Cicada Song

by Bradford Combs

  Chapter 40

  June 2004

  “He didn’t mean to,” Stan said quietly, the gun still pointed at Ellis. “He was tryin’ to save Jake.”

  “Nobody would have thought otherwise,” Sara said. “Everyone loved your dad. We know he wouldn’t have intentionally hurt Jake, so why did you lie to us, Stan? Why lie to me?”

  Stan felt the anger building inside him, still. He loved his father. Stanley Cromwell Sr. was a hero, but Stan had long ago questioned the morality of the man for covering up what he’d done. Stan wanted to unburden himself of it all more than once, but he knew how the town thought of his father. More importantly, he couldn’t bear to tell his mother.

  “My father was a great man,” Stan finally said. He was becoming angry. “He did so much, and to let Office Clem take that away from him—no. Office Clem used Jake as a hostage. It was his fault!”

  “So why lie?” Sara asked. “Why accuse Office Clem of pulling the trigger?”

  Stan didn’t want to say it. He wanted to tell her that it was Phil, or himself, but he remembered the conversation like it was yesterday.

  They had been at the hospital and the doctors were working on Jake. He and Phil were silent, still in shock after the tragic confrontation, and his father had come to speak with them. He made it sound like it was all Office Clem’s fault, and that it might as well have been Clem’s finger that pulled the trigger. He talked them into believing this so that, when the time came, they both told Arthur Harris that Office Clem had shot Jake. They told it to the judge during the trial and to everyone in Anderson who would listen. Stanley Sr. became the hero of the story instead of the villain, and Stan had to carry that lie around with him ever since.

  The lie was why he’d left Anderson for college. He needed to move on from that night and distance himself from his father. He missed Jake and Sara, but he had to get away from Stanley Sr. for fear of hating the man. He just couldn’t run far enough away.

  “Stanley Sr. made you lie, didn’t he?” Ellis chimed in and Stan came back to the now.

  “You don’t say his name,” Stan said sternly, correcting his aim. He was tired of discussing his father. He had lied for seven years to keep the Cromwell name respected, but now that was gone because of Phil—because of Ellis Barnes, the liar.

  “My father was a good man. He saved a lot of people and kept us all safe.” Stan sneered. “And he never tried to come between a man and his girl—never.”

  “Stan,” Ellis said with a slow exhale. “You’re not in any condition to be having this conversation. I’m willing to talk about it; but, right now, we need you to put the gun down.”

  “My father was perfect, and so was Jake, but now they’re both gone and everything’s broken. Jake needs her and you’re in the way.”

  Stan’s hands were shaking. He pushed away from the tree that he’d been leaning against and found some steadiness in his legs. If he were sober, he’d have noticed that Ellis was looking beyond him and that there were noises coming from down the slope. His hazy mind, however, could only focus on keeping the gun aimed properly at Ellis Barnes’ heart.

  “When I shoot you—you’ll be gone. Jake has Sara.”

  Stan swallowed hard. Even in his drunken stupor he knew that this was wrong. There was a noble voice in the back of his mind screaming for him to stop, but he had already come this far. One bullet for Ellis. Stan had failed his father’s memory; he would ruin his own name after making Ellis go away, so a second bullet for himself would finally put an end to it. No more thinking about Jake. No more pain over Leslie’s betrayal. No more lies.

  “Stop! Stan, no!” Sara screamed, but Stan refused to look her way.

  He could barely see Ellis through the mental turmoil, but he could feel the metal in his hand and the trigger against his finger. It would only take a second, just one pull—and then he fired.

  The recoil of the gun threw off his balance, and he stumbled backwards. His drunken mind failed to realize that the recoil wasn’t the only thing that buckled him, but also a person colliding into the back of his legs. He fell to the ground, and someone was fighting him. A hand was on his gun, keeping the trigger from pulling, but then something snapped. There was a loud bang, and Phil screamed in his ear. Stan twisted free and kicked Phil back down the muddy slope and held the gun to his own chin, just wanting it to be over. He attempted to fire, but the gun was wrenched away and the bullet fired passed his ear. The gun fell down the hill, and as he reached for it, another pair of hands pulled him back. These hands, however, were soft.

  “Stan, stop,” Sara said quietly into his ear. “Please, stop.”

  Her arms wrapped around him, and Stan rested his head against her chest. He stopped struggling, but the world continued to spin. The gun was gone. Ellis was gone. Phil was gone. There was only him and Sara, and he was alright with that. The shock of the past few moments caught up with him, and he felt an emotional tug in his chest. The tears flowed. He was too tired to stop them. He began to sob.

  “I’m so sorry, Sara. I’m so sorry,” was all he could say as he curled up in her arms like an infant being comforted by its mother. “I’m so sorry.”

  The world was a fog. Stan’s anger lifted, opening the path for guilt and sorrow. He cried in Sara’s arms for only a short time before exhaustion overtook him, and the fog and confusion faded. His eyes closed, and the rest that he so desperately needed came at last.

  It was finally over.

  JAKE