handwriting was careful and precise, the contents of the letters decidedly romantic. The only strange part was that they were all unsigned.
Jackson muddled over that one for a moment, then replaced the letters in the drawer. He spent a few more minutes looking around until a knock on the door announced the arrival of the forensics unit.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
During the time Sidney had been alone in her house, she had explored every crevice of the place, driven by a force that she could not come close to identifying. She sat for hours in the small window seat in the kitchen, her mind racing through her years of marriage. Every detail of those years, even moments of relative insignificance, came surging up from the depths of her subconscious. At times her mouth curled in amusement as she recalled a particularly funny memory.
Those instances were brief, however, and were always followed by wracking sobs as the realization that there would be no more fun times with Jason came crashing down on her.
Finally stirring, she rose and walked up the stairs, drifted slowly down the hallway and entered Jason's small study. She looked around at the spare contents, then sat down in front of the computer.
She moved her hand across the glass screen. Jason had loved computers ever since she had known him. She was computer functional, but, aside from word processing and checking her e-mail, her knowledge of the world of computer hardware and software was extremely limited.
Jason did quite a bit of correspondence by e-mail and normally checked his electronic mailbox every day. Sidney hadn't checked it since the plane crash. She decided it was time to do so. Many of Jason's friends had probably sent messages. She turned the computer on and watched the screen as a series of numbers and words trooped across that were, in large part, meaningless to her. The only one she did recognize was available memory. There was a lot of it. The system had been customized for her husband and was bursting with power.
She stared at the available memory number. With a jolt she realized that the last three digits, 7, 3 and 0, constituted the date of Jason's birthday, July 30. A deep breath prevented a quick relapse into tears. She slid open the desk drawer and idly fumbled through its contents. As an attorney she well knew the number of documents and procedures that would have to be gone through as Jason's estate was settled. Most of their property was jointly held, but there were still many legal hoops. Everyone eventually had to face such things, but she couldn't believe she had to confront them so soon.
Her fingers sifted over papers and miscellaneous office paraphernalia in the drawer, closing' over one object, which she pulled out.
Although she was unaware of the fact, she was holding the card Jason had thrust there before leaving for the airport. She looked at it closely. It looked like a credit card, but stamped on it was the name "Triton Global," followed by "Jason Archer" and, finally, the words "Code Restricted--Level 6." Her brow furrowed. She had never seen it before. She assumed it was some type of security pass, although it did not have her husband's photo on it. She slipped it into her pocket. The company would probably want it back.
She accessed America Online and was greeted by the computerized voice announcing that mail was indeed present in their electronic mailbox. As she had thought, it contained numerous messages from their friends. She read through them, crying freely.
Finally she lost all desire to complete the task and started to exit out of the computer. She jumped as another e-mail suddenly flashed on the screen; it was addressed to [email protected], which was her husband's e-mail address. In the next instant it was gone, like a mischievous inspiration scurrying through one's head before disappearing.
Sidney hit some function keys and quickly checked the computerized mailbox again. Her brow tightened into a sea of wrinkles when she discovered it was completely empty. Sidney continued to stare at the screen. A creeping sensation was pushing her to the conclusion that she had just imagined the entire episode. It had happened so damn quickly. She rubbed at her painful eyes and sat there for another few minutes, anxiously waiting to see if the performance would be repeated, although she had no idea of its meaning. The screen remained blank.
Moments after Jason Archer had re-sent his message, another e-mail was announced by the computerized voice saying, "You've got mail." This time the message held and was duly logged into the mailbox. However, this computer mailbox was not located at the old stone and brick house, nor was it at Sidney's desk at the offices of Tyler, Stone. And, currently, there was no one home to read it. The message would just have to keep.
Sidney finally rose and left the study. For some reason the sudden flash across the computer screen had given her an absurd hope, as if Jason were somehow communicating to her, from wherever he had gone after the jet had plunged into the ground. Stupid! she told herself.
