by David Joy
He headed down Charleys Creek and tried to convince himself that there were a thousand reasonable explanations that had absolutely nothing to do with Thad. When the flashing blue lights flew up behind him at Neddie Mountain, he figured there was probably just some tweaker who’d set off a burglar alarm or maybe a domestic dispute between some drunk and his old lady, the siren screaming past as he steered off into the ditch to keep from getting hit at Parker Gap. There was no telling where that deputy was headed so fast. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the seat and lit a smoke to stay calm. There was no need to worry. Everything was fine.
But then there was no more denying what he already knew when Aiden pulled through the hedge of laurel that lined the drive into April’s property. There was one patrol car parked at Thad’s trailer and a deputy stood on the porch. Aiden didn’t look at him, but he could feel the deputy’s eyes watching him as he crept past and looped around the switchback to climb the drive to April’s house. There was an unmarked Expedition and another black-and-white Crown Vic parked at April’s, and Aiden could see her on the front stoop in a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt. April tapped her foot as fast as she could and had one hand gripping the bicep of her opposite arm, the other hand holding a cigarette up by her face.
Two officers stood by April on the stoop and they both turned to look at Aiden as he put the car in park and killed the engine. There was a young deputy with a high-and-tight crew cut who wore the standard black slacks, tan dress shirt, and metal badge as all the others. He was thin, and the bulletproof vest under his uniform made his torso look like it didn’t belong on the rest of his body. He stood there with his hands braced on his belt as Aiden stepped out of the car. Aiden recognized him as the deputy who’d blown past on Charleys Creek, a deputy he’d had run-ins with for years. The other officer was higher in the department, probably a lieutenant or major, who wore khaki cargo pants and a light gray polo shirt, the gold star embroidered on his chest rather than pinned to him. He walked over more like an old farmer than a lawman and met Aiden halfway between the car and the house.
“How are we this afternoon, Mr. McCall?”
Aiden’s cigarette had burned out between his fingers but he didn’t toss it into the yard and he didn’t move to light another. He just stood there with the butt held between his fingers. “I’m all right, I guess.”
“That’s good to hear,” the officer said. “I don’t know if you remember me or not, but I’m Lieutenant Shelton and I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”
“Have I done something?” Aiden looked confused and flicked his eyes up to April, who looked at him now almost pitifully.
“Well, no. Not that I’m aware of. We just had some questions we needed to ask you.” Lieutenant Shelton looked at Aiden with squinted eyes and tilted his head a bit to the side. “Now, you look like you’ve been in a fight with somebody, that bruise there on your face and the way you was limping. You been fighting?”
Aiden wasn’t quite sure what to say. He wasn’t in the right mind for questions. But before he could think of a lie, April came off the stoop and walked toward them.
“I already told him about you and Thad getting into that fight over wanting to go see those girls,” April said.
“Mrs. Trantham, I’m going to need you to go back over there with my deputy while I have a word with Mr. McCall.”
“Now, I don’t know why I’d have to do that. I haven’t done anything wrong,” April said. “This is my property and I’ve been more than cooperative with you and your deputies, so I don’t know why I need to go stand over there if I don’t want to.”
“You can’t interrupt while I’m in the middle of talking,” Lieutenant Shelton said. He didn’t turn to look at her. He just cut his eyes to the side to glance her way. “When was the last time you saw or spoke with Thad Broom, Mr. McCall?”
“Now, I’ve already told you that too,” April shouted. She spoke quickly and with anger and there was little Lieutenant Shelton could do to interrupt her, him interjecting, “Mrs. Trantham! Mrs. Trantham!” every two or three words but none of it doing anything to shut her up. “I told you the last time either one of us saw or heard from Thad was two nights ago, when him and Aiden got into that fight because Aiden didn’t want to take him over there to see those girls. He knew how much trouble they were. I told you, Aiden, just—”
“Mrs. Trantham, you’re about to go to jail!” Lieutenant Shelton yelled. “Do you understand what I’m telling you? Just one more word!”
“What for? You tell me what law I’m breaking!”
“Just one more word!”
“You’re going to have to charge me with something to take me to jail,” April said.
“Failure to obey. Obstruction. I’ll charge you with anything I come up with on that ride from here to Sylva,” Lieutenant Shelton said. “Now, if you’ve got any sense about you at all, you’ll walk back over there to the house and wait with my deputy.”
The lieutenant stood there with his finger pointed back to the house and the deputy came off the stoop to take April if she wouldn’t go. She slid a pack of cigarettes she’d had stashed in her waistband, lit one, and stood there tapping her foot against the ground, settling her hands just how she’d had them moments earlier. Smoke rose against her face and she chewed on the inside of her cheek as she scowled at Lieutenant Shelton like she just might skin him alive. Only when the deputy came up behind her and placed his hand on her elbow did she turn.
