Widow Town

by Joe Hart

  A short bend in the hollow came to meet him and Ryan made to move around a stand of grass when he stopped, something halting his progress. He glanced to his right, wiping away the stinging tears and sniffled. An overwhelming tingling rolled through him and he turned his head the other way, pulling in another breath, tasting it.

  The air smelled of waste and fear.

  “Mr. Baron?”

  Miles exploded up from where he lay in the scrub grass.

  The sudden movement so close made Ryan flinch and his hand nearly released the blade. The science teacher ran straight down the stream’s corridor, his movements jerky and painful. Without thinking, Ryan drew back his arm and flung the machete end over end.

  The blade made a strange fanning noise as it flew, cutting the air. At once Ryan knew he’d made a mistake, he’d thrown too low. But as he watched and prepared to run, the machete stuttered once on the ground behind Miles, jumped and tangled in the man’s bare legs.

  Miles fell to his stomach gasping, as the wind shot from his lungs. Ryan ran forward, his heart beating so hard he thought he could hear it echoing off the trees. He scooped the machete from the sand it lay in, its edge scraping on a rock, a song of steel. The moon’s light sculpted the blade into blue fire and Ryan teetered on the brink of fainting, his head too heavy to hold up any longer. Miles crawled forward, two new gashes on his legs where he’d tripped over the machete, oozed blood. The teacher made an animalistic sound in the back of his throat and Ryan raised the weapon over his head, focusing on the back of the prone man’s neck.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ryan whispered, tensing his arms.

  Miles rolled over and sat up, whipping his arm around in a quick arc.

  Ryan saw the heavy rock leave the teacher’s hand and tried to step sideways but a burning agony detonated in his left kneecap. His leg held him for a moment and then folded. He fell to his side, a breathless moan escaping him as the pain ratcheted up into something he’d never known before.

  He rolled on the ground in agony, trying to bring his knee up to check that the rest of his leg was still there, but it would barely bend. Through bleary eyes, he watched Miles scramble to his feet and limp away, up the streambed’s bank, and into the blanketing dark of the forest. Ryan tried to push himself up but his knee was a pulsing bowling ball, growing each second with poisonous swelling.

  “No,” he whispered through the pain. He searched the darkness but the teacher was gone, swallowed by the night. “No, no, no, no.”

  Ryan rolled onto his side and vomited a string of bile, hacking up what tasted like acidic soil as he listened to the fading sounds of his life running away through the woods.

  Chapter 16

  Darrin watched their long driveway unwind before the van’s headlights.

  He dug slowly beneath his right thumbnail with the tip of his knife, gouging out the specks of dirt there, pushing deeper, deeper, until the thrill of pain became too much.

  “She’s pretty,” Adam said from the driver’s seat.

  “Got your eye on this one, brother?”

  Adam looked almost embarrassed. “If he lets me.”

  Darrin smiled. “He’ll let you, that’s what all this is about.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you can’t do what you did to the other ones, you know that, right? That’s not what she’s for.”

  “I know.” Adam frowned at the windshield. “When can we do that again?”

  “We’ll have to wait awhile, let things settle down some.”

  “Okay.”

  “I need you to promise you won’t hurt them, Adam,” Darrin said, glancing over at his brother. “He’ll be very upset if you do.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good.” Darrin went back to digging beneath his nails. A bump in the road shoved the blade in deep and he hissed with pleasure. The van moved up a small grade and he knew they were back in the yard but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the blood that welled from beneath his thumbnail.

  “What’s Ryan got in his mouth?”

  Darrin looked up, squinting into the bright outdoor lights mounted above the house’s entry. Ryan sat on the steps, one leg straight out and the other bent, his heels resting on the ground. He held their father’s antique revolver in both hands, the barrel propped in his open mouth pointing up past his teeth.

  “Fuck,” Darrin said.

  “What’s he got that gun for?”

  “Listen to me, I want you to drop me off by the door and then you go around back to the storage shed and put all her stuff inside it, we’ll bury it tomorrow, then bring them in, okay?”

