Southern Ouroboros

by Matt Kilby

  Vick couldn’t say what bothered him most, but something caught his breath and wouldn’t let go. His head seemed thick, too numb to fix on anything as he backed out of his chair. It clattered into the floor behind him as he stumbled into the hallway.

  “Vick?” Carly called after him.

  “Let him go,” John said, and Vick hated him for that, even if he wanted it. He put a hand on the wall to keep his feet and made his way to the door leading to the attic. At the top of the stairs, his legs gave out, making him crawl to where Eric died. Everything that asshole cowboy said hit him at once. The idea of it being unavoidable, a party line John repeated all night though it didn’t make sense until in the context of lives. If Eric never crippled his knee playing football, he would have still found his way to die in some preacher’s attic. Even if he was the perfect boyfriend, Suzanne would have found a reason to leave him. If true, Wolgiss had been wrong, which made him wrong too, but didn’t he have to be? If the past could change, John would know, but he swore there wasn’t a way, even with the once-dead pastor in front of him.

  “If Tuck Marshall can survive, so can she,” he said, sitting next to the mattress where Eric told him the same thing. His blood still covered the fabric and floor, the night too long and chaotic for time to clean. To anyone who didn’t understand what happened, it would be a crime scene—a horrific one at that—but Vick sat with his knees to his chest and arms around them, feeling some part of his past still existed there.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he shook his head at the realization talking to his best friend’s drying blood might be the low point in a night full of them. “I’m not sure who I’ll be without you and Suzanne, and that scares me. I think about how I let a man put a gun to your head and end your life. I could have tried to stop him, even if it didn’t change anything. If the John Valance didn’t keep telling me he was bringing me to say goodbye, I might not have accepted it so easy. The same thing’s happening with Suzanne. He keeps saying I won’t see her until she’s dead, but I can’t stop thinking about what you told me. Hell, you didn’t even say it. I did. Doesn’t that beat it all? Vick Hafferty coming through time to fill the empty spots in your head.”

  The stairs behind him creaked, and he ran a forearm over his eyes by reflex, not realizing he was crying until it came away wet. He sniffed back any lingering evidence and looked over his shoulder as Brandon Marshall reached the top step.

  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” Vick nodded, looking at the stain by his feet.

  “Sorry I didn’t clean in here,” Brandon said, lingering near the stairs. “With all that’s happened—”

  “I can’t imagine what this is like for you. Pine Haven prepared me.”

  “Sure, but I survived Grady Perlson long before you did.”

  Vick looked at him again. “How much did Eric tell you?”

  “Enough. He said he killed Grady to save you, and the moment he did was the first in years he didn’t feel pain in his knee. Even then, it didn’t make up for almost killing you.”

  “Sounds like the highlights,” Vick huffed.

  “We had time. More than anything, I think he needed to talk to someone more than a voice in his head.”

  “That should have been me,” Vick winced as he remembered the nights at the All Rise, sitting in silence instead of talking through what happened. He remembered how Eric finally opened up, telling him about his nightmares and fears he might hurt Maribeth or little Alice. He listened but didn’t, at least not in a way that helped.

  “I don’t think it could have been,” Brandon came forward to sit in the folding chair beside the mattress. “He didn’t want you involved any more than his wife and daughter. It upset him you were coming and Suzanne would die because of him.”

  “Because the voice in his head was me.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Why not? It isn’t the strangest thing either of us saw tonight.”

  “I guess not,” the pastor returned the smile. “But if true, then some thousand years from now, you’ll find a way to come die in my attic.”

  “According to John, this isn’t supposed to be your attic.”

  “This attic then. You come and die, but for what?”

  “To save Suzanne, but as many times as this supposedly happened, I’m always too late.”

  “Then why bother trying?”

  “Because I can’t accept this is meant to happen. It takes the blame from my hands, and I don’t want that. I cheated on her and ruined things between us. I made her want to leave again as soon as we got here, and that’s why she died.”

