"I owe you…" Hart hesitated and trailed off. "…everything," he finished.
Alex was taken aback. "All I did was let you follow me."
"That's all it took. So I saved your life, and we're even."
Alex let himself slide gradually into recumbence again. "So now you don't owe me anything. Are you going to go back to being Anthony's goon?"
Hart scowled. "I wouldn't kill someone in a hospital bed. Maybe Anthony would, but I wouldn't."
"No," Alex said, thoughtfully, "no, I don't think Anthony would."
They sat in silence for a while. Finally Alex said, "When do I get out of here?"
"A day, the doctor said."
"One day," Alex said to himself, almost contemplatively. "Just one day…and…then I'm going to Sawtooth. We're going to Sawtooth. I'll see Sarah again…and maybe I can even patch things up with Anthony, if he'll listen."
"Then it's on to building a new life?" Hart asked, with a pointed note of facetiousness.
"Hardly," Alex replied. "After that, we surrender to the cops. I'll face however many sentences they want to give me. It's just…I don't know. After all that's happened…jail doesn't sound so bad."
He turned onto his side, facing away from Hart, who was left to close his eyes and wonder when he was going to tell the truth.
"It's also from today," Dave said, searching under the pile of papers littering Machry's table. "In the back of the local section. I take it you haven't looked there?"
"I never do."
"All right, well, here it is. Page 6, right at the top." Dave finally extracted a pile of paper and handed it to Machry, who flipped through it.
Dave hadn't needed to tell him the location of the article—it caught him instantly as he was paging through, and he began to read carefully, taking in every word.
ALEX ORSON FOUND ALIVE IN SASKATCHEWAN
Alexander Matthew Orson, 13, the fugitive and murder suspect believed to be dead by police, was seen early today entering the town of Sawtooth in northeastern Saskatchewan. After traveling down the town's main street, he surrendered himself to police. One companion, Hart McGee, 14, was with Orson, but did not surrender and was not arrested.
Orson was previously suspected in the murders of three people in Canada's southeast. He stood trial for this, along with two suspected accomplices, in Ridge City, Ontario. The proceedings were disrupted before the jury could deliberate. The case will be considered today in a Regina courthouse, and a judge will decide whether or not further trial is necessary.
Orson's companions, Sarah Jones, 12, Jacob Harwell, 13, and Anthony Anderson, 13, were not present. Their current whereabouts are unknown.
Word of Orson's survival had previously reached many people in the area, as he underwent an unknown surgical procedure yesterday morning in the nearby Cold Lake Regional Hospital.
Sawtooth, Saskatchewan, is famous for controversial laws allowing minors to take up residence in the city.
Machry read no further. By the time he looked up from the paper, tears were already sliding from his eyes, rolling in slow processions down his face. He laid the paper down on the table.
"Henry," Dave said, quickly, "Henry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay, Dave." Machry got up from his chair, and slowly paced across the room, to the window. Even though it was 55 degrees outside, he undid the latches and pushed it open. He took a long sniff of the crisp air, gulping it in. "Everything I knew," he said. "Everything I learned, everything I did…I was just trying to distract myself from failure. I failed Alex. I left him to fight for himself. And even once I knew everything, I couldn't help him."
"Henry, it's all right," Dave said softly. "It wasn't your job to save him."
"It's my job to save people!" Machry snapped, whirling around and causing Dave to start backwards. "That's all I'm here for," he said, his voice raised, "and I even screwed that up. How can I call myself a social worker?"
"We didn't sign up to fight society, Henry!" Dave shouted. "We don't work to destroy cruel systems, or fight for justice, or whatever it is you think you should be doing. The only purpose of social worker is to do whatever he can to make things right. And you…you did that. You did it exceptionally."
Machry stood silently for a moment. Then, he reached atop the cabinet nearest to him, and brought down a clear, half-full bottle of scotch. He placed it carefully on the thin windowsill.
"You can't be serious, Henry," Dave said, sounding disgusted. "Not now. It's not even nine yet."
"Like I said," Machry replied, "I've got some serious decisions to make. You might not see me at work for a while."
With one finger, he tipped the bottle over and out the window, letting it shatter cacophonously on the slick patio below, leaving glass strewn across the stone walk, and a puddle of scotch sprayed over the frozen gray.
Alex, his leg still in pain, sat in the passenger seat of the Mercedes, holding his pair of stainless steel crutches across his lap. As they drove, the uncomfortable arrangement caused Hart to be jabbed repeatedly in the side, until finally Alex agreed to stand them upright between his knees.
Nothing that had occurred, that night, the night before, or any other, could have prepared them for what they saw as they drove into Sawtooth the day after the surgery. Alex's mind was on the reunion with Sarah and Anthony, and what awaited him after he submitted to the law. Hart, having been told by Alex that he did not need to surrender as he was not under suspicion, was thinking about the unpaid hospital bill and what would happen to him next, after Alex was gone.