That was impossible.
An hour later, after another episode of wrenching grief, her body alliterated, she gripped a picture of Amy. She had to take care of herself. Amy needed her. She opened a can of soup, turned on the stove and a few minutes later ladled out a small quantity of beef barley into a bowl and carried it over to the kitchen table. She managed to ingest a few spoonfuls while she looked at the walls of the kitchen that Jason had planned to paint that weekend after much nagging from her. Everywhere she turned, a new memory, a fresh pang of guilt, battered her. How could it not? This place contained as much of them, as much of him, as was possible for an inanimate shell to hold.
She could feel the hot soup passing through her system, but her body still shuddered as though it were almost out of fuel. She grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the refrigerator and drank straight from the container until the shakes stopped. Yet even as the physical side started to calm down, she could feel the inner forces building once again.
She jumped up from the table and walked into the living room; she turned on the TV. Numbly channel-hopping, she ran across the inevitable: live news coverage of the crash. She felt guilty about her curiosity regarding an event that had ripped her husband from her.
However, she could not deny that she craved knowledge about the event, as if her approaching it from a coldly factual angle would at least temporarily lessen the terrible hurt that tore at her.
The newswoman was standing near the crash site. In the background the collection process was being dutifully conducted. Sidney watched the debris being carried and sorted into various piles. Suddenly she almost fell out of her chair. One worker had passed directly behind the newswoman as she rambled on with her story. The canvas bag with the crisscross pattern barely looked damaged, only singed and dirtied at the edges. She could even make out the large initials written in the bold, black print. The bag was placed in a pile of similar items. For one awful moment, Sidney Archer couldn't move. Her limbs were completely locked. The next moment she was all action.
She ran upstairs, changed into jeans and a thick white sweater, put on low warm boots and hurriedly packed a bag. In a few minutes she was backing the Ford out of the garage. She glanced once at the Cougar convertible parked in the other garage bay. Jason had lovingly kept it running for almost ten years and its battered look had always been underscored by their memory of the sleek elegance of the Jag. Even the Explorer looked brand-new by comparison with the Cougar. The contrast had always amused her before. Tonight it did not, as a new cascade of tears blurred her vision and made her slam on the brakes.
She beat her hands on the dashboard until jarring pain shot up to her elbows. Finally she laid her head against the steering wheel as she struggled to regain her breath. She thought she would be nauseous as the taste of beef barley made its way into her throat, but it finally receded into the depths of her quivering stomach. Moments later she was heading down the quiet street. She looked back briefly at her home. They had lived there almost three years. A wonderful place built almost a hundred years ago with large-proportioned rooms, wide crown moldings, random-width oak plank flooring and enough secret nooks that you didn't have to try very hard to fi
nd a quiet place to lose yourself on a gloomy Sunday afternoon. It had seemed a terrific place to raise kids, they had both decided. So much they had wanted to do. So much.
She felt another wave of sobs climbing diligently toward the surface.
She sped up and turned on to a main road. In ten more minutes she was looking at the red and yellow colors of the neighborhood McDonald's. She pulled into the drive-through and ordered a large coffee. As she pressed the window button, she was staring into the freckled face of a gangly teenage girl, her long, auburn hair tied back in a ponytail, who would more than likely grow up into a lovely young woman, just as Amy would. Sidney hoped the girl still had her father. It jolted her again to think that Amy was now fatherless.
Within an hour she was headed west on Route 29, a narrow black strip of road that split gentle rolling Virginia countryside as it cut a roughly forty-five-degree angle through Virginia and on across the North Carolina border. Sidney had traveled the road many times while she attended law school at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville.
It was a beautiful drive past long-silent Civil War battlefields and old yet still functioning family farms. In the fall and spring the colors of the foliage rivaled any painting she had ever seen. Names like Brightwood, Locust Dale, Madison and Monrpe-lier flashed by on the road signs, and Sidney thought back to the many trips she and Jason had taken to Charlottesville to attend some function or other. Now no part of the familiar road or countryside felt comforting.
