by Carys Jones
“He’s having a bad day,” she told Buck. “Again.”
“Having a lot of bad days lately,” Buck commented.
Jude suddenly placed his red-painted hand squarely in Davis’ face, which instantly made his brother begin to wail, a shrill sound which pierced the air and caused Buck’s expression to sour.
“Jude, that was a bad boy!” Deena scolded as she quickly wiped the paint off Davis but Jude was oblivious of her anger, he was laughing merrily to himself and clapping his reddened hands together.
“Two peas in a pod those boys,” Buck noted flatly.
“They’re just playing,” Deena insisted, kissing Davis’ forehead now that his face was clean and paint free.
“You expect them boys to grow up getting along?” Buck nodded towards the young pair.
“You don’t think they’ll find out about their daddies and end up hating each other?”
“No,” Deena snapped, staring at the old sherriff, goading him with her eyes to say something, to cross the line so that she could have the pleasure of removing him from her home.
“I expect them to grow up and get along. Not everyone hates their brother.”
Buck smiled wryly and pointed towards the glass doors.
“He’s outside, is he?”
“By the pool.”
“You keep them boys in line now,” Buck began pacing across the tiled floor but he stopped suddenly and glanced back at Deena. “I don’t hate him.”
“I know,” Deena nodded. She held her lips, painted as brilliant a shade of red as the paint on her young son’s hands, in a firm line.
Buck opened his mouth to speak but instead shook his head and went outside. Deena’s shoulders dropped as she watched him leave. The weight of watching her husband fade away hung heavily upon her. Sometimes it was nice to have someone like Buck visit who could share the burden.
*
Buck found his brother sat on a chair by the pool, gazing aimlessly out across the chlorinated water. His lower half was concealed beneath a blanket but the rest of him was exposed to the hot air of the afternoon. But Samuel seemed unaware of the stifling heat. His skin was frighteningly pale as though he were being perpetually frozen by some internal device which made the blood in his veins transport ice around his body.
“Afternoon, Brother,” Buck removed his Stetson entirely and lowered himself into an adjacent patio chair.
Samuel didn’t even acknowledge his arrival.
“You been out here all day?”
Nothing.
“Samuel,” Buck reached out and tapped his brother’s arm. He felt disturbingly fragile to the touch, making the old sherriff fear that a strong breeze might sweep him up and carry him away.
Sharply and suddenly, Samuel snapped his head round to look at his brother. Buck’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the older man’s piercing eyes bore into him.
“Is he gone?” Samuel asked. Though his body was feeble, his voice held a malice which made it as sharp as steel.
“He’s…going,” Buck replied diplomatically.
“You said he’d leave Avalon.”
“He will,” Buck nodded. “Soon.”
“Why hasn’t he left yet?” Samuel shivered slightly as he spoke.
Buck ran a hand down his tired face and tried to stall. He didn’t want to tell his brother the truth; he didn’t want him to know that he wasn’t the only man in Avalon who was waiting on a visit from the Grim Reaper.
“Well?” Samuel scowled in agitation, which made his aged features seem menacing and wicked.
“I spoke to him,” Buck explained. “But I gave him time, as a courtesy.”
“Why are you giving him a courtesy? That man nearly ruined my family!”
Buck glanced back at the house. Through the glass doors he could see Davis and Jude still painting together while Deena kept a watchful eye over them.
“It’s Edmond,” Buck sighed as he slowly turned back to face his brother.
“Copes? What about him?”
“He’s dying,” Buck declared.
“Who isn’t?” Samuel scoffed.
“He’s not long for this world,” Buck continued. “Cancer.”
Samuel coughed uneasily.
“Copes is fond of the young lawyer. I thought it would be cruel to send him away now.”
“Well aren’t you gracious?” Samuel snarled. “I thought you hated Aiden Connelly as much as I do! You called him poison!”
