by Carys Jones
Aiden wasn’t in the mood to start answering questions about his sudden return to Greensburg. He wanted his visit to remain as low key as possible.
“It must just be a coincidence,” he said brightly.
“Yeah,” Carl stroked the fuzz on his cheeks and a glazed expression fell across his face. His devotion to homemade liquor had dulled his memory enough so that he could only recall Aiden’s name, not his face. And Aiden’s name had become known following Justin’s accident. Like most small towns, Greensburg’s residents had an unhealthy fascination with death and liked to immortalize the fallen in their relentless gossip.
“Two nights?” Carl checked.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Not many folk visit Greensburg this time of year,” Carl said slowly as he booked Aiden in. “Had you come in the summer, when we grow them watermelons, it would have been very different. All the rooms get booked up then.”
Aiden had fond memories of springtime in Greensburg. His father would grow watermelons in the back yard and his mother would use the smaller ones in recipes. She’d make flavoured pastries, drinks; even cure meats in the watermelon juice. Then there would be a local fair and competition on who could produce the largest watermelon and the tastiest dish containing the fruit. One year Aiden’s mother won. He remembered how delighted she’d been when she brought home the trophy.
“Enjoy your stay.” Carl handed a key emblazoned with the number four to Aiden.
“Thanks,” Aiden nodded politely and walked away, unsure if he’d enjoy anything about his stay. The Greensburg he’d known was long gone, it was part of the reason he’d left in the first place.
*
Aiden approached the small bungalow with trepidation. Above him the sky was clear and blue, but the sun’s warmth failed to penetrate through his dense cloak of nerves. He stood on the doorstep of Maureen Thompson’s home. It was a place he hadn’t visited since before Justin’s death but it had the same red front door, the same bedraggled shutters. Taking a deep breath he knocked against the painted wood.
Moments later the door opened, creaking loudly in protest. The stench of stale cigarette smoke flooded out and mingled with the fresh, crisp morning air. Maureen squinted out uncertainly into the morning sunlight. She was still wearing her stained housecoat and slippers that had once been fluffy and a vibrant shade of pink.
“Maureen, hi, it’s me, Aiden. Aiden Connelly.”
“I recognize ya,” Maureen nodded stoutly.
“I’m sorry to drop by like this.”
“I was expecting ya,” Maureen stepped aside so that Aiden could enter her home. “John said he reckoned you’d be stopping by someday soon.”
As Aiden entered Maureen’s home, he stepped back in time. Everything was how he remembered it, from the threadbare shag carpet in the lounge to the mounted bass which hung over the fireplace. It was as though it had all been preserved since Justin’s accident. Even the air felt putrid and old. All of the windows were closed; their blinds sealed tightly, preventing any sunlight coming in or any last remnants of Justin’s essence getting out.
“I don’t get many visitors these days,” Maureen wandered towards the kitchen where she pulled open the lime-green fridge door and began rummaging inside. Aiden watched her with a strange sense of melancholy. He remembered seeing Justin do exactly the same thing, only he was searching for bottles of beer. Maureen was always the most lenient parent, allowing the boys to drink when they were underage. She’d turn a blind eye and proclaim that “boys will be boys”.
Maureen returned to Aiden with a fresh glass of iced tea in her hand.
“Thank you.”
“You’ve grown up so polite,” Maureen pulled her thin lips into a smile. “Your mother would have been proud.”
She dropped onto her sofa, sending up a small cloud of dust as she did so. Aiden lowered himself more cautiously onto a nearby chair. His lungs were already feeling heavy from inhaling the dense air of the house.
“John told me he went to see ya.”
“Yes, he did.” Aiden nodded.
“Said you’re living in some small town south of here. Bridgeton, Aston…”
“Avalon.”
“Never heard of it.” Maureen shook her head. Her greying hair hung in ringlets; the remnants of a long-abandoned perm.
Aiden remembered how Maureen Thompson used to always look immaculate with her dark hair tightly permed and a slick of ruby-red lipstick lighting up her face.
“John said you’re some hot-shot lawyer now, said he saw you on the TV.”
“I…” Aiden modestly lowered his head.
“You always were the brainy one.” Maureen pulled a pack of cigarettes from her house coat pocket and promptly lit one up.
“Mind if I smoke?” she asked a little late as she raised it to her lips.
“Go ahead.”
Maureen took a deep, long drag of her cigarette, her eyelids fluttering in satisfaction.
“Justin, he was a wild child,” she declared after she’d blown the smoke away. “I could barely keep track of him!”
“He was certainly spirited.”
“Spirited,” Maureen pointed her cigarette at Aiden. “That’s a nice way o’ putting it. I like that.”
Aiden nervously sipped his iced tea.
“Few folk believe he skidded out on the road that night,” Maureen announced, her tone remaining light and casual as though she were discussing the warm spell Greensburg had been experiencing.
“Justin was reckless and spirited, as you say, but he could handle that bike. He drove it into the ground. I never believed he died in an accident.”
“You didn’t?”
“No,” Maureen shook her lacklustre curls. “I should show you this.”
