by Kris Calvert
“I’m hiding out.”
“Me too. I still can’t find Mac. The study was locked, which worries me. The past couple of days have really taken a toll on him.”
“They’ve taken a toll on all of us – you included,” said Celia. “The curse of being a momma is always holding up when everyone else is letting down.”
“Does that ever get better as you get older?”
“No, baby. It doesn’t.”
She held her arms out to me and I went to her. As she encompassed me I could feel the kindness radiating through her body, wrapping me in tenderness. This was what Mac loved so much about Celia. She was love incarnate disguised as a fifty-something year old woman. I knew Dax and Katy would always feel this kind of devotion from her and I let go of the idea of losing Polly.
As she rubbed my back I wondered where Mac could be. If Celia and I were hiding in the kitchen, where would he hide?
“Do you think Mac could be in the garage or something?”
“Baby, he’s probably in the wall.”
“The wall?” I laughed. “What wall?”
“He’s never shown you the wall?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Miss Samantha, there are secret passages all throughout Lone Oak. Mac never showed them to you?”
“No,” I muttered, amazed that there was something I didn’t know about him or the house. “Why?”
“Honey, this house is old. I mean old,” she emphasized. “They’re passages in and out of the house and in between some of the rooms. It was a place for the Callahans to hide folks during the Civil War.”
“What?” I asked, still stunned from what I was hearing.
“I can’t believe he never show them to you. Then again, he was never one to use them much when he was a boy. They can be a little scary if you don’t know where the lights are.”
“Celia, are you telling me there are secret passages throughout this house that I don’t know about?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s what I’m telling you. It was used for a time to keep slaves who were heading north safe for the night. I suppose the passages have been used for many a thing in the past two hundred years,” she sighed.
“Do you think that’s where he is?”
“He’s probably up in his room waiting for everyone to leave. That’s why I’m in here. I just wish they’d all go home. They’ve paid their respects. It’s time to get.”
“I agree,” I yawned.
“See? Even the lady of the house is getting tired. They need to go.”
“Well, I think I chased one of them out anyway. I threatened to shoot my cousin Richard a few minutes ago,” I said matter of factly.
“What did you just say?”
“I said,” changing my answer, “I think maybe you’re right. It is time for these people to leave.”
She nodded and gave me a strange look.
“I’m going to look for Mac.”
“Miss Samantha?”
“Yes?”
“Stay away from the firearms tonight,” she smiled.
“Don’t worry. I will.”
I pushed open the doors from the kitchen into the butler’s pantry and past the catering staff. As I made my way through the dining room and into the entrance hall I was happy to notice that the crowd had thinned considerably. There were still the agents standing idly by in nearly every corner of the house, and as the sun began to set on the day we buried Nancy, her friends, old and young began to say their goodbyes.
I made excuses for Mac, acting as if he was somewhere else in the house. I told countless people that I’d be sure to let him know how sorry they were. As the last few herded themselves out the door, I knew I had to find Mac.
“Tom,” I shouted down the hall.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m looking for Mac. Have you seen him?”
“No, ma’am.”
I climbed the staircase and began my search in Dax and Katy’s rooms. I knocked and Leo quickly shouted, “Yes?”
“Leo, it’s Sam. Open up.”
Polly opened the door and I saw Leo sitting with Dax as Katy slept in her crib. “Have you seen Mac?”
Silently she shook her head no, trying not to wake the baby.
“Leo?” I whispered, looking past her and into the room.
“No, Sam. He came in a few hours ago, but I’ve not seen him since.”
“Thanks,” I said as I began to turn.
“Mommy?” Dax asked.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can we come out now?”
“Sure. I think most everyone is gone.”
“I’ll radio down to Moss to get the go-ahead,” said Leo.
I hurried down the hallway and into our bedroom. The luggage from our honeymoon and Mac’s trip to Washington was still on the floor, but the room was empty.
