Leaving Epitaph

by Robert J. Randisi

  He looked up and saw a man—Ethan Langer—walking up the center aisle toward him, gun in hand.

  “Wait—” he said, but the man fired again. The bullet struck him in the shoulder and knocked him off balance. He staggered back, lost his footing and fell.

  The man who shot him loomed over him with his gun pointed down at him.

  “E-Ethan Langer?” Matthew asked, his vision dimming.

  “That’s right, Deputy. Why are you trailing me to hell and back over a goddamned bank in South Texas?”

  “Y-You killed my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Ethan asked. “That stupid bitch was your mother?”

  “Y-You can’t call her—”

  “Do me a favor, will ya?” Ethan asked. “When you see her, tell her to leave me the hell alone.”

  He fired one last time….

  At the sound of the first shot, Thomas and Father Vincent started running toward the church, each concerned for their own brother. Damn Matthew if he went inside, Thomas swore.

  While they were running they heard the second shot.

  “This way!” Father Vincent said to Thomas, grabbing him from behind and directing him toward a back door of the church.

  As they reached that door they heard the third and final shot.

  Ethan stepped over the dead lawman’s body and headed for the front door. He wanted to see if there were any more outside. He opened the door and stuck his head out, but the square was empty, except for a woman and her small daughter, who were walking toward the church.

  He closed the door and looked at the lawman again. At that point he heard someone rushing in from behind the altar. Quickly, he opened the door again and stepped out.

  Thomas and Father Vincent ran up the center aisle toward the fallen man, each with their heart in their throat. It was Thomas, however, whose heart sank when he saw Matthew lying in a pool of blood.

  “Oh, Matthew,” he said, “no!”

  “Oh, my God,” Father Vincent said, feeling pain and relief at the same time.

  Matthew had been shot twice in the chest and once in the head. Thomas knelt next to his brother, cradled his head in his lap and began to cry.

  Father Vincent knelt next to the dead man and began to administer Last Rites.

  75

  Father Vincent didn’t get very far with the Last Rites because they heard a woman screaming and shouting from outside. Thomas didn’t want to leave Matthew, but he gently laid his brother’s head back down on the floor and ran to the door, followed by the priest. Outside, a woman was screaming and wringing her hands.

  “Mrs. Paul,” Father Vincent said, “what is it?”

  “A man,” she said, “a man came out of the church with a gun and took my daughter.”

  “Jenny? He took Jenny?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, still wringing her hands, “he took her. Why did he take her?”

  Vincent looked at Thomas. “She’s six,” he said, “six years old.”

  Thomas looked at the woman. She was faded, looked too old and worn-out to have a daughter that young.

  “Which way did he go?” Thomas asked.

  “Across the square,” she said, pointing. “He ran across the square, draggin’ my baby—”

  “Stay with her,” Thomas said to the priest, “and with my brother.”

  “But—”

  Thomas didn’t wait any longer. He drew his gun and started running. Father Vincent was caught in a quandary. There was a dead man on the floor of his church, Mrs. Paul needed comforting, and a man was chasing his brother with the goal of killing him.

  Like any man with too many options, he just froze.

  Ethan had his gun in his right hand and the little girl on his left. He alternately dragged her and lifted her off the ground. Either way, she kicked and screamed for help. People were getting out of his way, pointing and shouting, and he knew he was leaving an easy trail to follow. No one made a move to try and stop him, though. The people in this city were the same as the people in Epitaph had been. No one would step up and lend a hand, try to help.

  He’d had no time to think about killing the lawman. Would killing the son get rid of the mother who was haunting him? He didn’t know. Had Vincent, his own brother, sent the law after him, after making an excuse to leave the church? He didn’t know that either. He didn’t know much, and he especially didn’t know where he was running to.

  He wished the girl he was carrying would stop screaming.

  Ethan was leaving an easy trail for Thomas to follow. In fact, people pointed the way, helping him follow in Ethan’s wake. Also, as he got closer, Thomas could hear the girl screaming. He tried to put the sight of Matthew lying dead on the floor of the church out of his mind and just concentrate on catching Ethan—the man who had killed both his mother and his brother.