She reached into her other housecoat pocket and produced a folded piece of cream paper which she passed across to Aiden. The ends were tattered and worn as if she’d been carrying the document around for the past decade. Carefully, he unfolded it. It was Justin’s death certificate.
He felt the air get knocked out of him as he read the name. He’d seen countless death certificates, but when it bore the name of someone you knew, someone you cared about, it was hard to feel detached, to see it as only a legal document.
Aiden scanned the certificate and spotted the anomaly. He looked back at Maureen, his eyes wide with surprise.
“How can this be right?” he pointed at the document he was holding.
“That’s what the coroner gave me,” Maureen shrugged. “I’d been saying he wouldn’t have skidded out that night, and then I get that. People started listening to me then.”
Aiden looked back at the certificate in disbelief.
“It says the cause of death is unconfirmed.”
“I know.” Maureen raised her cigarette back to her lips. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To find out what really happened to my boy?”
Aiden felt his heart begin to quicken nervously in his chest. He’d assumed that it was all just rumours; that Justin lost control of his bike that night and the police report had merely gone missing. Aiden had come to Greensburg with the aim of putting his old friend’s fears to rest and giving them all closure over Justin’s death. He didn’t anticipate that there might actually be any truth to it all.
“Someone killed him,” Maureen’s eyes narrowed as she spoke. “They killed him and then it was covered up.”
“Mrs. Thompson—”
“Aiden, can you do this for Justin? Can you find out who killed him? Please.” Maureen’s voice became strained with emotion. Aiden looked at the certificate and sighed.
“Do you give me authority to act on your behalf?” he asked her, his tone formal.
“Yes.”
“Because as your lawyer in the matter of accessing Justin’s life insurance, we need a clear cause of death.”
“Justin didn’t have no life insurance.”
“The police don’t know that.” Aiden leaned forward. “Yo
u were distressed over the death and unable to even consider claiming on the policy until now.”
“Yes, okay.” Maureen nodded quickly in compliance.
“I’ll do everything I can to find the truth,” he promised her. “But if even his death certificate has been tampered with, then I imagine this may go way up chain, far beyond my level of expertise.”
“I appreciate anything you can do.”
*
“So, the rumours are true,” Alex Gordon cried, “the prodigal son has returned!”
Aiden walked into the Greensburg Police Department and found his old friend loitering near the front desk.
“Let’s take a look at you!” Alex came over and scanned Aiden. He tilted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows.
“Nice suit.”
“Nice uniform,” Aiden smirked as he took in the strange sight of Alex dressed as a cop. It seemed surreal, like he was just playing dress-up for a Halloween party.
“I think I wear it well,” Alex winked.
Time had been kinder to Alex than it had to John Rogers. His hair was still thick and brown and his green eyes held some of their youthful glimmer. The only hint of his changed physique came from his middle, where the material of his uniform had been stretched to its limit.
“It’s good to see you,” Aiden said sincerely as the two men briefly embraced, patting one another on the back as they used to in high school.
“It’s been too long!” Alex told him sternly. “Chicago isn’t the moon you know, you could have come back!”
“I know.” Aiden blushed slightly with shame.
“Let’s talk somewhere a little quieter,” Alex led Aiden through to the main station and to his own private office which had a glass door with his name painted on it.
Inside the office there was a small desk with a chair either side. Aiden sat down across from Alex.
“You’ve got your own office, nice.” Aiden smiled.
“There’s just a lack of talent in this town, that’s all. They’ve got to take what they can get.”
Aiden laughed politely. For a moment, as he looked at Alex, it wasn’t hard to imagine they were back in high school, sat on the bleachers waiting for Justin and John to join them. The four of them had been inseparable and now they were almost strangers.
“John said you’ve got nice place over in Avalon, beautiful wife and kid.”
“It’s nice there. Quiet.”
“Quiet doesn’t always mean nice,” Alex remarked. He leaned forward across the desk and lowered his voice.
“So, John told you about Justin? About all them rumours?” His gaze flickered up when someone in a blue uniform walked past but they didn’t stop or come in.
“He told me,” Aiden nodded, keeping his own voice low. “And I went to see Justin’s Mom this morning.”
“Oh?”
“If I have any hope of finding anything out I need to be acting on her behalf, with her as a client on a pro bono case.”
“Okay,” Alex frowned and bit his lip. “So you think there is something to find out?”
“I wasn’t sure but then she showed me this.” Aiden slid the death certificate across the table. Discreetly, Alex opened it and read the details. After a few minutes his forehead creased in confusion.
“What does cause of death classified mean?” he looked expectantly at Aiden.
“I don’t know.”
Another uniformed officer sauntered past the little office. Alex shoved the paper back towards Aiden.
“You should keep that safe,” he whispered. Aiden placed it back within the internal pocket of his suit jacket.
“I tried to find the report,” Alex continued. “But it’s not here. There is no record of Justin’s accident.”
Aiden thought this over. There had to be a police report surrounding Justin’s death. It wasn’t at the Greensburg Police Station, so it just meant that it was somewhere else, possibly somewhere more secure.