  Adam nodded as the van neared the house, his eyes never leaving Ryan on the steps. Adam stopped the van near the attached garage and Darrin climbed out, slamming the door behind him.

  “Whatcha doing, little brother?”

  Ryan’s eyes watered above the stainless-steel gun barrel. They followed the progress of the van as Adam pulled away and then jumped back to Darrin as he approached. Darrin was like a piece of the night, still dressed in his black clothes, his new gloves now gone. Ryan watched him approach and then cocked the hammer of the pistol back with a forefinger, the clicking sound loud in the empty yard.

  “Hey, hey, hey, let’s talk about this, you don’t need to panic. I felt a little scared after my first time too, it’s natural.” Darrin stopped several feet from the steps, his handsome features sharpened by the bright light.

  Ryan sobbed around the gun barrel, the steel chattering against his teeth.

  “I’m gonna sit, okay?” Darrin said, lowering himself to the ground. “By the way, what happened to your face?”

  Ryan closed his eyes and re-gripped the gun, placed his thumb against the trigger.

  “Whoa, just relax, little brother, calm down. Why don’t you take that old thunderclunker out of your mouth and talk to me. Then, if you really want to you can blow your brains out, I won’t stop you. It’s not my right to keep you from your business.”

  Ryan opened his eyes and stared at Darrin, his breath fogging the steel in his mouth. Gradually he withdrew the barrel, the sight hooking on his front teeth before it came free. He didn’t lower the gun but instead placed it under his chin, keeping a finger on the trigger.

  They sat that way for long minutes, Darrin waiting, blinking lazily. Ryan’s breath began to hitch in his chest and new tears streamed down his face.

  “He’s gone,” Ryan finally managed to choke out.

  Darrin nodded. “So you did it?”

  Ryan strained to breathe through the panic that gripped him. “No, he got away.”

  Darrin’s face froze. His gaze as sharp as the knife he carried. “What do you mean?”

  “He was ready when I went out there,” Ryan cried, the dam inside him crumbling. “He pulled the hooks free and was waiting when I opened the door. He knocked me down and ran away and I chased him into the streambed past the field. I tripped him up with the machete but he hit me in the knee with a rock and I couldn’t chase him anymore, Darrin, I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Darrin, I’m sorry.”

  Darrin waited, watching him blubber. He didn’t blink. “He went east?”

  Ryan sniffled. “Yes.”

  “That land runs over two miles before it hits even a dirt road. The only other place close by is crazy Hudson’s, and he won’t find any help there. He’s bleeding, disoriented, and hasn’t had any food or water in two days, he won’t make it anywhere. We’ll go out and look for him in a while.”

  Ryan pushed the barrel harder underneath his chin and bleated out another sob, shaking his head.

  “What?” Darrin asked.

  “I fed him this morning.”

  “This morning?”

  “Yes, I didn’t think he’d last much longer, Darrin, he was getting so thin. So I brought him a sandwich and a bottle of water.”

  “Did I tell you to feed him?”

  “N-n-no.”

  Darrin sighed, dropping his face toward his lap. “Well, that makes
things a little more complicated.”

  Darrin moved like a cobra, springing forward in one smooth motion. His hand snatched the revolver away from Ryan’s chin and spun it around. Ryan cried out and leaned away but Darrin kept coming, his free hand finding the gash on his brother’s cheek. He forced his thumbnail into the clotted wound. Ryan squawked and tried to roll to the side but his swollen knee and the grip Darrin had on his face held him like stone.

  “You little fuck,” Darrin breathed into his face. “You soft little follower. I should end you right now. Open your mouth.” Darrin pressed the barrel against Ryan’s lips, pushing them hard against his teeth. Ryan tried to squirm again but Darrin applied more pressure to the cut on his face. Ryan opened his mouth with a moan and Darrin jammed the barrel inside.

  “Taste that oil, it’s sweet, isn’t it? Tastes like forever. I’ve had it on my tongue before and let me tell you, it stayed there for days.”