Buck lowered his head in shame. It was true that hate for the young lawyer burned brightly within him, but his loyalties to Avalon outweighed that. Edmond Copes was a good man; he didn’t deserve to lose one of his friends in his final days.
“You’re becoming weak!” Samuel spat.
“No, you’re weak,” Buck glanced up at his brother. “Each time I see you, you’re a little weaker, a little paler. You’re fading away, Samuel, and all we can do is watch.”
“I’ll die when I’m good and ready,” Samuel informed the sherriff. “First, I want that man gone from Avalon, he’s caused enough trouble.”
Buck nodded and stood up, lifting his Stetson and returning it to atop his head.
Samuel began to violently cough and splutter. He held his skeletal hands up to his chest as his entire body shuddered. Pained, Buck looked on. He knew better than to move to his brother’s aid, any assistance would only be scowled upon and turned away.
After several minutes, the coughing stopped but it had lasted long enough to draw Deena’s attention. She glanced out anxiously at the men by the poolside, managing to frown despite the Botox collected in her forehead.
Behind Deena Samuel spotted the two young boys looking up, their eyes wide and fearful. They were just old enough to be aware of what was happening, old enough to form memories about their aged father’s final days with them.
“You can’t let the hate consume you,” Buck warned, his tone tender but also stern.
“What do you know?” Samuel coughed slightly in irritation.
“You spend your days alone, thinking hateful things when you’ve got two young boys in there who would love to be with you.”
“I scare them,” Samuel announced, recoiling into himself. “My own sons fear me.”
Buck’s hardened features softened slightly at this.
“Copes is a good man,” Samuel said wistfully, his gaze drifting back across the turquoise water of the pool.
“Why is it that the good die young and the wicked, well, we just keep on going?”
*
On his drive back into town, Buck pulled his patrol car up outside the high school football field. The bleachers were currently empty and as the sun set they cast long shadows across the vibrant green of the grass.
Buck loved how Avalon came alive on game nights. The whole town would pack itself onto those bleachers and cheer on the Avalon Angels until their lungs burned. The air would vibrate with the sounds of laughter and joy, delirium and defeat. Buck loved those nights. He’d leave the loneliness of his one bedroom apartment to sit amongst people who respected him as they cheered on the home side.
Brandon White had been a star. When he was out on that field he was like a man possessed and he was pivotal in engineering so many victories for the Angels. He ran fast and hard, the promise of victory always driving him forward, making him run when fatigue meant that he could barely stand. Buck admired Brandon, just as all of Avalon did. He became a hero.
Yet Aiden Connelly had changed all that. He’d destroyed Brandon’s legacy.
Buck shuddered bitterly as he popped open the glove compartment of his car and removed a bottle of beer. He used the dashboard to knock off the cap and then took a long swig of the warmed liquid inside. Glancing back at the field he smiled wistfully.
He missed the days when the Angels were on the road to victory, when Brandon White was the star player who everyone came to see. Avalon was changing. Buck sensed it in the air each time he stepped out into the sunshine. The home
which he’d fought so hard to protect was morphing right before his eyes into something unrecognizable. Before the year was out, it was likely that he’d lose both his brother and Edmond Copes. Avalon was at risk of losing its identity.
Buck leaned back and drained the rest of his beer, then threw the discarded bottle out of his window before gunning the engine and slowly pulling away from the football field.
Chapter Four
Things We Can’t Forget
Brandy tightened her trench coat around her as she stood on the sidewalk. Her loose blonde hair blew wildly in the breeze as though it were dancing to some silent song. Brandy occasionally lifted her hand to remove rogue strands from her eyes. She loitered uneasily on the sidewalk, her gaze never leaving the building across from her.
She watched the people enter in clusters, wearing long woollen coats and smart shoes. They bowed their heads to the wind and talked amongst themselves. They did not notice the lonely blonde observing them.
As the wind picked up in fervour, they disappeared behind the great wooden doors. Away from the sharpness of the weather, from the chaos of city life, they’d sit in their usual place within the pews and commence their Sunday ritual. Perhaps they’d find peace, respite or just feel absolved for the way they lived their life the other six days of the week.