  Ethan staggered in the middle of the street now, unsure of which way to go. He held the girl tightly, trying not to pay attention to her screaming, but it was echoing in his ears, and it seemed to be in unison with the screams that were already there.

  “Stop screaming!” he shouted, turning in circles. “Stop screaming, damn it!”

  He wasn’t only shouting at the little girl.

  Thomas turned a corner and came to an abrupt stop. Ethan was standing in the middle of the street, waving his gun, holding the squirming little girl in his hand like a rag doll, shouting, “Stop screaming! Stop screaming!”

  The poor girl’s head bounced around as he shook her. Her arms and legs were flapping about.

  Thomas stopped, also in the middle of the street, and pointed his gun. All the riding, all the searching, all the death had led up to this moment.

  “Ethan Langer!”

  Ethan didn’t hear Thomas shout at first, because the girl was still screaming, and there was screaming going on in his head. It was as if the dead woman was right in his ear, screaming along with the little girl. The two of them were making his head feel as if it was going to explode.

  Then, abruptly, he heard his name, and there was silence.

  For some reason, the little girl fell silent, and the entire street was quiet. People had fled to the sidewalks or ducked into buildings to watch from windows. There were only three people on the street now—Ethan Langer, Thomas Shaye, and Jenny, the little girl.

  Ethan turned at the sound of his name, holding the girl in front of him, her feet dangling in the air. “Who are you?” he shouted. “Another deputy?”

  “That’s right,” Thomas said. “I’m a deputy, and you killed my mother, and my brother.”

  “Another brother?” Ethan asked. “Jesus, am I gonna get to kill your whole family?”

  “I don’t think so, Ethan,” Thomas said, “because it all ends here. This is the deputy who gets to kill you. Let the girl go.”

  “Wait,” Ethan said, cocking his head. “Do you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Thomas asked.

  “That…that laughter,” Ethan said, looking around. “First she screams, and then she laughs. Your goddamn mother was haunting my dreams, but now I hear her when I’m awake.”

  “That’s because that’s what you deserve,” Thomas said. The man must have been going mad, but that was no excuse for the things he’d done or for what he was doing now. “To be haunted the rest of your life—which isn’t going to go on much longer.”

  Ethan brought his gun hand up to the side of his head and pounded on his ear.

  “Get out of my head!” he shouted. “Get out, get out, get…out!”

  For a moment Thomas thought the man was going to shoot himself in the head, but it didn’t happen.

  “Ethan!” Thomas shouted. He wanted to be heard over his mother’s voice, which Ethan was obviously still hearing. “Let the girl go.” Thomas pointed his gun, but Ethan was holding the girl high, and she was blocking his torso. Thomas had two targets—Ethan’s legs. He could have tried for a head shot, but the girl’s head was partially blocking that as well. If he tried, he migh
t end up killing the little girl.

  “Ethan! Put her down!”

  There was no doubt in Thomas’s mind that he was going to take a shot. He kept trying to get Ethan to let the girl go, but either way it was going to end here. Ethan Langer was not going to get off this street alive. If he didn’t kill him, how would he ever explain that to his pa?

  “Goddamn it!” Ethan shouted. He pointed his gun at Thomas. “You wanna kill this little girl? You go ahead and take the shot. What’re ya, afraid?”

  In the end, Thomas took the shot not to save the little girl’s life, but to save his own. Ethan had his gun pointed at Thomas and was obviously ready to pull the trigger. Thomas had no intention of just standing there and letting the man kill him. He’d already killed too many members of the Shaye family.

  Thomas lowered the barrel of his gun and fired. His bullet hit Ethan in the right shin, completely shattering the bone. There was an explosion of blood, soaking the dirt beneath Ethan’s feet. The outlaw howled in pain and released the little girl. He fell to the ground, grabbing for his shin, dropping his gun. The girl ran toward Thomas, her arms outstretched.

  Thomas dropped to one knee and caught her in his arms.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked. He held her at arm’s length and looked her over. She seemed unharmed.