  Darrin pressed the barrel farther into his brother’s mouth and felt it touch the back of his throat. Ryan gagged.

  “Don’t you be sick now, Ry-Ry. You’d choke on your own vomit.” Ryan convulsed, froth beginning to form at the corners of his mouth. “I thought you wanted this, little brother? I thought you wanted out? Funny, now it doesn’t seem the case. What a change in a matter of seconds. Everyone wants to live, Ry, even the ones that think they want to die really don’t. See, I’m free that way, I love life but if I go, I go. No regrets, no worries, just a little hop-skip into the nether.”

  Ryan spasmed, coughing against the gun barrel. Darrin pressed harder, his finger tightening on the trigger, and then pulled the gun away, letting Ryan roll onto his side, spluttering and choking.

  Darrin pivoted and sat beside him, putting a hand on his back. “Don’t worry, Ry, we’ll fix this. Things always have a way of working out.”

  Ryan tried to sit up and Darrin helped him. Gradually his coughing ceased and he sat there silent, rubbing at his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” Ryan said. He sounded as if he were speaking through a layer of garbage.

  “Quit saying that. Just listen to me. You’re going to make this right. We’re going to find Mr. Baron and bring him back here and you’re going to do what you should’ve done tonight.”

  Ryan nodded, still massaging his Adam’s apple. “Okay.”

  Darrin looked up at the flawless sky sprinkled with stars. “And Ryan? If you ever disobey me or put everyone in jeopardy again, I’ll peel off your skin, one layer at a time. I’ll use my knife and a pair of pliers. It’ll take days to do it, to make sure I get it right.” He glanced at his brother, starlight glinting in eyes colder than space.

  “Okay,” Ryan said.

  Darrin smiled, his face cracking. “Good. Let’s get you inside, get some of Dad’s cooling gel on that knee, it looks like shit.”

  He helped Ryan to his feet and supported him until they made it inside. As Ryan settled himself into a chair at the kitchen table, wincing at the flaring pain in his knee, sounds came from the rear of the house and a moment later two figures appeared in the dining room.

  One was Adam, carrying what looked like a sleeping child over his shoulder. The baby boy’s dark hair shone in the light, his eyes closed, fist near his mouth. The other was a woman, waif thin with blond hair. She was pretty but Ryan could see tear tracks tracing lines on her pale face. Her forearms were locked in a set of steel binders, clamping her elbows together before her so that she stood like some sallow mantis. Her eyes shot around the room, looking, searching, until they lit on Ryan’s face and jumped to Darrin as he returned to the kitchen with a bottle of cooling gel.

  “Oh good, our guests have arrived,” Darrin said, his smile climbing on his face again like a spider. “Ryan I’d like you to meet these two, they’ll be staying with us for a while. This is Rachel and her son Ken.”

  Chapter 17

  An electronic chime sang in the back of the store as Gray shut the front door behind him.

  He gazed around the small shop, its space made to look like a farmhouse from years ago. The wood floors were tarnished with nail heads painted on in uneven rows. The walls were a soft beige trimmed with a border of chickens pecking in a yard, sitting on eggs in a coop, and huddling close in a winter scene. Crystal figurines graced shelves, their actions frozen in mid-stride. An antique grandfather clock ticked in a corner, and hand-carved picture frames holding digital screens stood in rows along the front counter. ‘Memories’ was painted in stylish letters, faded to look vintage on the far wall.

  Gray made it to the cash register before Lynn emerged from the back room. She stopped mid-stride, her dark hair pulled up and folded the way she wore it so many times at home, before.

  “Good morning,” he said, trying a careful smile.

  Lynn continued walking toward the cash register. “What do you want, Mac?”

  “Was passing by and thought I’d stop in.”

  “So what do you need?”

  “Just to say hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  She sighed and walked away, carrying two oblong globes with sparkling rocks suspended within a viscous fluid. Gray followed her across the store, keeping his distance.

  “Are those selling well?”

  Lynn placed the globes on a shelf, kept her back to him. “As good as everything else.”

  “I always liked those.”

  “I know.”