The night swept on. Sidney looked at the dashboard clock and was surprised to see it was nearing one in the morning. She accelerated and the truck flew down the empty road. Outside, the temperature continued to drop as she headed into higher elevations. Thick clouds had settled in and the spread of her headlights was the only contrast to the pitch-blackness. She turned up the truck's heat even more and hit her high beams.
An hour later, she glanced at the map resting next to her on the front seat. Her turnoff was coming up. She held her body rigid as she drew nearer to her destination. She started to count the miles on her odometer.
At Ruckersville she headed west. She was now in Greene County, Virginia, rustic and rural, far removed from the pace of life Sidney knew and had thrived in. The county seat was the town of Stan-dardsville, whose emotional climate Was now anything but, with an impact crater and scorched earth appearing on television screens all over the world.
Sidney finally pulled off the road and peered around to try to fix her location. The darkness of the countryside enveloped her. She flicked on the reading light and held the map close to her face. Getting her bearings, she continued down the slash of road another mile until she rounded a bend of partially naked slender elms, knotty maples and towering oaks, after which the vista opened up to stark, fiat farmland.
At the end of the road, a police cruiser was parked near a rusted, leaning mailbox. To the right of the mailbox was a dirt road that snaked its way back, with full, well-tended evergreen hedges bordering the dirt road on either side. In the distance the earth seemed to glow like a huge phosphorous cave.
She had found the place.
In the swirl of the Explorer's headlights, Sidney noticed that it was lightly snowing. As she pulled up closer, the door of the police car opened and a uniformed officer wearing a neon-orange all-weather slicker stepped from the vehicle. He walked over to the Ford, pointed his flashlight at the license plate and then swept it over the Explorer's exterior before its beam came to rest on the driver's-side window.
Sidney took a deep breath, hit the window switch and the glass slowly slid down.
The officer's face appeared at her shoulder. His upper lip was partially covered by a bushy mustache streaked with gray, the corners of his eyes were heavily stacked with wrinkles. Even under the orange raincoat, the bulky strength of his shoulders and chest were evident.
The officer made a perfunctory scan of the interior and then settled on Sidney.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" The voice was tired, and not just physically.
"I ... I came..." She faltered. Her mind suddenly went blank.
She looked at him, her mouth moved, but no words came out.
The cop's shoulders sagged. "Ma'am, it's been one helluva long day up here, y'know? And I've had a lot of people just happen on by here that really have no business being here." He paused and studied her features. "Are you lost?" His tone made it clear that he did not believe she had strayed one inch off her intended course.
She managed to shake her head.
He looked at his watch. "The TV trucks finally headed out on down to Charlottesville about an hour ago. They went to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same. You can see and read all you want on the TV and in the papers, believe me." He straightened back up, signaling that their conversation, one-sided as it was, was at an end.
"Can you find your way back out?"
Sidney slowly nodded and the cop lightly touched the brim of his cap and headed back to his car. Sidney turned the truck around and started to drive away. She looked in the rearview mirror and abruptly stopped. The strange glow beckoned to her. She opened the truck door and got out. She opened the rear door of the Ford, pulled out her overcoat and put it on.
The cop watched her walk toward the patrol car and he got out too.
His slicker was wet from the snow's moisture. Sidney's blond hair was covered by flakes as the winter storm stepped up its intensity.
Before the cop could open his mouth, Sidney held up one hand.
"My name is Sidney Archer. My husband, Jason Archer..." Her voice began to waver here as the full effect of the words she was about to speak hit her. She bit her lip, hard, and continued. "He was on the plane. The airline offered to bring me down here, but ... I decided to come down on my own. I'm really not sure why, but I did."