On the outskirts of town, Alex pointed toward something by the side of the road. "What do you think they're here for?" he asked, after recognizing that it was a crowd of people, bundled into winter clothing, admiring the blue skies, watching the road. Suddenly, one of them broke from the rest and pointed directly at the car, shouting something. All of the others instantly broke into raucous cheers.
"I think they're here for you," Hart said.
Alex turned to Hart. "Did you give the doctors my real name!?"
"I might have."
Hart slowed to a stop at the center of town and parked alongside the road. The crowds, which by now seemed to include the entire population of Sawtooth as well as some others, had already lined up along the sidewalks. The thing that was most distinctive about this crowd, Alex thought, was the fact that it seemed to be made up of a disproportionate number of children and teenagers; possibly about a quarter of the people there. Several of them, Alex could see, were waving signs; some had started chanting his name. He opened his door and carefully placed the tips of his crutches on the road. The crowd surrounded him immediately, shaking his hand and slapping him on the back, until finally he had to call for them to back away. He had no idea why they seemed to support him so aggressively, but he had to admit that the sight was making his heart swell, even as he searched the crowd desperately for the sight of one single face.
"Wait!" he shouted several times, trying to make himself heard over the cheers. Most of the crowd fell silent eventually. "It's not that I don't really appreciate this support," he said cautiously, not wanting to lose the multitude's favor, "but I'm here to surrender to the authorities, and I want to do that now."
He'd managed to silence them. The tumult slowly died, and people silently parted to reveal two uniformed men. Alex recognized one as a provincial policeman. The other one wasn't; he had the look of a local cop, but he didn't think Sawtooth had its own police force. The two were looking across the crowd furtively, and exchanging awkward glances, unsure what exactly they were doing here or whether they were supposed to be here at all. Finally one of them stepped forward.
"I understand you're here to arrest me," Alex said lightly, grinning as though he'd just told a joke that had broken up a room.
"Um, well, yes, we'll have to take you into custody," the provincial policeman said nervously, trying and failing to sound authoritarian in the midst of the withering glares of the throng. "Just fo
r a short time—" Alex, however, walked past him, and looked straight into the eyes of the second cop, smiling, if possible, even more broadly.
"Jeffries!" he barked happily. "Officer Frank Jeffries! Did you really come all the way from Ridge City just to arrest me?"
Jeffries tried to respond, but at the sound of the words "Ridge City," the crowd broke into roars and boos, waving their Alex Orson Lives and Alex Is Innocent! signs back and forth vigorously, so that it looked like several townspeople were in danger of being struck. The young ones were especially vehement, shouting at Jeffries like he had personally offended them.
"You are supposed to be dead." Jeffries's voice was a malevolent hiss.
"It's funny how that works, isn't it," Alex replied, still smiling. "If I'd died every time I was supposed to, god knows what I would look like now. There'd be nothing left to arrest." As he said this, he held out his wrists, parallel to each other. "Go on, Jeffries," he said, teasing, challenging. "Cuff me. You crossed two provinces to do it."
Jeffries, angered at being forced to follow what seemed to be Alex's wishes, reached for the cuffs in his belt, but was startled to feel his hand slapped away. The arm responsible belonged to a woman, who looked old but somehow not aged, wearing grey hair as though she had intended on it for her entire life.
"I'm warning you, lady, if you interfere in police operations—"
"My name isn't lady," the woman said, straightening up to a dignified height. "It's Vera Copeland, I'm the mayor of this town, and I say that until we here what the judge has to say, Alex Orson goes nowhere."
The tumultuous crowd took up a roar of agreement. Jeffries took a step back, then two, and looked around hoping for backup. However, the provincial policeman had already retreated hurriedly from the scene. Jeffries cursed and began looking for his own escape routes.
"And furthermore," Vera Copeland shouted, raising her voice to an impressive level over the noise, "I don't think I want you arresting him in any case, Officer Jeffries. In fact, I think I'd like you to leave."
"I—you—" Jeffries spat. "The law will get you for this!"
This was the last straw for the mob. Some of them dropped their signs and ran for Jeffries. Some of the younger kids began yelling, "Get out! Get out!" and the entire city of Sawtooth took up the chant. Jeffries's eyes widened and he took off, running like Alex had seen nobody run before, faster even than him. The people surged after Jeffries, who was pushing against the ground to move as fast as he could toward the edge of town. Never, for the rest of his life, would he be seen in Saskatchewan.
Copeland turned to Alex, a little more warmth in her eyes now. "Well, Mr. Orson," she said, "you've certainly brought my town together, I'll give you that."
"I just wish I knew how," he replied. He was genuinely wondering why he suddenly seemed to be a hero.
"Well, I'd like to welcome you to the village, but under the circumstances…" she shook her head sadly. "I don't know how long you can stay."
"Oh, I'd bet on a while. I must say, I really like it here," Alex said, grinning as though in on a secret joke. Suddenly, his face turned serious. "By the way," he began. "Have you seen—"
But he was cut short; at that moment, a man ran out of the double front doors of a large building that Alex had taken for a community center. "Hey!" he shouted. "The judge is on the line!"