  “Business has been okay?”

  “Not great, but I’m getting by.”

  “Good. People still coming in despite the heat?”

  “Yeah, mostly because of the air conditioning though.”

  “You should start charging for that.”

  She turned to face him and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing, Mac?”

  “Breaking ice, isn’t it obvious?” He tried the smile again. Lynn’s face remained impassive.

  “Mac, do you know how ironic it is that you’re trying to talk now?”

  “Listen, I know, but—”

  “No, I’m not doing this again, we’ve been over things too many times.” Lynn pushed past him and made her way back toward the counter.

  “But we haven’t, we really haven’t and that’s what’s wrong.”

  She wheeled on him, her pointer finger poking out from a clenched fist. “No, you will not do this to me today, I’m through with your blame-shifting shit, Mac. You had ample time to talk to me when we were married and you didn’t. When you came home from work you’d be so self-involved I’d be lucky to get a ‘goodnight’ out of you before bed.”

  “That was Minneapolis, why do you think I suggested we move back here? I wanted to slow things down, I wanted a life with you where I wasn’t burnt at the end of the day.”

  “But it didn’t change when we came here, Mac, don’t you see? You just shifted your energy from a grueling and painful schedule to becoming the sheriff, and after you accomplished that you were busy getting things organized.”

  “I was home way more than you’re giving me credit for.”

  “You were home, but you weren’t with me,” Lynn said, tapping her chest. “You haven’t been with me in a long time.”

  Gray shifted his eyes down to the floor. “You’re right, I know you’re right, and I’m sorry.”

  Lynn shook her head. “It’s not enough, Mac, too little too late.”

  Gray opened his mouth to speak and struggled for a moment before shutting it. He shrugged, looking at the floor again.

  Lynn pursed her lips and moved behind the counter. “Listen, I have to haul in some more boxes from the back.”

  Gray nodded and began walking toward the front door. He stopped halfway there and turned back to her. “The town celebration is tomorrow.”

  “I’ve seen the signs.”

  “Are you going?”

  Lynn shifted her gaze to him. “Yes.”

  “With him?”

  If she was surprised he knew, she didn’
t show it. “If you have to know, yes, with Mark.”

  Gray dropped his eyes to the floor, dipped his head once. “Hope he’s a better dancer than I am.”

  He turned toward the door again and stopped, running his hand over the wood before dropping it to the handle. “I was finally able to go in there the other night.”

  The silence of the shop became so loud his ears rang with it. Lynn took in a slow breath.

  “Mac—”

  “I just wanted to tell you that. I hadn’t set foot in there in over eight months, but I managed to do it. I wanted you to know.”

  Without looking back he pulled the door open and stepped into the building heat of the morning, the electronic chime the only farewell he received.

  The street was nearly deserted, the hour too early for most businesses to be open. The sun shone in spangles of light too bright to look into. Every inch of glass was a mirror speaking in blinding tones. A car glided by, its engine ticking beneath its hood.

  Gray made his way to the cruiser and dropped inside, reaching for an iced coffee that was already warming on the dash. The bark of the radio startled him and a drop of coffee fell to his thigh.

  “Sheriff, you there?” Mary Jo’s voice came through the speakers so loud he winced.

  “Go ahead, Mary Jo.”

  “Sheriff, I just got a call from Wheaton Medical and you’re going to want to get over there right away.

  “Okay,” he said, starting the engine while he stowed away the coffee. “What’s going on?”

  “A transport driver found a man out on East Six early this morning in a ditch.”

  “Okay?”

  “Sheriff, they think it’s Miles Baron.”

  Chapter 18

  Gray turned the last corner on the third floor of Wheaton Medical and spotted the door he was looking for.

  A tall doctor in a white coat stood at the end of the corridor, his hands shoved into his pockets. He had sandy hair, swept to the side and wore an expression of concentration on his long face. His eyes moved back and forth between a Wheaton sheriff’s deputy and the bulky form of Sheriff Enson himself. Gray made his way toward them and Enson turned just as he stopped before the closed door beside the group.