Dogwood

by Chris Fabry

  “Nancy, would you mind going over and picking up Tarin for us?”

  “That’ll be no problem,” Nancy said.

  “Now,” Richard said, “don’t you think another thing about them.” He shut the door and sat in a chair beside me, putting a hand to his chin. “I know this seems strange, but I want you to keep going. Let’s stay on this track and think about that night.”

  “But why?”

  “Humor me,” Richard said.

  Closing my eyes, I saw us in the moonlight together. “Will and I were at this pool in Ohio, I think, or Kentucky. It was after midnight. We kind of celebrated when it went past midnight, I guess, because it was officially his birthday.”

  “So it was a happy time. You didn’t feel threatened or under duress.”

  “With Will?” I laughed. “No, it was good. I mean, he wasn’t the most exciting guy I ever went out with, and we didn’t do all the things—well, I’ve told you about some of those things and you said they were all forgiven.”

  “Surely.”

  “But Will was so nice. The whole thing was comfortable with him, and I never once thought of myself as . . . vulnerable, you know? In danger, like with some of the others.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “We drove home. He had to work the midmorning shift at the radio station, so we decided to stay up the whole night.”

  Richard took a breath. “Are you sure?”

  “What do you mean, am I sure? Yes, I’m sure. I came home and . . .” Something flickered in my mind. The car pulling over. Will saying he was tired and saying I should get in the backseat and sleep. I’d had too much wine. I stayed in the passenger side, curled up.

  “What is it?”

  I sat up. “I just remembered something. He pulled over. We slept in the car. Both of us were so tired and it was still dark.”

  “Do you remember waking up? going home?”

  The image in my mind was blurry, like someone shooting a video through Saran wrap. “Will must have dropped me off on his way home. I remember we swerved, and I woke up fast . . . and then . . .”

  A panic swept over me more intense than anything I’d experienced in my closet. A wave of nausea and horror. “When were those kids killed? The girl at the radio station said her friend died and that Will killed her.”

  “The accident was in 1980. The morning of July 2.”

  “His birthday,” I gasped.

  “That was the same morning.”

  My stomach tightened, and I felt like I was losing control of everything inside me. “No, no, no,” I whispered again and again. “It can’t be.”

  My face must have turned pale because Richard was there with a wastebasket, holding it out to me. “What’s wrong? What are you thinking? Tell me.”

  “I was there. I was in the car when he killed the children.”

  Will

  I walked into the small police station and asked for Eddie.

  The woman at the front just stared at me.

  “Chief Buret. Tell him Will Hatfield is here.”

  A haggard officer going through the mail put a hand on his gun and looked squarely at me.

  “Tell him I need to see him outside,” I said.

  I walked out and waited under the gray, overcast skies. It was on this street that I did my first remote broadcast for Seeb, describing the town parade when I was seventeen or so. Seeb parked a pickup near the route, then hooked a microphone to a long cord and attached the alligator clips to a telephone inside one of the stores. As soon as I climbed onto the back of that truck, I knew it would be a long day. Kind of like the Hindenburg’s crash. Nothing of that magnitude went wrong, but Seeb had the driver park near the guardrail, and I couldn’t see over it to read the signs of the dignitaries or different bands marching by. Karin laughed at the broadcast, especially the part when I said the majorettes looked cold. It was the only thing I could think of to say. I had felt naked and exposed, just like I did as Eddie, Bobby Ray, and the other officer emerged from the station.

  “Will,” Eddie said, acting genial, as if he were my best friend, “what brings you to town? Didn’t think you came out in the daytime. The Vampire of Dogwood, that’s what some call you.”

  “You really need this much protection?” I said, nodding at the others.

  He turned and smiled at his friends. “These are just concerned coworkers making sure the threats you made inside aren’t followed through.”

  “Threats?”

  “You used a threatening tone of voice to our secretary,” the other officer said, talking through his nose. I recognized his voice from the phone on the night of the attack.

  Eddie looked up and down the street, then moved closer. “To be honest, they’d rather gun you down right here and be done with you, but that wouldn’t be legal, would it?”

  “My mother got served today. Eminent domain.”

  “Yeah, schools are getting crowded around here. See, while you were in the pokey, the rest of us have been doing the hokey, and there’s a bunch of kids needing desk space.”

  Bobby Ray didn’t laugh, but the other officer did, then pulled out a nightstick. The back of my head throbbed just looking at it.

  “What do you want, Eddie? You don’t have to kick my mother out of the only house she’s lived in for forty years.”

  He was so close I could smell the sausage pizza on his breath. He had a smudge of red sauce on his cheek and mustache. “If you’d have listened to me when you first came back, she wouldn’t have to move. But your kind doesn’t learn. Wasn’t enough you had to wipe out some kids on the side of the road, you had to bring your stink back to this town and remind us.”

  “What if I leave?” I said softly.

  “Well, did you hear that, boys? Will here says he’s thinking about moving on. Starting a new life.”

  “It’s about time,” the officer said.

  “Looks like you’ll be leaving whether you want to or not,” Eddie said.