  “But if he’s wrong about that,” the pastor said, “maybe he’s wrong about tomorrow.”

  “You think she’s alive?”

  “I don’t think future you would try so hard over a lost cause.”

  “He said you were the reason I could save her.”

  The pastor’s lips pursed as he puzzled it over. “Me?”

  “Do you remember the night you were supposed to die?”

  “That’s one of those moments that never leaves. I almost killed Grady for nothing more than trying to make his life better. For all these years, I told myself the Devil wanted me to do something stupid. Something that would ruin God’s plan for me and Grady. I had a knife, but something came over him, darkening his eyes and changing his voice so he didn’t seem the same person. He put me on the ground, telling me things that terrified me before he started to do what I failed to do to him. Before he could, Grady’s voice spoke and argued with himself. If you end up inside Eric’s head, someone must have been in his. The other voice wanted me dead, but Grady saved my life. We could spend the night debating what that means, if God spared me or I’m what your cowboy friend would call a meaningless oversight. Carly’s so much a mystery to me, I couldn’t guess her take, but here, just the two of us, I’m interested in what you think. If I’m meant to be dead, why am I alive?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “I didn’t think you would,” the pastor smiled and stood. “Personally, I take comfort in that. Are you going to be okay?”

  “If I come back a thousand years to stop tomorrow, I guess not.”

  “From what I’ve seen of those things supposed to happen,” Brandon stopped halfway to the stairs, “if you figure out any chance of changing them, I hope you’ll take it. For now, I’ll have a fresh pot of coffee downstairs when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks,” Vick said. “For everything.”

  The pastor nodded short before heading downstairs. When the door clicked to say he was alone, Vick returned his attention to the copper-stained mattress.

  “Okay, Eric,” he whispered and didn’t know what to say after. His best friend was gone, and no one remained to tell him if he was being noble or stupid. As their history went, it didn’t matter. Vick had found a way to keep from dying, at least in any way that let the world be without some version of him to foul everything up. He finally outstubborned his father and imagined his mom shaking her head at something she once called impossible. If it didn’t mean explaining everything, he might call to tell her, but as things were he doubted he would talk to her again. Too much had happened—things he could never hide. She would never understand black bricks and ancient cowboys or believe her own son would live damn close to forever. He tried to imagine telling her, when he did die, it’d be after spending a few months possessing Eric Vanger. Then he tried a version of the conversation where he pretended none of it happened. She would learn from Pine Haven gossip that Eric and Suzanne were missing. Judge Morgan would never stop blaming him or bother doing it in a quiet way. She would hear and ask him for his side of the story, but what would that be?

  “Okay, Eric,” he said again, lost in his thoughts and playing out a future he would never see because nothing worked out the way he planned. It never had, but a broken engagement and dead father were far from where he sat. The imagined conversation wi
th his mom didn’t weigh on him as much as the one he couldn’t avoid, sitting across from Maribeth to tell her he lost both her husband and best friend in one week. He would rather dig up the pastor’s lawn until he tunneled so deep no one would find him. With a millennium to burn, he could easy, but he owed her the truth. Maybe if she thought he left his sense in Louisiana she could hold some hope but would understand the moment she opened her door and found him standing alone.

  “Okay,” he stood to walk to the steps and rejoin the others downstairs. They were in the living room, Carly taking her turn to watch the snow fall. John stared ahead from the couch until Vick filled his line of sight. The cowboy’s eyes narrowed as he worked on the right thing to say.

  “I’m sorry,” was all he did.

  “Sorry won’t change tomorrow.”

  John nodded. “I still should have considered—”

  Vick cut him off as he sat in front of the fireplace. “If you do care, leave it at that. I’m going to try to sleep. Wake me when it’s time.”

