Coldwater

by Samuel Parker

  “Morrison.” Kyle grunted. “If it hadn’t been for him—”

  “Watch yourself, Kyle.”

  “He was riding Michael from the start. You and him. If you guys had just left him alone. If Morrison hadn’t gone out in those woods. Antagonizing him, punking on him—”

  “Morrison didn’t deserve what happened to him,” Haywood said. “I can’t believe you would even think so.”

  “And now he’s out! He’s out and he knows what each of us did to him. You think he was dangerous before? You created a monster now. Why did we ever listen to you? We trusted you. James trusted you!”

  This time Kyle noticed his monitors, groaning in despair, and managed to calm himself. He looked back at Haywood, who sat deeply contemplating the situation.

  “I’m scared, man,” Kyle said.

  “Me too, Kyle. Me too.”

  “We can’t tell anyone, I know that. I know you think I’m going to say something to the cops, but I ain’t. What would I say? That we buried a man alive because we think he killed Morrison? If it’s not jail, they’ll straitjacket me. But I’m more scared of what’s coming. He’s going to come for us, Haywood. He’s not going to stop. He’s going to come for all of us.”

  “He headed up to the north woods.”

  “He ain’t going to stay away. You can count on that. I mean, would you?”

  Haywood stood, patted Kyle’s shoulder softly, and started to make his exit. “I saw Tami out in the hall,” he said. “Hopefully she can help ease your mind.”

  “What would she come up here for?”

  “To see you. To make sure you’re okay.”

  “Might as well tell her to go back to Coldwater. I can’t walk. Can’t walk, I can’t work. You think she’s going to stick around? No, she’s probably already making other plans.” Kyle began to weep quietly at the enormity of his injuries and what his life would be like. “I’ve lost everything, Haywood. Everything . . . I’ve lost everything.”

  Haywood made his way out of the hospital room, down the hall, and outside.

  “No, we haven’t lost everything yet. Not by a long shot,” he said to himself. “There’s so much more we could lose.”

  twenty-two

  MELISSA STOPPED HER CAR before the village sign designating Coldwater. Her heart felt heavy and the butterflies flew deep. When her fingers began to scream in agony, she realized that she had been clenching the wheel. The town on the map that she had studied all these years had been but a lifeless dot on a page. Here, before her now, was the real thing. The place where it had all started for her. She had not been back since she was taken in by her aunt to live down in South Falls.

  Her aunt never brought her to visit.

  Her aunt never let her speak of it.

  Coldwater was a word never uttered in the house.

  The green sign on the village limit simply read COLDWATER POP. 436. There was another sign mockingly hanging underneath it that read WHERE WE TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER.

  The slogan made her stomach turn.

  Coldwater had done everything but taken care of their own.

  The drive up north took about an hour. North of South Falls, the two-lane road became more and more barren and wooded. Coldwater was the last little outpost before the forest won out and became the abode of hunters and those who wished never to be found. In her mind it was the home of hillbillies and illiterates. Of people who never did know the meaning of caring for each other, much less themselves.

  This was where she was born, and her memories were snapshots at best. Before Michael had destroyed everything.

  Melissa put the car in drive and eased back onto the blacktop. As she drove into town, the whole place became part of her disgust for the past. An accomplice to the one who had taken away her childhood, her life, her God-given right to normalcy.

  Now she was back, a grown woman, but with all the anger and determination built up since childhood focused and sharpened.

  Her knowledge of Main Street came from the peering eyes of Google and the countless hours she spent staring at street-view images it had recorded.

  She pulled her car into the town’s sole restaurant, a diner, which sat on the far side of a parking lot opposite Gilly’s Pub. Behind both establishments sat the dilapidated Coldwater Motor Lodge, which was as old as the town. She would be checking in later. The place looked more rundown and backwoods than the two-dimensional pictures allowed, but she was still determined to spend several days here.

