Fractured Eden

by Steven Gossington

A tall mug of foamy beer appeared for Brad and a glass of red wine for Aaron.

  “By the way, how do you keep someone out of jail?” Aaron said.

  Brad snorted. “Let me put it this way. I have an understanding with the law around here.”

  Aaron studied Brad’s face. Does that mean he bribes them?

  Brad had four beers over the next hour, while Aaron nursed his glass of cabernet. Brad talked about his son growing up with such potential and his excelling in high school academics.

  “College was not good for Preston. That’s when the trouble started.” Brad gulped the last of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Maybe he’d be better off if he did some time. What do you think?”

  “Don’t give up on him.”

  “I once hoped he’d become an engineer like me, like my father and grandfather.”

  “All in the oil business?”

  “Yep. My father was vice-president of an oil company, back when things were better.”

  “Business is slow now?”

  “It’s harder. A lot more regulations to deal with, and more folks talking trash about oil.”

  “Your oil family goes way back. I’ll bet you’ve heard some great stories.”

  “I have.” Brad drained his water glass. “My father knew T. Cullen Davis and followed his trials. That was a crazy time.”

  “I remember that. He was acquitted of murder, right?”

  “Yeah, but my father had his doubts. I wonder if Davis got away with murder.” He shook his head. “I guess some people do.”

  Brad paid the bill and they walked out.

  “Thanks for the food and drinks,” Aaron said.

  They climbed into Brad’s truck and drove away. Brad cranked up the country music on the way back, and he sang along at times. Aaron heard several songs about angel eyes and cold beer.

  Brad pulled into his driveway and stopped the truck beside Aaron’s car. Aaron jumped as Brad slammed his palm against the dashboard. His words were slurred. “I’ll tell you. I’m worried about Preston.”

  “I would be, too.”

  He cleared his eyes with the back of his wrist and looked at Aaron. “He’s all I got.”

  As Aaron turned to open his door, he flinched as a large hand squeezed his arm. Brad’s eyes were wide and his lips contorted. “What’s with you medical doctors anyway? We pay you all this money to fix things. Why can’t Preston get well? Why can’t he?”

  Aaron looked at Brad and sighed.

  Brad released his grip. “I’m sorry. This is hard on me.”

  “I know it is, but there’s always hope. People can get better, especially if someone is there for them.”

  Brad nodded. They stepped out of the truck, and Brad lumbered away to his front door.

  Aaron mumbled under his breath, “Unfortunately, we can’t fix every problem.”

  Later that evening, Aaron collapsed into his bed and pulled the sheet up to his neck. He yawned, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

  A line of tall trees appeared, swaying in the breeze. He walked toward the trees and turned as he heard a voice behind him. “Don’t go in there.” A woman with short blond hair held her arms out toward him, and then she faded away into mist. Aaron ran after her, but he couldn’t find his way in the thick mist, and he tripped and fell.

  His body jerked and his eyes flew open. Stumbling to the bathroom to towel off his sweaty skin, he couldn’t recall the woman’s face.

  Chapter 10

  Buck Bogarty, the hot rodder, leaned against the bar counter inside a lounge. Some of the late evening drinkers sang along to country music blaring overhead. Buck sipped from a beer mug as two women leaned on him, one on each shoulder.

  One woman lifted Buck’s cowboy hat off his head and slipped it onto her heap of brunette hair. She stroked his hand. “Did my sweetie get into another fight?”

  Buck nodded. “Yep.”

  “It wasn’t over another girl, was it?”

  “I’m sure it was,” the other girl said. “Tell us the truth. You have other girlfriends, don’t you?”

  Buck smiled and looked at each girl. “There’s only you two.” They laughed and hugged him.

  A group of guys swaggered close to Buck. One of them stopped and clapped Buck on the shoulder. “Who did you whup this time?”

  Buck belched. “He sat on my car.”

  “Yeah, I figured something like that,” the man said, then he shook his head at the group standing by Buck. “Don’t ever sit on his car.”