At the heart of the community center, accessed through two doors at opposite ends of a spartan anteroom, was a fair-sized auditorium, white-walled, carpeted in blue, with rows of cushioned seats that matched the floor. Two aisles ran from the doors down the left and right sides of the audience; as well as in front of the raised wooden stage. It could seat only 500 at a time, so many of the citizens were forced to stand in the aisles, or cram up against the stage. Several of them damned the rules and climbed right up onto the stage, where Alex, Hart, and Copeland were standing, along with a sound device that consisted of a telephone hooked up to a speaker system. The room was deathly silent as the bass crackled and words emanated through the room.
"Am I speaking to the city of Sawtooth?"
"You…" Copeland stopped herself. "You should talk to him," she whispered to Alex, who stepped forward obligingly.
"You are," he said.
"And is Mr. Alexander Orson among you?"
"Speaking."
"Alexander, my name is Judge Theodore Sellers, and I must tell you that your case is one of the most interesting I've come across in my career. After you were denied a verdict by that…unfortunate turn of events in Ontario, the entire nation seems to have rallied around you."
"Really?"
"Oh, indeed. After you were declared dead, there were many—most, I should say—that refused to believe it. 'Alex Orson Lives' was the popular phrase."
Alex was taken aback to the point of silence. He could never have known this. He looked around to the packed auditorium and suddenly understood everything that had happened.
"And now to business," Sellers said. "I preside over a courthouse in Regina and was assigned to consider whether or not you required a further trial. It did not take me long to reach a decision. In light of the fact that you have practically been acquitted already, added to the, in my opinion, extremely insubstantial evidence used to accuse you of murder in the first place, it seemed only right that the nation of Canada dismiss all charges against you. I made my recommendation…and it seemed the Ridge City courts agreed with me. It is my pleasure, Alexander, to tell you that you, along with Sarah Jones, Jacob Harwell, and Anthony Anderson, are free from all accusations."
The audience erupted in celebration. With a voice that was at once one and many, they screamed and yelled their triumph. Judge Sellers disconnected, pleased with his correct verdict. Alex, however, freed from his crimes, had only one thought in mind now; and, flying down the stage steps as quickly as he could on crutches, he plunged into the revelry with reckless abandon, at first grabbing every girl the right size and asking her, then calling out her name repeatedly, yelling it as though drowning and screaming for help. His throat turned hoarse as his desperation to see her grew, and he began clawing his way through people at random, none of whom cared, all of whom were too happy with a victory that was barely his. He dropped one, then both of his crutches as he fought the tide, and, giving them up for lost, began to limp, wincing every time he stepped on his right leg. None of this mattered, not the endless congratulations of the audience, not even one citizen who told him that the town had gathered contributions to pay his hospital bill. Alex thanked him with his dry voice and forced his way into the sea of humans again, who were spilling out of the auditorium, onto the streets, letting the world know that Alex Orson was free, oblivious that he was still in chains. He continued to scream her name, again and again, until it meant nothing, simply an incantation to keep him from thinking he was back in the lake with Ordoñez, sinking and gasping for air. He lurched through a throng at the doorway and continued to shout, his throat so barren now that she would not have heard him even if she had been there. He stopped in the outer room, through which people were filing onto the street, and caught his breath with his hands at his knees, again screwing up his face against the pain in his leg. Rising up, he locked eyes with Hart, whose face was set with the effort of holding back emotion.
"Alex…" he said, despairingly. "Alex, oh, God, Alex…I lied…I lied to you the whole time."
"Hart, get a hold of yourself!" Alex rasped. "What do you mean!?"
"They were never here," Hart moaned, and then again, louder, "They were never here!"
Alex needed no other words. Ignoring everybody and everything, even the fact that he was finally in the town he had spent years dreaming of, he limped almost rapidly off toward the Mercedes, never to be returned to the rental lot, and stepped behind the wheel, slamming the door behind him. He knew that he was unable to drive but locked out his fear and turned the keys in the ignition, starting the engine to life. Looking through the windshield, he could see Hart running towards h
im, trying to stop him from leaving. Alex would have none of it; he shifted into reverse and shot backwards, away from Hart, barely checking to see if anybody was behind him.
After passing the edge of town, he turned toward the road, and shifted into drive, pressing his foot to the pedal and surging forward exactly as he had always seen drivers do. His destination was locked in mind, and he headed south immediately, moving only straight and barely turning the steering wheel. The road was completely deserted.
Highway 28 was equally empty as he turned on, and he arrived at Cold Lake sooner than he wished, hoping to keep the dissenting voice to the inevitable in the back of his mind for as long as he could. He opened the door gradually, and set his leg on the ground, ignoring the shooting pains. Eventually, he dropped his left leg as well, and limped around the front of the car, walking toward the field of death, heading for the gallows, dragging his feet to enjoy the comforts of the world for the last time. The snow of two nights and a day ago had dwindled to a thin layer, and patches of hardy grass had forced their way through in places.
Cold Snow: A Legal Thriller Page 34