The cop stared at her. His eyes had softened considerably; the heavy mustache drooped like a weeping willow, his erect shoulders slumped down. "I'm really sorry, Ms. Archer. I really am. Some of the other... family have already come by. They didn't stay very long. The FAA people don't want anybody up there right now.
They're coming back tomorrow to walk the area looking ... looking for..." His voice trailed off and he looked down at the ground.
"I just came to see..." Her voice failed her too. She looked at him, her eyes a blistering red, her cheeks hollow, her forehead frozen into a vertical column of wrinkles. Although tall, she seemed childlike in her overcoat, her shoulders hunched forward, hands plunged deeply into pockets--as though she were disappearing as well, along with Jason.
The cop looked embarrassed, his vacillation evident. He glanced up the dirt road, then down at his shoes and then back at her. "Hold on a minute, Ms. Archer." He ducked back inside his patrol car.
Then his head popped back out. "Ma'am, come on in here out of the snow, please, before you catch something."
Sidney climbed inside the patrol car. It smelled of cigarette smoke and spilled coffee. A rolled-up People magazine was tucked inside a crevice in the front seat. A small computer screen sat atop a stack of electronic hardware. The cop rolled down his window and swept the patrol car's searchlight across the rear of the Explorer. He rolled the window back up and proceeded to hit a number of keys on the keyboard and then studied the screen. He looked at Sidney.
"Just punching in your license plate. Gotta confirm your identity, ma'am. Not that I don't believe you. I mean, you didn't drive up here in the middle of the night for a vacation. I know that. But I got rules to go by."
"I understand."
The screen filled with information, which the officer quickly studied. He pulled a clipboard off the dash and ran through a list of names. He looked up at her briefly, embarrassment again displayed on his features.
"You said Jason Archer was your husband?"
She slowly nodded. Was) The word was numbing to her. She felt her hands begin to shake uncontrollably, the vein in her left temple to pulse spasmodically.
"I just had to ma
ke sure. There was another Archer on the plane too. A Benjamin Archer."
For a moment her hopes soared, but reality threw her immediately back down. There had been no mistake. If there had been, Jason would have called. He had been on that plane. As much as she had willed him not to be, he had been. She looked over at the distant lights. He was there now. Still there.
She cleared her throat. "I have some photo identification, Officer."
She opened her wallet and handed it across.
He noted the driver's license and then his eyes caught on the photo of Jason, Sidney and Amy, taken barely a month ago. He stared at it for several moments. Then he handed the wallet back quickly. "I don't need to check anything else, Ms. Archer." He looked out the window. "There's a couple of other deputies stationed along up the road, and a slew of National Guard all around. Some of the guys from Washington are still up there, that's what all the lights are for." He looked at her. "I really can't leave my post, Ms. Archer." He looked down at his hands. Her eyes trailed his. She saw the wedding ring on his left hand, the ring finger swollen by time so that the simple gold band would never come off without taking the digit with it. The officer's eyes crinkled and a faint bit of moisture appeared on his cheek. He looked away suddenly, his hand quickly rising to his face and then back down.
He started the car and put it in gear. He looked over at her. "I can understand why you came up here, but I don't recommend that you stay long, Ms. Archer. It's not... well, it's not that kind of a place."
The patrol car swayed and bumped over the dirt road. The officer stared intently ahead, toward the blinding lights. "There's a devil in hell and a Lord God above, and, while the devil had his way with that plane, all those people are with the Lord right now, Ms. Archer, every last one of 'era. You believe that, and don't let anybody ever tell you different."
Sidney found herself nodding at his words, wanting so badly to believe that they were true.
As they approached the lights, Sidney felt her mind recede farther and farther into the distance. "There was... a bag, canvas with blue crisscross stripes. It was my husband's. It has his initials on it. JWA.
I actually bought it for him for a trip we took several years ago." She briefly smiled as the memory washed over her. "It was really for a joke. We had sort of had an argument and it was the
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