nothing to do with the murder of Lynne Sawyer. If that three-letter word left her lips, I knew I could pull the dogs off Jim.
“Yes, he cooked me a lovely seafood dinner. Are you sure I can’t call him? Would you like to come in?”
“No, ma’am,” I replied. I thanked her for her time and left.
Though we were no closer to finding out who did any of this, it felt good knowing Jim’s name was clear. But now, it meant I had a long night ahead of myself in search of a mass murderer.
Chapter 18
Jack
For all the hot, humid days we’d been having, the nights brought with them an icy chill. I got out of my car, greeted by a lungful of the icy wind that left me longing for the hot air from that afternoon. I parked beside the row of police cars, illegally parked in the street. There wasn’t much movement up or down the road, so it wouldn’t bother anyone at all.
In the distance, I saw a couple of them. The moon was my only source of light from the road into the farm. No street lights were near McDonald’s farm. The sheriff and his crew had floodlights set up around the crime scene. Even from that far out, I could see what happened.
The way they all hovered beside the scarecrow, whatever happened to Dominic Cornelius, had to involve it. I sat in my car, trying to prepare myself mentally for whatever was out there. If Lynne Sawyer lost her jaw and tongue, what new hell awaited me?
I supposed Freddy being on his feet and not puking off to one side had to be a good sign. I lit a cigarette, buying some time. Lord knew I didn’t want to go anywhere near it. Not after the night I had. All those pleasant memories and vibes, washing away the real world for a while felt good. I could even almost pretend that life was good with my folks. That we weren’t distant strangers, but instead a close-knit family, all together again.