Brandy stood and willed herself to cross the street. She wanted to hear the sermon, to feel comforted by the familiar words, but she could not bring herself to move. This was not her church, those were not her people.
Blinking back tears, she turned and walked away, her head low as though she were shielding herself from the relentless flurry of the wind. She’d always thought that her faith would guide her through the dark times but now she felt distant from it, lost. She wished she felt as though there were somewhere she belonged. Without a tether to anchor her, a place to truly call home, she risked being carried off in the wind like a petal torn from its flower.
*
“I’m going back to Greensburg,” Aiden delivered the news to his wife over dinner that evening. Isla froze with a forkful of meat loaf destined for her mouth stopped at her chest.
“To Greensburg?” she instantly frowned in confusion.
“Just for a few days,” Aiden hastily added.
Isla placed her fork back on her plate.
“Why are you going back to Greensburg?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“It always is with you,” Isla whispered heatedly.
Sighing, Aiden stood up and went over to the fridge. He pulled it open, letting the cool air cause his skin to prickle slightly before removing a bottle of beer. He cracked it open and sat back down opposite his wife.
“There’s some stuff I need to sort out,” he said vaguely.
“Stuff?”
“An old friend needs me.”
Isla looked down at the plateful of food, at the dinner she’d spent all afternoon carefully preparing. Since arriving in Avalon she’d taught herself to cook and, for Isla, that was quite the achievement. Back in Chicago, she’d prided herself on being the kind of woman who didn’t have time to cook. Her life was too busy, too exciting to spend hours preparing vegetables and baking dinners. Yet the majority of her afternoon had been dedicated to making meatloaf. Isla could feel herself disappearing. She feared that one day she’d look in the mirror and the old Isla Connelly wouldn’t even be there anymore.
She pushed her untouched dinner away from her and scowled at Aiden.
Unlike her, he was flourishing. His cheeks glowed from the touch of the sun and he glowed with that sought-after light of being satisfied by what you do. Aiden lived to help others; he was a great lawyer. Isla never dreamed of becoming a housewife and as he grew stronger she felt more and more wilted by the weight of her existence.
Isla wiped a hand across her eyes in anticipation of anguished tears. She’d changed for Aiden, she’d moved her entire life for him and still he locked her out, surrounded himself with secrets.
“I’m sorry, honey, I know you’re emotional right now.” Aiden reached out and gently took her hand in his. His touch was warm and reassuring. “There’s a lot you don’t know about my life in Greensburg. I ran out of there so fast when I got accepted into college and never looked back. But things happened there. I lost a friend.”
“Aid, I didn’t know.” Isla’s expression softened and her shoulders relaxed.
“I didn’t tell you, I didn’t tell anyone. It was never something I wanted to talk about.”
“So why do you need to go back now?”
“My friend who came here, John, he thinks there is more to our friend’s death than we originally thought.”
“That sounds like a job for the police.” Isla tried to pull her hand back, but Aiden held it tightly.
“There’s something going on, they need my help.”
Isla tried again and this time managed to free her hand. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at her husband as her nostrils flared.
“You can’t keep going on these hero quests,” she told him bluntly.
“That’s not what this is.”
“It’s always what it is!” Isla cried as she abruptly stood up, causing her chair to go skidding clumsily across the laminated floor of the kitchen.
“You’re so caught up in trying to save people, in trying to rewrite history!”
“Isla, I appreciate you’re angry but it’s not like that.”
“Our life is here now, Aid!” Isla gestured wildly to the room around her. “Avalon is our home. You brought us here, remember? But you keep going off on these quests, leaving me alone!”
Aiden walked over to his wife and placed a strong arm around her.
“I have to do this,” he said softly, pulling her towards him. She didn’t resist and let her head rest upon his chest, savouring how he smelled of cedar wood and beer.