I knocked on the door to the study. There was no answer. “Mac? Please let me in, sweetheart. Everyone is gone. Leo’s bringing the kids downstairs.”
I listened as best I could through the thick door and heard silence.
“Don’t you want to hold Katy?” I asked as if he could hear me. “Rock her for a bit and say goodnight?”
Nothing.
“Mac?”
Celia walked into the front hallway and I motioned for her to come to me. “Celia, is there a key to this lock?” I asked as I pointed to the old keyhole.
She nodded.
I ran my hand along the grain of the old mahogany door, longing to touch my husband. I wanted to tell him that everything was going to be okay.
“Here, honey,” she said as she handed me a large skeleton key.
“Seriously?” I asked. “How old is this thing?”
“About two hundred years.”
I raised my brow in disbelief and shoved the old key into the lock. With one full turn, I heard the lock release and I opened the door.
“Mac?” I called into the darkened room.
I nodded to Celia to let her know I was fine to take it from here. If Mac was upset, I didn’t want to embarrass him.
Closing the door behind me, I called to him softly. “Mac?” The day was ending; the grey clouds had given way to a dark purple sky as the sun dipped into the horizon. It cast a dark shadow on the room, save for the one light that shone brightly coming from Mac’s desk.
I flipped on the switch that lit the overhead crystal chandelier. “Mac?” I called again as I walked to the desk, expecting him to be behind the tall leather chair sitting with its back to the door.
“C’mon sweetheart, I know you’re in here somewhere. Who else would’ve locked the door?”
As I walked around the desk, my heart began to pound. I had an uneasy feeling. I spun the chair around and called his name again, “Mac?”
It was empty.
32
MAC
I looked around the bar. It was a dive at best and a drug deal waiting to happen at worst. Blacked out windows with tables and chairs that had seen their fair share of brawls, the joint looked on the outside the way I felt on the inside.
“Want another?” the waiter asked as I slouched in the broken vinyl booth in the darkest corner of the place. I was near the putrid smelling bathroom and an old jukebox no one had bothered to update in years. I listened to Hank Williams wailing, I’m so lonesome I could cry, and nursed my feelings of inadequacy.
“Dude?” the waiter asked, anxious for a quick answer.
“Yes. Please.”
“Whatcha drinkin’?”
“Maker’s,” I mumbled.
“Maker’s Mark?”
“Did I stutter?” I snapped with sarcasm.
“Geez, dude. Don’t be a dick.”
“Just bring me the goddamn bourbon,” I insisted.
He stared me down, and I gave it right back to him, but then broke. “Sorry, man. Just bring me the drink, okay? I’m a good tipper.”
He walked away without giving me an
other care. I ran my hands through my hair and sank deeper into the grungy old booth. The whole place smelled of stale beer and despair. I fit in perfectly.
I ran a silver dollar over and over through my fingers, flipping it endlessly as I stared at the white envelope with my name on it. I’d carried it with me everywhere in my coat pocket since Sam had given it to me yesterday. And now, here we were – grief, my mom and me.
I’d sunk pretty damn low in the last seventy-two hours and I was man enough to admit it. What I wasn’t man enough to do was read the letter.
I’d snuck out of the house through the first floor passage between the study and the garden leaving Sam and Celia to deal with the friends and neighbors. I honestly couldn’t stand to hear one more story about my mother. I knew they meant well, but I wasn’t ready for her to die, and I sure as hell wasn’t ready to hear stories of how wonderful she was. No one knew her like Dad and I did. And now no one would know her again.
I smiled to myself as I thought about the day I showed Dax the secret passages inside Lone Oak. I gave him the tour exactly the way my dad had given it to me. It was a rite of passage for Callahan men to know all the secrets of Lone Oak. Her passageways and exits were just the beginning. He now knew where they were and how to show or usher others out in case of an emergency.