  She got out of the car and went inside the diner. As she did so, memories came rushing back like the wind on a high desert plateau.

  The place hadn’t changed since her childhood, and she couldn’t help but remember sitting at the counter with her father, many years ago, when he brought her here for ice cream. She couldn’t remember how old she had been then, but she could still feel the melting ice cream as it smothered her face and dripped from her fingers onto the countertop. It wasn’t a stretch to believe that the mess was still on the linoleum, crusted and rotted, never cleaned up.

  She felt her knees buckle at the thought.

  It seemed like forever ago, and yesterday.

  And then the sensation was gone.

  Melissa walked over to one of the booths and sat down, the duct-taped vinyl cushion straining to keep itself together. She looked around at the faces of the few people finishing up their lunches.

  She wanted to be noticed yet also remain invisible. Wanted to ask anyone who would look at her where Michael might be, while at the same time not wanting to draw attention to her designs.

  Three old men got up from a table, grabbed their hats, and started to leave. The first one to pass her smiled with his eyes like all old men who realize that their mouths only bring repulsion to young women. The two trailing geezers followed as fast as their arthritic limbs could carry them. As they walked past her, she heard pieces of their conversation.

  “Jackson was old, died of a heart attack.”

  “Same day as the accident with James and Kyle? Just odd.”

  “Things always happen in threes.”

  “What?”

  “Threes. Just the way it is. Tragedy happens in threes.”

  Melissa watched as the old-timers walked out the door, got in their vehicle, and headed out to escape into the wilderness.

  Old folk mythology, she thought. Very soon, there would be a fourth.

  twenty-three

  THE FORT THAT THE BOY DESCRIBED, and where Michael now sat, was little more than a small cave in the bank of the ridge with its low opening facing north. It was an almost invisible location from the path on top of the ridge as the overhang to the entrance sloped over like a porch roof and was covered in moss, scrub, and a few shallow-rooted poplar trees. Inside, Michael saw that Will had troweled into the walls a tiny ledge that he had then used to hold odds and ends of childhood memorabilia. Most of the toys looked as if they had seen hard times, none of them seemed firsthand by any degree, but they were on display as if they were pride of possession. The dugout was cramped, and Michael found himself knocking over some of the toys by the simple act of turning around. He did his best to put things right.

  As the afternoon wore on, Michael heard movement in the woods and the sound of a dog barking. Will and Otis were making their way down the path again. Michael stayed in the cave and waited, not knowing if the boy was alone or had brought someone with him.

  Otis was the first to arrive. He stood several feet from the entrance and stared at Michael. He wasn’t growling this time, but he looked none too happy to see the interloper occupying this space. Will appeared right after and stood behind Otis.

  “I see you found it.”

  “I did, thank you.”

  “It will be better than staying where you were. It’s supposed to rain tonight. Ma didn’t want me coming back out due to the storm that is coming, but I told her I’d be right back. I figured you’d be hungry so I brought you something.”

  Will unzipped his bac
kpack and pulled out a paper bag. Inside was an assortment of edible items, a collection that only a ten-year-old would think suitable for a meal. Michael took the bag.

  “I also brought you this.” Will tossed over a blanket, old and ratted, but still solid and usable. “It was in the bottom of my closet. I doubt anyone will miss it. It’s been in there for as long as I can remember. Supposed to get cold too.”

  “Will, this is all more than I would have ever expected.”

  “Ain’t nothing. Us adventurers have to stick together.”

  “Adventurers?”

  “Yeah. Me and Otis come out in these woods all the time, exploring and adventuring. I can see you’re like us. I’d hope if ever I get stuck on an adventure, someone would help me out. It’s dangerous work.”

  “It’s also dangerous befriending strangers, Will. I want to thank you for your bravery.”

  The boy rocked on his heels a bit, letting the compliment sink in. Though he was doing his best to act like a fearless adult, being called brave forced a half smile to cross his lips and made him look like the young boy he was.