  “Okay,” John said and, if nothing else, kept his word. Though he hardly blinked in the hours after, the cowboy didn’t say anything more until morning streaked the wall. Time had slipped away, but Vick couldn’t sleep. He found some meditative trance instead, cued by the mantra Wolgiss provided him.

  If Tuck Marshall can survive, so can she.

  John’s gruff voice said, “It’s time.”

  Vick rolled onto his back before faking a yawn, as if it’d fool anyone. The cowboy hadn’t blinked all night and didn’t act like he would miss a step. As chances went, whatever the two of them were now, they didn’t need sleep. The thought exhausted him, especially with all those years ahead. A thousand without a nap might as well be a private Hell. Though he bet John saw through him, Vick stuck to the act.

  “I’ll need another cup of coffee if I’m going to be any use,” he rubbed his eyes. “Need one?”

  “I’ll manage,” John shook his head. If he knew Vick was up to something, he didn’t say, so Vick walked into the kitchen, hoping no one followed. He went to the coffee pot and pulled open the drawer beneath, swearing sharp to find dish rags and oven mitts. He tried the next and fished through the pastor’s silverware but couldn’t find what he needed. As footsteps came in behind him, he took the pot out of its cradle to pour last night’s dregs into a Styrofoam cup.

  “I can brew another pot,” Brandon stepped up beside him to open the cabinet above the coffee maker.

  “That’s okay.” Vick shook his head.

  “Suit yourself,” the pastor opened the next cabinet before leaving the room. Vick spun to continue his search but didn’t look long. In the open cabinet, a silver butcher’s block sat on the shelf. He wondered how Brandon knew but guessed there were few things a desperate man would try to find in a stranger’s kitchen.

  “Vick,” John called, but he didn’t answer. He brushed his fingers along the knife handles, his choice obvious when he noticed the butcher knife rising further than the rest. Drawing the blade from the block, he slipped it into the inner pocket of his coat and closed the cabinet. Then he took his cold coffee to the living room.

  “Are you ready?” John asked from the door.

  “I think so,” Vick answered with Brandon’s eyes on him. He avoided looking in case the cowboy saw some silent communication pass between them, turning the other way to watch Carly approach John.

  “I guess this is goodbye,” she held out her hand, which John stared at a silent moment before shaking it. “I don’t know how to thank you for what you did for me.”

  “What do you think I did?” he said, a ghost of a smile passing over his stone face. “You were always able to save yourself, to sober up and escape the life you built. I just helped you find the road.”

  “From where I’m standing,” she shrugged, “that sounds like a lot. You’re also about to get rid of everyone who wants me dead.”

  “If you want to thank something for that,” he shook his head, “thank the stone. I’m only killing the people it always had me kill.”

  “You make it damn hard for a girl to be sentimental,” she grinned.

  “If that’s what you want, when you make it home, tell your father he made the right choice letting me go. That’s all it took to get you back and see your mother find peace.”

  Carly’s smile fell at the mention of her family, her eyes following its weight to the floor.

  “Pastor,” John looked at Brandon, “thank you again for your hospitality under the circumstances.”

  “Under the circumstances,” Brandon said, “thank you for not killing me.”

  “Thank the stone,” the cowboy opened the front door. “I reckon you’ll need to twice now.”

  He walked out without another word, leaving the door open for Vick to follow. Carly and Brandon waited, as if there was a question what he would do. He couldn’t refuse to leave. He had a destiny that stood outside waiting. Vick took a couple steps in that direction before he looked back at Carly.

  “Tell your dad I did my best,” he said and left before she could reply, closing the door as he stepped out into the white-blanketed morning. No more than an inch of snow covered the parking lot but would make whatever car chase the cowboy planned a challenge. Standing beside the car with Joe’s messenger bag across his shoulders, John didn’t seem concerned.

  “You realize this snow is going to slow us down, right?” Vick unlocked the car and sat behind the wheel.

  John nodded. “You won’t need to outrun them. Just make them follow you.”