  She nodded. He thought she must be a brave little girl, because she wasn’t crying. She grabbed him, though, and hugged him tightly, and he hugged her back for a few moments before holding her at arm’s length once again.

  “You go and wait for me over there by that building,” he told her, “and then I’ll take you to your mother. Okay? I promise. Just stay there and wait.”

  Reluctantly, the girl left the safe haven of Thomas’s arms and went to wait for him.

  Thomas got to his feet and walked to where Ethan was rolling around on the ground, both hands bloody from his leg.

  “You crippled me, damn it!” the outlaw shouted. “You sonofabitch, you crippled me.”

  His gun was lying in the street, so Thomas gave it a good kick and sent it skittering away. Then he pointed his gun at Ethan’s head.

  Ethan glared up at him, both hands wrapped around his shattered leg, and said, “Do it! Do it, goddamn it!”

  Thomas’s finger tightened on the trigger. This was what it all came down to.

  “Go head, put me out of my misery,” Ethan said. “She’s never gonna stop, she’ll never leave me alone, will she?”

  “No,” Thomas said, “she won’t.”

  “Then kill me, damn it.”

  Thomas was a hair from pulling the trigger when he suddenly lowered the gun. He fired once more, shattering the other leg. Ethan screamed.

  “What are you doin’?” Ethan cried out.

  “You’re goin’ to jail, Ethan,” Thomas said. “You’re goin’ to Huntsville. There, as a cripple, you’ll be fair game for anyone who wants to have at you, and my mother will be in your head all your waking and sleeping hours.” Thomas holstered his weapon. “Why would I want to save you from that?”

  Beyond Ethan, Thomas could see policemen rushing toward them. He turned and walked back to the little girl, leaving Ethan for them to handle. He was going to take the little girl back to her mother, and care for his brother.

  “Ya can’t kill me because you’re yella!” Ethan was shouting at Thomas. “Yer yella, like your brother! Come back here and kill me! Come back here….”

  76

  Dan Shaye, Thomas Shaye, and James Shaye stood at Matthew’s gravesite. Matthew was being buried right next to his mother. Townsfolk were once again gathered around the men.

  It was a week later and Ethan Langer was in custody. He had not yet been sentenced, but he would be, and he’d spend a lot of time—the rest of his life, probably—in Huntsville Prison. Before he died, the voice in his head would probably drive him crazy. This was a concept Thomas had been able to embrace, but he had not yet been able to convince his father. The older Shaye was still upset that Ethan Langer remained alive.

  Thomas had not had time to leave Oklahoma City with his brother’s body before Shaye and James met him there. Shaye had decided, after killing Aaron Langer, the same thing Thomas had decided—that Ethan would go to his other brother, Father Vincent. He had retrieved James from the campsite he’d left him at and taken him to the nearest town, where a doctor treated him. He then put him in a buckboard to transport him to Oklahoma City.

  When they arrived, they went directly to the church, where they found Father Vincent. He told them what had happened and that they could find Thomas in a nearby hotel. Stunned into silence, Shaye drove the buckboard to the hotel and helped James down from the back of it. They went inside and asked for Thomas’s room number.

  Shaye left James in the lobby, visibly shaken, seated on a sofa, while he went up to Thomas’s room. His oldest son opened the door to his knock and fell into his arms, sobbing.

  “I’m sorry, Pa,” he said, “I’m s-so sorry….”

  Shaye hugged his son tightly and said, “It’s not your fault, Thomas. If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine. I should never have brought you boys along.”

  Thomas cried himself out, since he had not been able to do so until then. Shaye held his son with unrestrained relief that he, at least, was alive and unhurt.

  “Come on,” Shaye said, patting Thomas on the back consolingly, “James is downstairs. He couldn’t come up because he got shot in the hip. You see? His getting shot was my fault too.”

  “No, Pa,” Thomas said. “We all wanted to come with you. Ma’s dead, and Matthew’s dead, and the only one to blame is Ethan Langer.”