“I owe it to my friend.”
“I just want to keep you here.”
“I know,” Aiden leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be gone just a few days, that’s all. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Isla wasn’t so sure. In a town where she knew no one and with little to do, each of Aiden’s trips stretched out before her like an infinite amount of time which she struggled to fill. It wouldn’t have been that way in Chicago. Back then when he left on a business trip she barely noticed as her social calendar was bursting with drinks with friends and meals out. Things were different for Isla in Avalon, things were emptier.
*
It took twelve long hours for Aiden to drive back to his home town of Greensburg. He’d stop to get gas, to stretch his legs, grab a bite to eat, but mainly he spent his time on the road, eager to get there. He’d looked at flying out there but, as he’d predicted, Greensburg was so far out from its closest airport that he might as well just drive. So he slung his suitcase into his trunk, kissed his wife and daughter goodbye and left Avalon in his rear-view mirror.
He drove through an impressive amount of nothingness. Vast quantities of land blurred by him, devoid of any signs of life or inhabitation. When he went on long road trips like this he was reminded of how empty America could be. He could drive for hours without seeing a single home or gas station. The isolation began to creep in on him. Even the bright melodies of his radio couldn’t suppress the loneliness which comes from being out on the open road. Instead of feeling free, Aiden just felt lost, like a solitary leaf floating on the surface of an immense lake.
Finally, as the light began to fade, he entered Greensburg. It was a strange sensation to return to the town he’d so eagerly fled, the town where his parents were laid to rest. He rolled into town and stopped at the cross-section lights.
Greensburg was larger than Avalon, but only slightly. It boasted a town square with three cafes, a library, doctor’s surgery and police station. All the store fronts were well maintained but worn; their colour faded by time.
If Aiden kept driving, he’d pass by
his old high school. But instead he took a sharp left and headed back out of town, towards the motel on the outskirts of Greensburg which would be his bed for the night. The streets in the town square were already empty; all the stores locked up for the day.
*
It was dark when Aiden pulled into the motel parking lot. The night didn’t creep up in Greensburg, it arrived suddenly and without warning and within the blink of an eye shadows existed where previously there had been sunlight.
The neon sign which was rusted in places indicated that the motel had vacancies. Aiden moved to his trunk and retrieved his suitcase. It squeaked like an angry mouse as he dragged it along behind him towards the small motel reception.
A portly old man sat behind the counter, his feet raised and resting just by the signing-in book as he leaned back in his chair and observed the baseball game being shown on a small portable television which intermittently lost its signal. He glanced up when Aiden walked in, accompanied by the chime of a hanging bell, but didn’t move.
“Evening,” Aiden greeted him politely. “I’d like a room for two nights please.”
“Sure.” The old man wiped a hand across his mouth and straightened, pulling his boots back off the counter. He turned on an aged computer and slowly typed upon a grime-covered keyboard.
“Name?” he asked, staring at the monitor not Aiden.
“Connelly,” Aiden instantly replied. He didn’t consider that the name might be familiar to the old man. He noticed the gleam of recollection flitter across his old eyes. He turned from the monitor and glanced at his guest with renewed interest.
“First name?” he asked. The old man’s white hair was collected madly around his head and his cheeks were unshaven and dirty.
“Aiden.”
“Aiden Connelly.” The man strung the two names together and smacked his gums together thoughtfully. “I knew an Aiden Connelly once,” he declared wistfully. “Smart guy, went to the local high school. He’d be around your age.”
The old man leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing Aiden. But it was Aiden’s recollection which proved to be sharper. He stripped the old man of his rotund midriff and saw who he had been a decade earlier. His hair had been darker then, his physique leaner. His name was Carl Kellerman and he’d worked as the school janitor. ‘Creepy Carl’ had been one of the kinder nicknames the kids at school had given him. He always reeked of alcohol and was eventually unceremoniously fired for selling his homemade moonshine to some of the seniors.