  “If you say so,” Vick cranked the engine, letting the Charger coast to test its traction. When the tires didn’t slip, he drove toward Main Street.

  “I always do,” the cowboy said. Vick didn’t check to see if his smile came back. He pulled away from the church and headed to the highway. Neither said anything more as they drove through and out of town. John stared through the windshield as if the world beyond was a movie familiar enough to quote. Vick drummed his fingers, keeping the beat to some song only he heard, his nerves refusing to let him keep still. Every mile brought him closer to Suzanne, in whatever condition he would find her.

  If John noticed the way Vick squirmed, he didn’t say another word until they were ten miles away from town and approaching a seedy motel on the right. Vick remembered an argument with Suzanne about the same place and how much closer it was to Creek Hollow than where they ended up. When the cowboy told him to drive there, he couldn’t help the short, spiritless laugh as he mourned the people they were then. He touched the brake and turned in to find a line of cars waiting in the back. He didn’t take time to count them, but a glance guessed ten, ranging from Cadillacs to the souped-up Buicks that screamed drug dealer to any law enforcement they passed on the street.

  “That’s them,” John pointed. “Drive over.”

  “To do what?” Vick glanced at him as he did what he was told.

  “Are you afraid?” John met his eyes, but Vick looked away.

  “Every instinct tells me to stay as far from them as possible.”

  “Those are the fears your body learned to protect itself, but you don’t need them anymore. You’ll figure that out in time. Now, drive to them so we can be on our way.”

  Vick didn’t argue. One day was enough to know all he needed about John Valance, the most important lesson being his mind would never change. The best thing to do was go along and find out what his future looked like.

  A man got out of one of the Cadillacs to watch them. He crossed his arms over his chest, a small pistol in one hand. John leaned forward, appearing to question whether he recognized the man.

  “What now?” Vick asked.

  “Keep driving,” the cowboy drew his revolver. “I don’t think he’s the one.”

  Vick kept steady pressure on the pedal. Twenty-five yards away, the man said something sharp and rapid to someone inside the car and then leaned in to pull up the front seat. Another man got out, this one heavy with
hair receding to a trail of dark fuzz across the back of his head and an expression between curiosity and amusement. Vick bet their short conversation was a debate over whether the Charger had anything to do with the girl they meant to kill or if the two men inside were just stupid. He wondered what conclusion they reached when John rolled down his window.

  “Ya’ll looking for Carly Snead?” he asked in a tone best classified as hayseed, right before he shot the fat one in his head.

  The man dropped before anyone understood what happened, even Vick, who had all morning to prepare. With ears ringing, he stared at where a man lost his life, his foot off the accelerator to coast through the snow.

  “Vick,” John said, the cars getting closer by the inch. Something moved beyond the hood where the man fell, a blur of cloth as the other dove into the open car. Within seconds, he sprang back onto his feet, holding a semiautomatic rifle that pocked holes up the Charger’s windshield. One caught John’s shoulder as Vick ducked, still not used to his immunity to bullets, though the cowboy shrugged off his wound with nothing more than a wince.

  “We got their attention,” he gritted his teeth and fired across the man’s cover. “So whenever you want to drive, feel free.”

  Vick jammed his foot down, the wheels spinning the car several feet before they caught and jerked them toward the highway. In his rearview, the cars started one by one and gunned after them, the man with the rifle debating what to do with his dead associate before he jumped into the last car and left him.

  “Okay,” Vick glanced to his passenger seat, John’s face almost satisfied as he leaned back. “Now what?”

  “Drive,” the cowboy stared at the highway, empty for the most part because no one wanted to risk putting their car into a ditch. “They’ll keep their distance, but none of them will think twice about following us.”

  “Because we killed their friend,” Vick looked into the rearview mirror.

  “That was insurance to make sure they know who we are. They’re behind us because they want Carly and think we’ll lead them to her. If one of them gets away, I don’t think she’ll survive.”