by B. E. Scully
“I don’t want to drive you down to the station to confess.”
“But I swear I didn’t know the Hound was there. I never even heard of Sean Packard before this whole thing started.”
“Did Mickelson tell you that your husband had a head wound that wasn’t entirely consistent with the other ones he got from the fall?”
Jax nodded. “He told me everything—how Morris had manipulated a mentally ill man into killing J.J. Wroe after he’d manipulated Wroe into killing Klein. How that same man was there in the mountains that day, when Morris ‘fell’ from the trail, as Dan put it. But I’m not going to let that get me off the hook for what I did. If Sean Packard did something to speed up Morris’s death, it doesn’t much matter. I pushed him down that embankment, and I let him there to die. For all I know, Sean Packard spared my husband a slow death alone in the dark, cold forest. That’s the death I left him for. And I’m ready to face that.”
Shirdon went over to the cardboard box, shooing an irritated little cat out of his spot. Jax came over and stood beside her, unsure what to do.
“This box belonged to Sean Packard,” Shirdon told her. “It was all he had in this world, along with this little cat here.” She held up a thick pile of papers. “It might not seem like much, but to me, it’s a reminder that no matter how bad off someone’s life may be, everyone has things they cherish—things that are important, things they’re willing to die for. I know Sean Packard didn’t want to die in that forest. But even though I didn’t know him that well, I also know that Sean Packard wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to suffer because of the things your husband set in motion eleven years ago. I think Sean Packard would have wanted his death to mean at least that much.”
Jax suddenly turned her back on Shirdon and the box. She took a step toward the door, then stopped, standing so rigid and silent that Shirdon could only stand in silence, too.
Then Jax turned back around. “I feel like a weight has been lifted off of me for the first time in I can’t even remember. Longer even than eleven years. People always say that, don’t they? That a weight’s been lifted off? But it’s true. That’s exactly what it feels like.”
Julia Kempson’s face rose up in Shirdon’s mind, but instead of the Julia with desperate, accusing eyes, or the silent, ghostly Julia standing on the sidewalk in the rain, this Julia was the confident, smiling girl she’d known before that terrible day on the water.
“I know what you mean,” Shirdon said. “I’ve been letting go of a lot of weight lately, too.”
“I should get going,” Jax said. “Ted will be home from school by now.”
“Here, I’ll show you out. Be careful not to step on Scruff—he likes to play underneath feet.”
At the door, Jax paused. “Listen, I left a casserole for Ted’s dinner, and to tell the truth, he’s probably eaten half of it already before heading for his video games.” She looked down at her hands. “What I mean to say is…I’m wondering if you’d like to go to dinner somewhere?”
Shirdon paused. “It’s been a pretty long couple of days. A pretty long couple of weeks, actually…”
“Oh, of course. I understand.” Jax shrugged into her coat. But she still seemed reluctant to go. “Can I at least interest you in a cup of tea?”
“No—” Shirdon said, and then stopped. She thought about the things she and the Hound had shared in the ancient, secret-filled forest. She thought of long-gone Native American women coming out of the mist to guide a lost, lonely man out of the wilderness. She thought of people—the living and the dead—sometimes turning up right when you need them. She thought of stories waiting to be told, and stories finally finished. She thought of a word at the top of a very high ladder—the word the Hound believed was the key to everything.
“Actually, I’m more of a coffee person,” Shirdon said.
“That’s okay,” Jax said. “I’m flexible. And maybe I can change your mind about dinner, too. I’m starving.”
Shirdon glanced over at Scruff for advice, but she was on her own. The cat was back in his box, sound asleep.
“I have been wanting to check out that new noodle place on Fifth.” Shirdon smiled, thinking about hazelnuts. “Gets dull after a while, eating the same old meal.”
Jax smiled, too. “So what do you say?”
“I say yes,” Shirdon told her, and opened the door.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
B.E. Scully lives in a haunted red house that lacks a foundation in the misty woods of Oregon with a variety of human and animal companions. Scully is the author of the critically acclaimed gothic thriller Verland: the Transformation, the short story collection The Knife and the Wound It Deals, and numerous short stories, poems, and articles. Published work, interviews, and odd scribblings can be found at bescully.com.
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
DarkFuse is a leading independent publisher of modern fiction in the horror, suspense and thriller genres. As an independent company, it is focused on bringing to the masses the highest quality dark fiction, published as collectible limited hardcover, paperback and eBook editions.
To discover more titles published by DarkFuse, please visit its official site at www.darkfuse.com.