  Buck unlocked the front door of his house, scraped the bottom of his boots on the welcome mat and walked in.

  “Is that you, Buck?” a voice said from down the hall.

  “Yeah, Mom.”

  She walked into the living room, a robe wrapped around her nightgown. “You’re awful late.”

  “I met friends.”

  She touched his hand. “What happened?”

  Buck sat down on a couch to pull off his boots.

  “Let me help you.” She kneeled in front of the couch and tugged on his boots. “You hurt your hand when you beat up someone, didn’t you? His father called me about it.”

  “He had it comin’.”

  “I’m worried about all these fights. One of these days, you’re going to get hurt bad.” She sat down by him. “I don’t want that. You’re my only child. You’re all that’s left to carry on the family name.”

  Buck sat back on the couch. “Why do you keep tellin’ me that?”

  “Because I know you can make something of yourself, if you try. You take after—”

  “I know, I know. I remind you of Grandpa.”

  “Well, you do. That’s a good thing.” She touched his knee. “There is good in my side of the family.”

  He sat up and his eyes went to the long irregular scar on her deformed ear.

  She held up her hand. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t bring your father into this. He’s rotten to the core. You’re much better than that.”

  Buck shook his head, stood up, and walked away down the hall.

  Chapter 11

  Constable Keller Greevy cruised around town on his morning patrol. He peered down several alleys where he suspected that drugs were sold from time to time. So far, this Tuesday morning was quiet, and last night had been uneventful.

  His two-way radio crackled, “Disturbance on Pine Street.” The voice went on to say that Keller’s office had received several calls about a man acting strangely in the street.

  Keller eased his car along Pine Street, behind a long line of traffic, until he saw a man in the road ahead. After parking at the curb, he rested a hand on his holstered weapon as he approached a short man in a bright orange shirt and purple pants. Wide-eyed drivers stopped their cars as the man tapped on the side windows and yelled at them. The man handed papers to any occupants who lowered their windows.

  Keller walked up to the man. “Tucker Boudreaux?”

  Tucker turned and reached out to Keller. “Great, I’m glad you’re here. Help me hand out these flyers.”

  “You can’t do this. Get out of the road. You’re obstructing traffic.”

  “I’m running for governor. Texas needs a Cajun governor. I have to let everybody know, so they’ll vote for me,” Tucker said as Keller guided him to the sidewalk.

  He’s out of his head again, Keller thought.

  “I’ve got letters of support from the governor and the president. I’ve got great plans for this state. Just think, I’ll build the perfect society, unemployment at zero, no child goes hungry, one hundred percent high school graduation rate, immigrants put to work so everyone will contribute, people will come here from all over the world—”

  Keller held his hand up. “Slow down.”

  “Tucker,” a woman yelled.

  Keller turned toward the woman. “Good, your mother’s here.”

  “I wondered where you’d gone to,” she said as she trotted up to them out of breath. “What’s happe
ning?”

  “He was out in the street stopping traffic. Thank goodness, no wrecks have been reported.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know he’d left the house.” She scanned one of the flyers in Tucker’s hand. “He’s been writing hundreds of letters over the last few days, to politicians and all the people he knows.”

  Tucker held up a flyer. “I need to get the word out about voting for me for governor.” He nodded at Keller. “Just you wait and see. I’ll be president someday.”

  Keller pointed at Tucker’s mother. “Get him some help, before somebody gets hurt.”

  Tucker stared at Keller, held up his hand and babbled. “How’s yo’ mama and all dem doin’? Arrete, arrete, stop, stop, stop, woman, wanting, wanting woman.”

  “What the hell?”

  “I’m so sorry, Officer,” Tucker’s mother grabbed her son’s arm. “Let’s go home.”

  She led Tucker away. “Have you been taking your medicine? I need to call your psychiatrist.”