  “I know you and your father have a lot of pull on the town council,” I said. “Call them off and leave my mother and her place alone.”

  Eddie scratched his head. “Problem is, it’s not just the town that wants you gone. We notified your family about this, and there wasn’t an objection.”

  “My mother never heard anything—”

  “It wasn’t your mother we talked to. It was the executor. You knew that because of her fragile state, your brother was assigned legal guardian for the estate. He didn’t have a problem with the eminent domain.”

  I let the truth sink in. Carson had given them the okay.

  “You gonna take that woman with you, Casanova?” the officer said. “The one Eddie said you were in love with?”

  I made a move toward him, and Eddie pulled his gun and pointed it at my chest. “Not so fast, killer.”

  I put my hands at shoulder height. “I’m not armed.” I looked at Bobby Ray. “You can see I’m not armed.”

  Bobby Ray came toward me. “Just turn around, get in your truck, and get out of here.”

  I kept my hands in the air.

  Eddie glared at Bobby Ray, but by the time he had turned around, I was in my truck kicking the engine to life.

  The knot in my chest was tighter than my serpentine belt. I clattered over the streets, passing old couples headed for dinner specials. I had avoided Carson’s office, but I knew exactly where it was. I didn’t worry about parking. I let the truck roll to a stop in front of the entrance, blocking two handicapped spots, and jumped out. I saw him at a window on the second floor, a phone to his ear. He didn’t wave.

  A winding staircase led to the top, and an aquarium filled the whole wall. A sign beside the aquarium read, C & E Weapons Analysis. I wasn’t sure who the E was, but I knew the C.

  A nicely dressed woman at the front desk peeked up from her paperwork. She gasped and picked up the phone.

  “Don’t bother. I know where he is,” I said.

  “Mr. Hatfield, I think it
’s him,” she said.

  A door led to a hallway but it was locked. I turned to her, and she backed against a cabinet. I was familiar enough with buzzing doors after being in prison that I easily found the button under her desk and pushed it. As soon as I let go, it locked again.

  “You want to hold this for me or do I have to get some tape?”

  Her eyes were wild. Finally she stepped over and pushed it until I opened the door. So much for company loyalty. The door led to a hallway and three more doors to my right.

  “Carson!” I yelled.

  “Don’t do this!” he said.

  “You want me to kick it down or are you coming out here?”

  The lock clicked and I walked through.

  He held a small pistol in his right hand. “Don’t make me use this.”

  “Why did you do it?” I said. “Why did you give our land away?”

  “They offered enough to take care of Mama the rest of her life. That’s all I’m concerned about.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to live somewhere else the rest of her life? You ever thought about what she wants?”

  “I’ve called the police. They’ll be here any minute. You’d better just go.”

  “You called them or they called you?” I spat. I turned a chair over and moved toward him, pointing a finger at his chest and ignoring the pistol. “I took the fall for you. That drunk driving charge would have kept you from the scholarship.”

  “Don’t bring that up. I never asked you to do that.”

  “You never thanked me, either. And it was that prior that worked against me and you never said—”

  “I was in D.C., little brother. Trying to get ready for Armageddon or whatever next war’s coming our way. What was I supposed to do?”

  “What you ought to do right now. What would Daddy say about this? You know it’d break his heart.”

  Carson laughed. “You’re accusing me of breaking his heart? After what you did?”

  I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt me. Instead, I walked into the hallway and muttered, “Judas.”

  I left before Eddie got there and followed a back road toward the next county. I needed time to think and cool down. There had to be some way to keep our land, some way to keep my dream alive.

  I bought a sandwich and something to drink at a gas station and drove to the park in Hurricane where Carson and I had played tennis and Little League. Just sitting there in the stands, watching the empty field, made me long for the days when the rest of our lives stretched out in front of us with so much promise.

  Good luck. Bad luck. Sometimes the worst things that happen to us can lead to some of the best things. It hadn’t happened for me, but I figured it couldn’t get much worse.

  I was wrong.

  Bobby Ray

  The baby had a mind of his own, like a lot of kids, but this one was a tiger even in the womb. He moved around like a linebacker in search of a quarterback, and Lynda was up with the sun scrubbing and shining anything she could get her hands on. My mother said it was a “nesting phase,” and I needed to give her space. She was right. A little comment, just some offhanded thing that didn’t mean anything before, now set Lynda off and sent her on a downward spiral, so I tried to be careful with my words.

  We’d moved into our house the week before, and that night my old army buddy Ernie was due. He showed up with his third wife, and they didn’t seem to mind the boxes and furniture. The two of them even rolled up their sleeves and helped unpack.

  Outside I broke out a bottle of white wine—Lynda looked like she was dying to try some but didn’t dare with the baby only a month away—to go with our Pizza Hut order. We laughed and talked until it was almost dark, and Lynda went inside to freshen up.

  An old Camaro I’d never seen before passed, and I didn’t think much about it. Probably some kids horsing around at the end of the road. It was either that or going to Dairy Queen. My beeper went off and I called the station. It was Eddie, asking if I would come in for a couple of hours. He had something going on. I told him I had guests from out of town, but he said in his Eddie way that I should get my rear downtown now or I’d be sorry.