  “Sure. Well, I gotta get back. Come on, Otis!” and with that, Will made for the path. Otis, however, sat looking at Michael and the provisions that his master had left behind. He had a questioning look in his eyes, as if he was telling Michael to be careful around the boy. Eventually the dog moved on after Will, and Michael was alone again.

  He dug through the bag and pulled out some of the rations and ate a bit. Afterward he found the tarp that Will said was in the dugout and worked on propping it over the entrance to keep out whatever rain might come down. He wrapped himself in the blanket and crawled into the hovel in the hill . . . to the musty smell of earth, the chirping of crickets, and his thoughts about the vigilantes of Coldwater.

  twenty-four

  THE WAITRESS STEPPED OVER TO TAKE MELISSA’S ORDER.

  “I’m Lila,” the woman said. “What can I get you?”

  Melissa jolted out of her daydream of observing the old men leaving and looked up.

  “How’s the club sandwich?”

  “Disgusting.”

  “Sounds fine,” Melissa said, playing along.

  “Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  The waitress sauntered off and slapped the paper order onto the sill. The chef grabbed it and disappeared into the kitchen.

  The bits of conversation that she picked up from the old-timers still echoed through her head. Something happened very recently in Coldwater. The names were foreign but the talk of death was familiar. Death and Coldwater, two sides of the same coin. Two things forever entwined.

  Maybe this wasn’t the weekend that her plan would come into action. Part of her was frustrated, and part of her, a tiny part that Melissa refused to acknowledge, was slightly relieved.

  She was not a practiced expert on the art of assassination. Most of what she knew, or thought she knew, was cobbled together from books and film. She never overestimated herself. She knew this was dark business, but she was confident in her intelligence, which had always served her well in life. It’s why she had planned, and planned, and then planned some more.

  She thought she was ready, on the drive up she most assuredly was. But for a moment she could feel doubt creep in around the edges.

  The waitress returned with the food, set it on the table, and asked if there was anything else needed.

  “I’m good, thanks,” Melissa said.

  “Alright.”

  The woman turned and walked back to the kitchen.

  As she ate, Melissa’s mind turned over the words of the old locals.

  “Jackson was old, died of a heart attack.”

  “Same day as the accident with James and Kyle? Just odd.”

  “Things always happen in threes.”

  Coldwater was off the news grid. There wasn’t usually anything in the South Falls paper about the goings-on up here. The only newswire was the gossip of the townspeople. Lila came back to the table with a coffeepot in hand, refilled Melissa’s cup, and was about to head back.

  “Excuse me,” Melissa said.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Those men who just left. I heard them talking about an accident? Something recent?”

  “Yeah. A lot happened yesterday. More than Coldwater is used to, that’s for sure.”

  “What happened?”

  “You mind if I sit down?” Lila asked.

  “Please.”

  Lila set down the coffeepot on the next table and sat down across from Melissa. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her bra, tapped one out, and stuck it in her mouth. She went to put the pack away, stopped, and then offered one to Melissa, who declined. The waitress lit it and blew the smoke over her shoulder.

  Lila told Melissa about Mr. Jackson, the old geezer who owned a small store north of town who was found dead in his shop. Apparently from a heart attack. Then, not more than a couple hours later, a rollover accident had killed a man and sent another to the hospital down in South Falls. Nobody knew if he was going to make it.

  “Local guys?” Melissa asked.

  “Yeah. James and Kyle. They say James died instantly. Was thrown from the vehicle. Kyle got mangled. Nobody is sure how long he had been laying up there before the ambulance arrived.”

  Lila related the story with the casual familiarity of simple townfolks. She spoke as if Melissa was on a first-name basis with all of them. She blew another cloud over her shoulder. The smoke clung in the air like a dying hand slowly submerging beneath water.

  “Lila! This ain’t Gilly’s. Put that thing out!” the chef said, shaking a spatula in his right hand.