  Chapter 12

  Aaron worked out a plan of attack. At lunchtime on Tuesday, he hopped into his car, drove to Wanda’s diner, and walked up to the entrance doors. Spotting Wanda inside, he jogged back to his car and sped away to the Taggett’s house.

  After shouting and pounding on the back door for several minutes, Aaron stood at a side window and saw Sid wake up and roll out of bed. Sid lay on the floor for a minute or so and then crawled over to the back door. Aaron ran to the door as he heard the locks release.

  Aaron opened the door and stepped into the house. Sid was back down on the floor.

  “Sid, are you okay?”

  “Hey, Doc.” His words were slurred. He struggled to raise his eyelids, looked at Aaron, and then closed his eyes again.

  Aaron gathered Sid up in his arms and carried him back to his bed. He soon heard Sid’s rhythmic breathing of sleep.

  Aaron checked the kitchen cabinet, which was locked, and then he walked into a laundry room near the kitchen. Across from the washer and dryer was a sink with a counter and cabinets. He opened the cabinets above the sink and sifted through common household wares, towels and old magazines.

  In a lower cabinet, he spotted a crumpled brown box with a product name he didn’t recognize and the word “rodenticide” written on it. He shook the box; it felt empty. He opened the top of the box, pulled out a small jar from his pocket and tapped the box over the jar. A few flakes of off-white powder fell to the bottom of his jar. Tightening the jar lid, he replaced the brown box in the cabinet and washed his hands in the sink, then he found a paper towel nearby and dried his hands and the sink. He put the towel and the jar in his pocket and walked back to Sid’s bed. Sid was in a deep sleep.

  Back at his clinic, Aaron printed a lab request for analysis of the few grains of powder he’d found at the Taggett’s house.

  “What is that?” Stella said.

  “Something I found in Wanda’s house.”

  “Wanda was there?”

  “No, she was at work. Sid let me in.”

  Stella looked at the flakes of powder in the jar. “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m worried about Sid. I might as well check this out.”

  Stella had the powder picked up that afternoon for delivery to a laboratory testing facility located in a nearby county.

  Later in the afternoon, Juliana walked up to Aaron. “While you were at lunch, a man stopped by and asked for you.”

  “A man? What was his name?”

  Juliana shrugged her shoulders. “He didn’t give me his name, and he wouldn’t leave a message. He said you’d know who he was, and that he’d come back some other time.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Tall. Stocky. He was bald.”

  “Did he have bushy eyebrows?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  Aaron sighed and looked out the front window. So, the machete guy has found me.

  “Do you know who he is?” Juliana said.

  “Yes. Let me know if you see him again.” Aaron turned and walked away.

  Aaron motioned to Stella in the hallway. “I’ve noticed we get really warm in here in the afternoons. Do you feel it?”

  “Oh, yeah. I think every time the front door opens, cool air rushes out. I’ll pay more attention to the AC settings.”

  After glancing at the registration information, Aaron walked into a patient room. A young man with a prominent jaw sat on the examination table. He stared over Aaron’s shoulder with a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Daniel, how can I help you today?” Aaron said.

  Daniel brought his eyes into focus on Aaron and took a deep breath. “I’m having trouble getting my life together, sir.”

  “You’re having emotional problems?”

  Daniel was quiet for several seconds. “I’m in the Army. I got back from a tour of duty six months ago.” He struggled to speak. “I can’t seem to straighten myself out.”

  “Has this ever happened before?”

  Daniel’s eyes filled with tears. “A friend of mine was shot dead by a sniper.” He put his hand to his eyes. “He was right next to me. I carried him to shelter and tried to help him.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure you did what you could.” Aaron handed a tissue to Daniel.

  “I can’t sleep.” Daniel blotted his eyes with the tissue. “I keep reliving that scene, with his blood splattering all over me, and the way his eyes looked at me before he died.” Daniel had that faraway look in his eyes again.

  “Have you seen a counselor or psychiatrist?”

  Daniel focused his eyes on Aaron again. “Sure. They told me I had PTSD.”