  I told Ernie I had to go to work. I changed back into my uniform, which wasn’t clean, but I wasn’t going to tell anybody.

  “Hang on,” Ernie said as I was heading out. “Got something for you in the trunk. Almost forgot.”

  Will

  There was no “back way” home, but I waited until dark to return. I figured Mama would be worried and that Carson had called and spun things his way. It didn’t matter anymore. I’d made up my mind to leave and stop fighting it. I was still committed to Karin, but there had to be a better way to reach her. Maybe it would take leaving and giving her space. I didn’t know. But what I was doing wasn’t working; that was for sure.

  I had rounded the corner and could see our house when a gray blur zoomed out of a driveway straight at me. I instinctively swerved left off the road into a row of rosebushes so thick the truck rolled onto its side, then bounced back far enough for me to crawl out the window. I was in a tangle of briars and sticks as the car pulled beside me.

  “Get in the car, Hatfield!” someone shouted. I didn’t recognize the voice.

  I continued climbing through the thorns and was trying to get my shirt and pants free when I heard the gun click. It was the deputy. “Get back here now or your mama’s gonna see your brains all over that field.”

  Karin

  I fell into Richard’s arms, weeping. He’s not the type uncomfortable with a woman’s tears, and for that I’m grateful. You can do a lot worse than that in a husband.

  I rested in his office and tried to pull memories from the accident. My mind was like a quilt with missing patches. I heard a commotion outside.

  My mother walked in. “Karin?”

  That started the tears again and we embraced. She looked into my eyes, repeating my name. “Oh, Karin.”

  My father was at the door, his hands shoved into his pockets, watching from the sidelines.

  “I can’t remember some things,” I managed. “The morning of the accident. Do you remember?”

  Her face turned stern, and she looked at Richard. “Has he been here?”

  “Not today,” Richard said. “I talked with him earlier, though, and that seems to have brought up some things with Karin that she can’t remember.”

  “It’s fuzzy,” I said. “I know that Will brought me home that morning. He must have.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “Mother, tell me,” I pleaded.

  Richard gave her a look I had never seen before, and it seemed to compel her.

  “I wasn’t up yet,” my mother whispered. “Your father was about to go to work.”

  “Dad?” I said.

  My father whispered something to Richard.

  “Dad, talk to me!”

  “He parked in front of the house and carried you inside,” my father said.

  “Carried me? Why?”

  “You were sleeping. Unconscious, I guess. You’d had a lot to drink.”

  “The wine,” I said, my heart racing, the room spinning. “I took it from your cabinet. I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t done that, this whole thing—”

  “Don’t,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “It’s all right now. That was a long time ago.”

  Something stung my arm. A bee, I thought. I tried to pull away, but my mother’s arms were around me. “The onion, Mom,” I said, already groggy. “Get the onion. It takes all the poison out.”

  “It was our fault,” my mother said. “We never should have let you go with him.”

  Something felt off-kilter, as if the floor had tilted and the lights were strangely close to my head. “Ruthie. I need to talk with Ruthie.”

  Then the lights went out.

  Will

  The lyrics to “Take Me Home, Country Roads” were on my mind, but these had become less familiar and weren’t leadi
ng home to the place where I belonged. I’d been pushed inside an old Camaro, slamming the back of my head into the doorjamb. Something wet and sticky, like hot motor oil, ran down my neck.

  They drove me to the bend at the top of Benedict Road, one of them with a gun pointed at my head from the front seat. I reached back and grabbed a handful of blood, then wiped it on the seat. Maybe a crime scene investigator would find my DNA someday and put the case together. But the way things were going, I wasn’t hopeful.

  “What do you guys want?” I said.

  “Shut up, Hatfield,” the driver said. I recognized the voice of the deputy, Wes. The guy with the gun was wearing a mullet.

  A mullet, I thought. I just got out of prison and even I know better than to wear a mullet.

  The passenger clicked a two-way radio.

  Someone said, “Go ahead.”

  The guy laughed like Elmer Fudd. “We got him. His truck is off in the bushes. You can say he came home drunk or something.”

  “Just go the back way like we planned,” someone said. “I’ll meet you up there.”

  “All right, we’ll be there in a few. Out.”

  Benedict Road snakes up the hill at a serious angle; then the road curves right and keeps going all the way to the meth house at the end. Instead of bearing right, Wes turned left onto an old, rutted logging path. Decades ago gas drillers had left a trail surprisingly smooth. There was still mud from the rains, and we slid sideways into the hill a few times but finally made it to the top of the ridge.

  “Know where you are?” Wes said.

  I kept quiet but I knew exactly. My father and I had walked every square inch of this place when I was a kid. I knew it like I knew my cell at Clarkston. The cracks in the wall. The leaky toilet.

  A barbed wire fence cut across a field, and beyond the tree line was our property. Once we hit the ridge we simply went through a thicket and we were at the top of the hill where my new house stood. What there was of it.

  Not my house anymore, I thought.

  The two got out, both holding guns. I waited for a chance to run, but they looked like they wanted me to. Looking for a reason to shoot.