  “Well…and he’s dead, right?” Shaye asked. “You killed him?” Father Vincent had not told Shaye the entire story.

  “No, Pa.” Thomas drew away from his father’s embrace and set himself for Shaye’s anger. He hung his head and waited for it.

  “What?”

  “I-I didn’t kill him.”

  “Why not?”

  “I shot him in the legs….” He explained how Ethan Langer was hiding behind a little girl, and how he had taken the only shot he had. How he’d shot Ethan in both legs in order to leave him a cripple, and he explained about the voices in the man’s head.

  “But after you shot him, and he let the little girl go, why didn’t you kill him?” Shaye asked, confused. “You know that was the whole point—to kill him. If you didn’t kill him, your brother died for nothing. Your mother’s death goes unavenged.”

  “Pa, let me explain—” Thomas begged.

  “Come downstairs,” Shaye said. “You can explain it to your brother at the same time. I’m sure he’ll want to hear it too.”

  Shaye turned and walked stiffly away from Thomas. He was feeling many things—shock, dismay, anger, and confusion. Thomas closed the door of his room and followed his father to the lobby.

  After he explained his decision to his brother and his father, Thomas took them to the undertaker’s, where Matthew was waiting. They went in to see him together, but after a few moments Shaye said, “Would you boys leave me alone with your brother, please?”

  “Sure, Pa,” Thomas said.

  He took James outside and allowed his younger brother to cry on his shoulder.

  Inside the undertaker’s parlor, Shaye looked down at his middle son. The bullet holes were bloodless now, and that seemed to make them look more invasive. Matthew, the gentlest, kindest of men…even the way he died indicated that. Thomas told Shaye that Matthew’s hand was still wet from the holy water. Ethan had to have shot him while he was dipping his fingertips. Matthew never had a chance.

  Shaye took his son’s cold hand in his and said, “I’m sorry, Matthew. I’m so sorry, boy. Go to your mother, now. She’ll take care of you better than I did.”

  They brought Matthew’s body back to Epitaph in the buckboard, to be buried next to his mother. James was recovering well from his wound, walking with a cane, which he leaned on now by the gravesite.r />
  There were no badges on the chests of any of them now. Dan Shaye had gone to Mayor Garnett’s office upon their arrival and turned in all four badges.

  “You don’t want to do this, Dan,” the mayor had said.

  “Yeah, I do,” Shaye said, and that was all. He walked out of the office, no longer a lawman. He also sold the house, so they’d have some traveling money and might be able to settle somewhere else. He just didn’t want to stay in Epitaph any longer. The memories were too painful. He couldn’t spend his days protecting these people when they had done nothing to protect themselves, nothing to protect his wife. He gave them back the money for their bank and made the bank manager promise to send the rest of the money back to the bank in South Dakota that Aaron had robbed. He wanted nothing more to do with Epitaph.

  “But, Pa,” James had complained, “this is where Ma and Matthew are.”

  “Son, they’re buried here,” Shaye said, “but they’re in our hearts, and they’ll go wherever we go.”

  “But, Pa—”

  “James, you’re a grown man, and so is Thomas. Either of you can go or stay as you please. I’m leaving, and that’s all there is to it. The rest is up to you.”

  James wanted Thomas’s support, but his older brother had not recovered from the responsibility he felt for Matthew’s death. He had no opinion. He was willing to stay or go, whatever their father decided, so James figured to do the same thing.

  This time, when Dan Shaye dropped a handful of dirt into the grave, he contrived to miss the coffin. He did not want to hear the sound of the dirt hitting it. It was still too loud from the last time.

  Folks came to the funeral and the burial, but as they filed past Shaye and his two remaining sons, they received the same acknowledgment they’d received the first time—none. These people, once his neighbors, were nothing to Dan Shaye now. Looking at them only reminded him of how gutless and ungrateful they were.

  They waited until everyone had left and the grave digger started shoveling dirt into the grave. The three of them had their horses waiting at the base of the hill, and two packhorses with supplies. Wherever they were going, they were not in a hurry to get there.