  “We have ways of treating that.”

  “I know, sir, but my problem today is, I think I’m really short of sleep. Can you give me something to help me sleep?”

  “No problem.” Aaron examined his heart, lungs and pupils, and printed him a prescription. “Keep up your counseling sessions.”

  Daniel nodded.

  Aaron touched his shoulder. “I appreciate you. We all appreciate your service.”

  Daniel sighed and walked out.

  Aaron studied his surroundings after he walked out of the clinic after work. He watched his rearview mirror as he drove to a cafe for dinner, and he looked over the diners inside the cafe before he checked in to be seated. At his table, he sat with his back to the wall. He forced himself to eat his appetizer crab cakes as he surveyed the dining room every few minutes, and between bites, he scrutinized all newcomers at the checkin area.

  Back at his home, he checked the yard, all the doors and windows, the closets and even under the bed, and then he armed his house alarm system.

  I probably won’t sleep well tonight. He sighed. But that’s nothing unusual lately.

  Chapter 13

  Late that evening, Race Taggett stood in the trees outside a crowded lounge. His body was still as he watched, except his long hair, which swayed at times in the breeze. At one point, he slid over to another tree, and a crow screeched as it flapped away.

  Race was close to a particular car in the parking lot, which was about half-full with trucks and cars. People came and went through the entrance door of the lounge, and some folks wobbled or needed support to make it to their vehicles.

  After an hour or so, two young women walked out to the parking area. They stopped and talked with each other for several minutes and then separated to their respective cars. As the shorter woman approached her car at the rear of the lot, she reached into her purse, looking for her keys.

  Race held up a long, round bat-shaped object and swung it against the woman’s temple, the impact causing a hollow thud, as if her head was a coconut. Catching her as she groaned and collapsed, he lifted her limp body and draped it across his shoulder, and then he trotted into the trees. In the inky shadows of the Big Thicket, he alternated walking fast and jogging for several miles along a narrow, zigzag path through the thick trees and underbrush, beneath faint mo
onlight that filtered at intervals through the tree canopy. He exploded into a small clearing and laid the bat and the unconscious woman on the ground near a tree. Although his shirt was splotched with sweat, he was not out of breath.

  Race covered the woman’s mouth with duct tape, pulled her arms behind her, and wrapped her wrists and lower legs with tape. A heavy chain was secured around a tree near the woman. He encircled her waist with one end of the chain and joined chain links behind her back with a metal clasp. He tested the chain; it was snug around her waist.

  Race tossed dry wood into a campfire pit in the center of the clearing. After a few minutes, a blazing fire lit the clearing. He turned as the woman opened her eyes and moaned, his body and face reflecting the flickering yellows and reds from the flames.

  He pulled a long knife out of a nearby backpack and swaggered over to her, smirking as he held the gleaming knife in front of him. He leaned down, his contorted face inches away from her wide-open eyes.

  “Remember me? You were mean to me in school.” He spat on her. “You’re not mean to me now, are you?”

  Chapter 14

  The big day has arrived, Aaron thought as he walked into his clinic. He pumped his fist in the air. My date with Marley is tonight.

  Midafternoon, Stella approached Aaron in the hallway. “Dale McCorkindale is here. He wants to ask you something.”

  “That’s Boots, the car dealer, right?”

  “One and the same. He likes to be called Dale.”

  Aaron walked to the waiting room and spotted Dale sitting in a chair.

  Dale stood and they shook hands. “What can I do for you today?” Aaron said.

  “You ever been fishing?”

  “No.” Aaron raised his hand. “Well, I take that back. I went once as a Boy Scout. I don’t remember much about it.”

  “I like to take new folks fishing. Why don’t you and I go one weekend morning?”

  “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  “Good. You’ll find it relaxing.”

  Dale stopped at the front door. “Don’t forget about my offer on the pickup truck.”

  Aaron snorted. “I won’t. Maybe someday.”