Aiden wanted a cigarette too and realized he was still holding the one that’d burned out between his fingers. He dropped the butt into the pea gravel, but didn’t move any farther than that. His smokes were still in the car on the bench seat, and he was afraid to move. He was afraid to do anything without being told. Aiden just hoped that what April had said was all she had told them. He hoped she hadn’t gone into any details that he might not know. He hoped that, if he stuck with what she said, their stories would match up and everything would be all right, that everything would be over soon. He still didn’t know what had happened, what Thad had done, or maybe what had happened to him. All Aiden knew for sure was that he was nearing the end. One way or another, he was about to find out.
(33)
Smoke hung chest-high in the living room, but neither Aiden nor April was standing. They sat on the couch with blank stares, every slow wave of the smoke’s movement visible as if they were watching wisps of clouds roll and build in the room. Both of them lit cigarettes end to end, maybe to calm their nerves or maybe just to keep from having to talk to each other.
The television was the only sound, and a commercial of some blonde walking around a warehouse of rugs in Asheville cut to a commercial of a car dealership in Canton, where these two gap-toothed children slurred how their daddy’s business was the best place to buy a new car in all of western North Carolina. April didn’t need to look at the television to see what was happening. Those two commercials played over and over every day no matter if it was lunchtime and The Young and the Restless was on, or it was a two-in-the-morning infomercial. She’d seen them a thousand times.
Mittens slept on the top of the couch behind April’s head and she felt him wake for a second to lap a few strokes down his side. The place was so still that even that slight movement startled her, the world having become so fragile all of a sudden. Neither had said a word since the deputies left, nor had they shed a tear, Aiden having never cried that April’d seen, and she was just unsure what to feel. She was numb. Nothing had sunk in.
The television flicked to the ten o’clock news, and both April and Aiden turned when they heard her voice. A short young blonde with big hips who wore a black pencil skirt and white blouse stood in the church parking lot and delivered the opening story, the headline at the bottom reading, At Least Three Dead in Jackson County.
“We have breaking news out of Jackson County tonight as a gunman confesses to k
illing three before taking his own life.” The camera broke away and panned across the parking lot filled with patrol cars, then zoomed in on the front door of the church as her voice unfolded over the scene. “Authorities have yet to release the suspect’s name but confirmed that an armed man walked into the church you see here in the Little Canada community of Jackson County this afternoon and admitted to killing three people before turning the gun on himself. Lieutenant Jimmy Shelton of the Jackson County Sheriff’s Office has also confirmed that upon arriving at one of the locations given by the suspect in his confession, deputies uncovered a grisly scene.”
The camera turned to a recording of Lieutenant Shelton standing in the church parking lot with his feet spread shoulder-width apart and his hands behind his back.
“Upon initial investigation into one of the locations our suspect identified, deputies found the bodies of two female individuals, both deceased,” Lieutenant Shelton explained.
The camera zoomed out and showed the reporter standing next to the lieutenant, her line of questioning ensuing thereafter.
“Can you say how these two women were killed?”
“I can’t give any details at this time.”
“Can you identify the victims?” the reporter prodded.
“All I can say is that, upon arriving, deputies found the bodies of two female individuals. We are not releasing any names at this time.”
“Do you know if there is any connection between the suspect and these women?”
“Not at this time.”
“What other locations are deputies looking into?”
“I can say that the suspect indicated a second location and that our deputies are on scene as we speak.”
“But deputies have not found the body of a third victim?”
“Not at this time. We’re releasing no other information. This investigation is ongoing.” With that, Lieutenant Shelton walked off camera and left the young reporter standing in the parking lot.
“While it is unclear how the suspect knew the victims and whether or not there is, in fact, a third victim involved, a witness at the church when the gunman took his own life says that the suspect indicated a third.”
“I wasn’t actually there when he said it, but, yes, he told the pastor there were three.” He stood on-screen in black slacks and a white button-down shirt and scratched at the side of his face, the runner beneath him identifying him as Samuel Mathis, Church Deacon. All it took was seeing him, hearing his voice, for April to panic. She slapped around the couch looking for the remote before seeing it on the coffee table, and April snatched it and mashed the POWER button over and over with her hand quivering at the screen. The television stayed on and Samuel Mathis slicked his red hair back on his head and continued. “We’re praying for everyone involved.” He was staring directly into the camera, his green eyes holding that same hollow deadness she would always remember. “It’s always horrible when something like this happens.”
Rising from the couch, April threw the remote at the television as hard as she could but missed and hit the wall. The remote broke apart on impact. In two strides, she was there and she hit the power on the set, but it didn’t turn off. Samuel was still on the screen and the reporter was asking him another line of questions and April jabbed the button over and over but the TV stayed on. She rained down on the top of the set with her fists, hammered as hard as she could, but none of it was doing any good, and Aiden stood to help her. Grabbing behind the set, she slid the television off its stand, and as it rolled onto its face, the cord yanked from the outlet and there was silence.
She forgot Aiden was there until he touched her arm, her scared and flinching when she felt him. Aiden wrapped his arms around her and held her so tight that she couldn’t fall, and she wept against his chest.
April had cried like that only one other time in her life and there had been no one there to comfort her then. She shook with her hands clenched against her chest, her face buried into Aiden, and shuddered from somewhere deep inside. She could feel the pain and the fear and the memories physically push out of her body bit by broken bit, piece by shattered piece, until there was nothing left to give.