“Did you find anything?”
“Nothing,” Alex shook his head. “And I couldn’t go asking questions as people would be suspicious about why I wanted to see it. I can’t go risking my job.”
“I understand. But I’m here acting as Maureen’s Thompson’s lawyer and I need to see the police report. She’s trying to access Justin’s life insurance and they won’t accept the death certificate as it is.”
“She is?” Alex’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, she is,” Aiden nudged his ear with his left shoulder. It was a gesture he’d not used since he’d left Greenburg. It had been a silent code amongst the friends to indicate when they were lying or in the presence of someone they disliked. Alex immediately recognized it.
“Well, in that case I can put in a formal request to view the report for you.” He pulled open one of his desk drawers and searched around for the relevant paperwork.
“How long does a request like that usually take?” Aiden thought of Isla back in Avalon, struggling with her morning sickness and Meegan alone. He also thought of Edmond. He was due in the hospital at the end of the week for more chemotherapy and Aiden had agreed to take him. It wasn’t a commitment he was prepared to break.
“A day, maybe two,” Alex shrugged. “I can put a rush on it if you need to be getting back?”
“Thanks.”
“We should all go out for drinks while you’re here,” Alex suggested brightly. “Be like old times.”
“Yeah, absolutely,” Aiden tried to sound enthusiastic but he knew it would never be like old times. There would always be that fourth, unoccupied, chair, that ghost in the room.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Alex smiled at his old friend, looking up from filling out the form on his desk.
*
Skinny Jacks was the main bar in Greensburg. It was positioned just off the main square. On dry nights the sound of the revelry from inside could be heard throughout the town.
The bar had been there when Aiden was in high school. Back then, he was too young to go in. He’d slink past, hands in pockets, with his friends by his side smelling the stale cigarette-laced air which wafted out from the open doors.
Little had changed inside Skinny Jacks except the air no longer smelled of smoke, instead it carried the pungent odour of stale liquor and desperation. Aiden followed Alex as he eagerly stepped inside. A few men curled up on bar stools looked up from the drinks they were nursing to wave.
“Hey, Trevor, Bob,” Alex nodded at them, his tone light and friendly. The men turned back to the bar, uninterested in Aiden.
“There he is.” Alex pointed to a table towards the back of the small bar where John was already sitting, bottle of beer in hand.
Aiden felt something tighten in his chest when he looked at him. It just didn’t seem right for the three of them to be meeting like this when they were missing their fourth. It felt as though he were somehow cheating on Justin’s memory.
“I’ll grab us some beers,” Alex clapped Aiden on the back as he headed back towards the bar and Trevor and Bob.
“Hey,” John greeted him before placing his bottle against his lips and drinking deeply.
“Seems strange to be in this place, huh?” Aiden said, glancing around. The wallpaper in Skinny Jacks was peeling and the varnish on the tables was chipped but it was a pleasant enough bar. An old jukebox in the corner played relatively modern songs which formed a backdrop against the constant wall of chatter circulating amongst the regulars.
“What’s strange is seeing you here,” John tilted his almost-empty bottle towards Aiden. “I started to doubt I’d live to see the day when you came back to Greenburg.”
John’s tone was slightly hostile. Aiden realized that he was already drunk.
“Well, I’m here now,” Aiden shifted awkwardly in his seat.
“You thought you were too good for this town,” John continued, slurring his words. “Yet you’ve ended up in some backwater shithole anyhow.”
Aiden flinched slightly at such a negativ
e reference to Avalon.
“I never thought I was too good for Greensburg,” he quickly clarified. “I just couldn’t handle being here. Everywhere I looked, he was there.”
John nodded knowingly at this.
“You got your distance though,” he pointed again at Aiden. “Me and Alex, we had to deal with everyone watching us, talking behind our backs. Talking about Justin, about that night.”
“Here,” Alex returned and placed a cooled bottle of beer in front of Aiden.
“Thanks.”
“So what are you two ladies gossiping about?” Alex asked with a smile as he sat down between them.
“Ghosts,” John replied wryly. “I’m out.” He looked down into his empty bottle, his face creasing slightly with disappointment.
“I’ll get us all another round in.” He stood up and headed over to the bar before anyone could protest.
“He’s found it harder than me,” Alex nodded in the direction of the bar. “He gets real depressed about it all sometimes. I think it played a part in ending his marriage, not that he’ll talk about it.”
“That sucks,” Aiden said.
“Yeah,” Alex sighed.
For a moment the two men were silent as they each drank from their bottles of beer.
“He was desperate to bring you back here.” Alex lowered his bottle from his lips, holding Aiden in a steely gaze.
“I kept telling him that you’d moved on with your life, that you wouldn’t want to be dragged into whatever mess is going on here. But when I couldn’t find that police report, and then you showed up on the TV, well, he was certain then that we needed your help.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Alex told him gravely. His usually jovial demeanour was gone, replaced by a hardened look that spoke of the years he’d spent carrying the weight of his best friend’s untimely death.