  “Just be thankful I agreed to cover for Tami, or you’d be out here bussing tables!” Lila hollered back.

  She reached over and flicked the butt of the cigarette into the coffeepot. Melissa nudged her own cup away from her in response to what she saw.

  “Did you know them? The guys in the car accident?” Melissa asked.

  “Yeah, everyone did. Ain’t too many going to miss James. But Kyle was a good guy. Is a good guy. He’s dating the waitress here, Tami. That’s why she ain’t here. She’s down in South Falls. She ain’t taking it so well.”

  These “accidents” were an interesting cog in the wheel. With the people seemingly on high alert, it would seem that her plan for this weekend was definitely off. One more local dead and the southern authorities would absolutely be up here questioning everyone they could find. Melissa’s heart began to sink.

  “It only took a day for the conspiracy theories to start,” Lila continued.

  “What do you mean?” Melissa asked.

  “Two deaths, possibly three, in one day? In Coldwater? People think we have a serial killer on the loose. I never saw Gilly’s so dead on a Friday night. People stayed at home. You know these people are scared when they just decide to drink at home.”

  “They think someone caused these accidents?”

  Lila chuckled. “They already think they know who caused these accidents.”

  “Who?”

  “This guy who lives outside of town. Ex-con. Murdered someone a long time ago and got released from prison just last year. He’s our resident boogeyman. Anytime anything goes wrong in town, it’s his fault.” Lila pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “Already heard as much. Old-timers think he is stalking around cursing the town. I mean, Mr. Jones walked out of Gilly’s a week ago, saw he had a flat tire, and was convinced that Michael Sullivan had come into town and slashed his tires.”

  Michael Sullivan.

  At the sound of the name, Melissa’s heart stopped. She was thankful that Lila was too lost in her talking and smoking to notice the twitch that she felt in her eye at hearing the name.

  “Last winter, John Morrison, the owner of Gilly’s, was killed out hunting in the woods. It seemed that his gun backfired. Killed him quickly. Well, the folks around
here know the truth. They’ll tell you. It was Michael.

  “I’m sorry,” Lila said. “Here I am rattling on and on. You probably think I’m too much, don’t you? It’s not often there is a new person to talk to.”

  Melissa adjusted herself in her seat, trying to think of something to say to this particularly odd woman across from her. She decided to come at this straight on.

  “So this guy Michael, you said he lives outside of town?” Melissa asked.

  “Yeah, moved back to his parents’ property after he got out of prison.”

  “Live out there by himself?”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Lila said, her eyes starting to register an uneasy feeling.

  “Do you think he’s dangerous? Do you think he did these things?”

  At the question, the vivacious waitress suddenly lost her voice. She appeared like she had realized all of a sudden that she was late for an important meeting but couldn’t find her keys.

  “I’m sorry . . . I . . . I really should get back to work.”

  Melissa looked around at the empty diner. “Wait, please. Did I say something to bother you?”

  “No, no. You’re fine, really. It’s just . . . well, it’s just . . . no, I don’t know much about him.”

  Lila got up, grabbed her coffeepot, and headed to the kitchen. She stopped, put her chin to her chest, and took a deep breath. She slowly turned and walked back over to the booth, her inability to hold her tongue surrendering her to confession.

  “It’s a small town, and people say things. I don’t know what’s true or not. Some people, well, they got this bad vibe about him. Others say horrible things, things that anybody in their right mind knows is ridiculous. But most are not happy he came back. They think he should have been locked up forever. I know he was just a boy when he did what he did, but still.”

  Lila reached for a replacement cigarette, but then reconsidered. “They think that he is responsible for Morrison. And what happened to James and Kyle. Like I said, it’s a small town. Small-town people. Small-town minds. Some of the stories are so made up it’s laughable. Some, well, they don’t leave you laughing. But you will find that most people are scared of him, even the mere mention of him gives people the chills.”