As the tears waned, April’s thoughts cleared and she realized that she was weeks away, a month at most, from leaving behind this place and everything that haunted her. For the first time in her life, she felt in complete control. She felt all of the fear that had kept her in secrecy for so long vanish, and all that was left was an unbearable anger. She was filled with it. She could feel the words roiling inside of her. She could feel them taking form and rising from within, a fire that had smoldered for so long in the absence of air. She could taste the words in her mouth and she began to speak them, and the minute they touched air the entire world caught fire. She told Aiden everything that she’d sworn she would never say, everything that had nearly gnawed her into nothing. And as those words came, she could feel everything she’d ever known burning. She could feel herself being rebuilt, something new taking shape.
There was a memory of being young and pregnant and crying her eyes out in her car after being spit on by some woman she didn’t know, some woman who held a Bible as April walked out of the abortion clinic. April had somehow missed her when she went inside and it was her own guilt that had kept her from filling out the paperwork, that kept her from doing what that woman cursed her for when she left. Sitting there in that room just minutes before, she hadn’t even been able to spell her name.
She remembered having to sit her parents down and tell them when she finally started to show, her having hoped for so long that maybe she’d miscarry, praying to God she’d miscarry, but that prayer going unanswered just the same as every one before.
She thought of the day she gave birth to Thad and how she was scared and in pain and how there was no one there to tell her that things were going to be okay, that everything was going to be fine, and she didn’t know if hearing those things that most people hear would’ve meant anything to her right then or not, because none of those things were true right then. Things weren’t okay. Everything wasn’t going to be all right. The world was entirely broken.
She remembered when the doctor handed over her son to her for the first time and how she couldn’t bear to look at him, much less bear the thought of having to raise him and take care of him. Everyone makes sacrifices, the hospital chaplain told her, but he could never understand. This was having your innocence stolen and then being told that you’re going to hold that feeling in your hands and nurture it. You’re going to look into its eyes and smile. You’re going to grit your teeth and love every minute.
Now that all of that fear and anger had settled onto the place it belonged, she was filled with an immense sadness. She could see so clearly what she’d done, the person she’d punished and how that punishment had led to this.
“I’m sorry I never loved him,” April said with her face still buried in Aiden’s chest, and though Aiden squeezed her tighter he did not say a word.
So much of April was still that scared little girl, but there was an older, wiser self now that just wanted to go back and hold that eighteen-year-old and tell her that everything was going to be fine, everything would be okay. But she couldn’t go back and there was no sense in it even if she could. The only place she could go was forward.
She was headed to someplace better.
(34)
When April explained what Samuel Mathis had done to her, Aiden knew Thad was right, that some people deserved to die. Everything he’d ever thought suddenly made sense, from the way April would sit almost trembling on the pew with her eyes straight forward as Samuel Mathis burned holes in her with his stare to the way she’d never seemed capable of loving her son. Aiden thought about that as he drove to the house. He was thinking about how much shit had been piled onto her over the course of her life when he parked a quarter mile from the driveway, shut off the headlight
s, and stepped into the night.
There was a chill in the air for late August, a reminder that it would not be long before summer was gone. In a little over a month, the leaves would start that slow smoldering, setting the mountains ablaze with autumnal fire. Then a few weeks after that, the color would be gone. There was something to be said for how quickly it ended. There was a lesson to be learned in that short-lived breath of beautiful. Good things never lasted, and when things fell apart, it happened in the blink of an eye. That was true for everything on this mountain.
Aiden took the tactical rifle Wayne Bryson had folded in half just seconds before he died out of the diamond-plated toolbox stretched across the bed of the Ranchero. He hit the release and checked the mag, the spring-fed magazine fully loaded with 9mm hollow-points, the copper jacket of that top bullet glowing in the moonlight. He slapped the magazine back into the pistol grip, folded the fore-end forward until the barrel locked in place, and racked the bolt to chamber the first round.
The moon lit the world with an electric blue that voided the need for any other source of light. Even from the car, Aiden could see the lights at the house showing through the woods. The road would’ve been easier, but he could not chance being seen, so he hopped the ditch into a briary thicket, where thorns tore at his pants as he walked. As soon as he reached the trees, he could see the house more clearly, the two squares of yellow light from the front windows, two more lit just the same along the side of the house. He crossed a small creek that, despite the heavy rain the night before, didn’t top his boots. Some animal he couldn’t see busted through the brush upstream when he approached, and Aiden was on such high alert that he shouldered the rifle at the sound and nearly fired into the darkness.
Trees stood on both sides of the creek, a mixed stand of poplar and oak, some old and so wide that Aiden couldn’t have stretched his arms around the trunks, some young and thin as telephone poles. There was white birch and maples and even a few scraggly locusts growing right against the bank, but there was little undergrowth. The grove of trees seemed to have been picked clean by deer, or maybe just kept up by whoever owned the property. Whatever the case, Aiden could see clearly through the spaces between the tree trunks. He could make out the field where the trees ended, the field that stretched from where he stood to the house.