“Here ya go,” the waiter gruffed as he clumsily sat the glass on the sticky table.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
The longer I sat in the booth, the slower everything seemed to happen. I knew I was buzzed and I didn’t care. My mind raced as I thought about my mother’s last few moments. How horrible it must’ve been for her to see him in her room when she couldn’t remember anyone or anything. It was a perfect storm – her bad heart, the Alzheimer’s and Hector’s wily nature. I’d promised her I’d never let anything happen to her, yet I wasn’t there to protect her.
Hector…Hector…you piece of shit. Before I’m dead, I’ll see the heel of my boot at your neck. If it’s the last thing I do.
The old jukebox changed songs again and Johnny Cash began to wail. I stood and sauntered into the men’s room. As I stood at the urinal, I caught a glimpse of myself in the cracked mirror in front of me. I couldn’t tell if it was split in more than one place, or if I was getting wasted and there were two of me peeing.
I flushed with my elbow and shuffled to the sink to wash my hands. I pushed the soap dispenser to no avail. “Ha!” I laughed aloud. “Why would there be soap in this godforsaken place?”
I gave my two faces in the mirror a shrug and pushed open the door, nearly tripping and sliding back into my crappy booth.
“Waiter?” I motioned.
“Yeah, man?”
“I need a check, young man.”
“Do you need a cab?”
“I need the balls to open this letter,” I mumbled. “What do you think about that?”
“I just work here. I don’t think.”
“Well, how’s this? I think you should bring me a check before I call the Alcohol Beverage Control Board and have them bust your ass for the group of underage drinkers playing pool in the corner.”
“Whatever,” he muttered as he walked away.
I took another look at the sealed envelope. “What do you need to tell me?” I mumbled as I brushed my fingers over my name.
“Here,” the waiter said as he put the paper check under my empty glass.
I gave him a nod but said nothing. I shoved the envelope in my coat pocket and checked my watch. Surely everyone had bugged out by now. Sam would be angry with me, but I had a feeling today of all days I would get a pass.
I took a deep breath and watched the boys drinking beer and playing pool in the other room and thought back to when it was good to be young and stupid. Too young to know anything bad could happen, and too ignorant to ever think we didn’t know what we were doing.
The front door swung open, briefly shining the street light into the dark and smoky room. Another pitiful soul had come here to drown in the alcohol. He looked around, not giving the corners of the room much attention and walked to the bar and bellied up.
I searched through the stack of cash from my pocket and tossed a hundred dollar bill on the table. I’d promised to be a good tipper, and I was, if anything, a man of my word.
I rested my elbows on the table and hung my head in my hands, rubbing my head. I knew I needed to go home, but my legs didn’t want to go anywhere, and I didn’t need get behind the wheel of the farm pickup I’d driven here just yet. Surely if he saw the money, he’d leave me be in this shitty little booth to sober up at my leisure.
“Dos Equis,” I heard him order.
I sunk deeper into the booth and heard the old vinyl wretch under my weight. I watched the man drink, deciding I’d wait until he’d had at least five beers or forty-five minutes, whichever came first before leaving. I just needed to make it fifteen miles down the road to Lone Oak – just fifteen miles.
My heavy eyelids drooped with each blink, and I tried to concentrate on how many beers he’d had. I was pretty sure it was Dos Equis number two, but I was already thirty minutes into the deal I’d made with myself.
When he made it to beer number three, I knew I was minutes from my deadline. I was tired, but not as buzzed as I’d been.
“Do you need anything else?” the waiter asked one last time as he took his money.
“Nope,” I sighed. “Keep the change.”
“Really?” he asked.
“Sure.”
As I mustered up the energy to walk with dignity out of the hellhole I’d wandered into, I saw his face come into the light of a neon Bud Light sign. I blinked hard and moved back into the safety of my dark corner.
He turned again as the door swung open and a strong breeze blew through the stale tavern. It was Hector. I knew it in an instant. I didn’t need to be completely sober to know the man. I’d studied him for an entire year. A flashback overcame me and I thought of Hector’s gun in my face at the rock quarry where he tried to kill Samantha.
I felt my pocket for my cell phone and found nothing. I tried to think clearly where my phone was. As I looked under the table nonchalantly, I remembered I’d left it on my desk.
I sat, waiting for Hector to do something. Anything. Now that I had him, I wasn’t letting him go. I would follow him to the ends of the earth until one of us lay dead.
I checked my watch again, making sure I was deep in the corner. I knew he’d recognize me if he had the opportunity to see me head on and as I sat crouched in my booth I prayed. Not to sober up or for backup – I prayed that Hector had a big bladder and wouldn’t need to walk past me on his way to the men’s room.
The waiter came back again to check on me. “You sure you don’t want anything?”
“Actually,” I rasped with quiet anxiety. “May I have a cup of coffee?”
He gave me a smile and nodded. “Good choice.”
Hector stood without saying anything to anybody and tossed cash on the bar top. I waited for his next move.
He walked my way and it seemed as if he was looking right at me, and yet as he neared the men’s room he didn’t seem to notice me at all.
As soon as the door closed I was up and on the move. I’d wait him out in the truck. I blew out the door and began to write down the license plate of every car parked in front of the bar on a cocktail napkin.
Hector didn’t know it yet, but his time was running out. I was a ticking time bomb, and he was my victim.
I sat in the truck with no phone and sobered up as I watched the front door waiting for him and holding the letter from Momma in my hand. I waited. And then I waited longer. I became sleepy as the alcohol began to wear off and the taxing day of burying my mother began taking its toll.
And then it happened. He walked out and I sat up in my truck across the street and took notice. After climbing in an old green Chevy Nova, Hector drove away. I waited before following him. It was late, but not so late that he’d be expecting to be on th
e road alone.
I tailed him and my mind scrambled with rage. It was all I could do to keep my distance and not run him off the road and into a tree. I was fueled by madness, alcohol and grief. I wanted Hector dead.
He continued to drive into the night. I didn’t know how far he was going, but I only had a half of a tank of gas and my plan would need to be modified if he was running.
Twenty miles outside of Shadeland, he pulled into a roadside mom and pop motel. I drove past and circled around, watching him slip into room number six. As he shut the door the number slipped upside down into a nine.
I parked on the side of the building and waited momentarily before I decided to go into the lobby and call for backup. I opened the door to the pickup and leaned against the building. I didn’t have my badge and I didn’t have a gun.
I rounded the corner and heard the door and quickly leaned into the side of the building again. Hector left room six and jumped into the Nova and sped off. He took nothing with him and as I watched him speed into the night I cursed myself for being such a drunken shit.
I walked the concrete sidewalk that connected the ground floor motor lodge and looked into the window of room six. It was dark, but I could see a duffle bag on the table by the window.
I searched my pockets. I didn’t even have a pocketknife on me. All I had was my wallet and my letter.
Pulling out a credit card, I swiped through the crack on the doorway, hoping the motel was old enough to be easily broken into.
I shook the doorknob as I shoved the American Express card into the narrow opening and gave it a second push.
In one wrench of the door, it opened and I was in. I shut the door behind me and looked around the room. I was breaking and entering, I hadn’t called for backup and I didn’t give a shit. I was as rogue as rogue could get.
I looked through his duffel bag. There were a couple changes of clothes, shoes and a couple of small bundles of heroin. I walked further into the stale room and toward the bathroom. On the open hanging rack were uniforms. A cop uniform, green gardening shirt and pants, checkered chef’s pants and a white double-breasted chef’s coat. Above the rack on a shelf there were hats and wigs. Hector had been busy. I turned on the light in the dark bathroom and found his razor, shaving cream, a toothbrush and a tube of red lipstick. I knew without looking to whom they belonged. I touched nothing.
