Rearview (2 page)

He'd been fired. He couldn't believe it. They weren't even going to give him a chance to explain, to state his side of the story. Just like that, dismissed, and worse: he'd been ruined.

Dan scanned the campus. Only a few students padded along the concrete walkways now, huddled together and engaged in some intense conversation, no doubt solving the problem of world hunger or touting the benefits of the latest social networking craze. Across the commons, near a young dogwood, he spotted the man in the black suit checking his pocket watch again. He seemed to be watching Buchanan Hall, waiting for something to happen. Maybe the board had acted without notifying Gary and had already reported the incident to the police, who had, in turn, dispatched a detective to make the arrest.

Leaving the stoop, Dan headed for home. He looked back over his shoulder but didn't see the man following him. Pulling his coat collar high so it partially hid his face, Dan kept walking. He'd come back later and clear out his office, after hours when everyone had left for the day and darkness settled over the campus, providing a cloak of cover.

3

Back at his house, Dan stripped down to nothing and stepped into the shower for the second time that day. He adjusted the water so it was as hot as he could stand it and stood under the heavy stream, letting it hit him in the chest and splash up onto his face. He didn't need a shower; he'd done nothing to dirty himself. He was hoping the steam and hot water would relax not only his tense muscles but his mind and allow him to think through this, to plan his defense, his next move. Some of his best ideas and most ingenious plans were birthed in the shower under a flow of nearly scalding water.

But this was more than just concocting some intangible concept or notion; he had a lot of damage control to do. These kinds of issues rarely cleaned up nicely. He'd seen it happen too many times on TV, even to some colleagues. Whether the accused was eventually found innocent or not was a moot point. The damage was in the accusation itself and was devastating both personally and professionally. Everything that happened after that was just details. And with this involving a high-profile senator's daughter, it would be shoved into the spotlight and become a media hot button. Every news outlet and daily talk show would be discussing it, dissecting it, and analyzing it. Experts would chime in and give their nickel's worth of insight into how such a thing could happen and how we could best protect our students from such menacing predators.

Yes, Dan needed more than an idea. He needed a plan of action. Or better yet, a miracle.

First, there was Susan. She had no reason to doubt him; he'd been a faithful, loyal husband. Not once in their sixteen years of marriage did she have cause to question his fidelity or accuse him of betraying their sacred vows. But things changed, and though she'd stand by his side, there would always be that seed of doubt, the question in her eyes when she looked at him. She was a strong woman, but when this thing went public, the pressure on her would be incredible, weightier than bearing the load of that famed Titan Atlas. Doubt would scratch its way into her fatigued mind and start poking away with questions. She'd support him on the outside, stand by him in court, defend her man when asked about the circumstance, but inside she'd wrestle with her thoughts and feelings.

Then there were the boys, Jack and Murphy, just seven and six. Dan and Sue would try to shelter them from the news stories, the gossip, the criticism, the tabloids, but it would be impossible in this information-saturated world to keep it from them forever. It was unavoidable. Sooner or later they'd find out that their dad had been accused of something horrific and disgusting, and it would tarnish their image of Dan, their image of what it was to be a man, a husband. Eventually they'd grow into the teen years, then adulthood, and have their own questions, wondering if it was true or not, if their dad had stooped to the lowest level and betrayed their mother. If he had used his power and influence to manipulate and force himself onto a vulnerable young woman.

Dan turned around in the shower and let the water hit the back of his head and neck, releasing the tension in his shoulders. He shut his eyes and imagined the look on Sue's face when he told her, the questions she'd have, the disappointment he'd find in her eyes, the accusation and anger, the hurt . . .

“Stop it!” He said the words out loud as if hearing them would somehow give them more impact. But it did nothing. Even with his eyes open, he saw her face and wanted to hide from it.

And then there was his position at the college. He was one month away from earning his second PhD and then the promotion would come—he'd be a full-fledged professor—and with it a hefty pay increase and tenure. It was what he'd dreamed of since graduating from Daniel Boone nearly twenty years ago. He was so close. Close enough, in fact, that he'd gone ahead and bought this new home only a mile from campus and bought Sue a new car, a Volvo Cross Country. On his current paycheck, they couldn't afford either, but the promotion was only four weeks away. It was a done deal. Gary had already approved it, as had the president and the trustees. He was in the home stretch of living the life of his dreams. Everything was going as he planned . . . until this train wreck threatened to put it all in flames.

He could hire a lawyer and fight the accusations, but he'd need a good lawyer and they usually came with a fee equal to the GDP of a small island country. Dan couldn't afford either. And besides, the senator would hire a better lawyer, one who would make Dan look as guilty as a cat caught with its paw in the fishbowl.

He could go to the board and beg them to reconsider, to listen to him, but from what Gary said, it sounded like they had their minds made up.

Suddenly Dan felt dizzy and needed to sit. He nearly fell to the tiled floor of the shower and sat under the flow of hot water. It ran down his face, into his eyes, his mouth, over his shoulders, and down his back and chest.

His case was hopeless—that was it. He was ruined. He'd lost his job and any prospect of making professor. He might even lose his PhD. All the work he'd done and money he'd spent would be for nothing. Professionally, he'd never teach again, never stand before a classroom of students and discuss Chesterton or Austen or Mr. Bumble. His reputation would be tarnished forever; the accusation would follow him around like a dark shadow, clinging to his every move, his every attempt to hide from it or shake it.

Financially, they'd never recover. The loans he'd taken out for his PhD were enough to keep them so far in debt they'd never see the light of day again. And then there was the house and car. He'd lose them both, maybe claim bankruptcy; maybe they'd be out on the street. He knew he was thinking irrationally, but it was all quite possible. More successful men than he had been taken from the highest levels of society to the lowest and found themselves and their families on the street, homeless, nowhere to go.

Dan pulled his knees to his chest and began to cry. He was not weepy by nature, he never cried during movies, and as a child, he didn't shed a tear when Old Yeller died, but the futility of his future, the bleakness that extended from the present and ended in nothing but emptiness, was just too much for him to bear. It was a long corridor shrouded in darkness and haunted by menacing, unseen things that clawed and screeched at him. A corridor that he knew would suddenly drop off and send him and his family plummeting into an abyss of hopelessness and dread. All was lost. His life, once so promising and well-lived, had been reduced to a heap of smoldering rubbish someone would find and toss away without a second thought.

His mind went back to that encounter with Erin. Methodically, he replayed the scene, but so much of it was now a blur. She'd gone from begging and crying to playing the part of a seductress, offering to do vile things, to hollering and cursing at him. If ever there was a Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde transformation, it was realized in Erin Schriver on that fateful evening. Finally he'd had to force her from his office because she'd simply refused to leave. He'd done nothing inappropriate, made sure to keep his hands where they belonged, and spoke only as harshly as the situation warranted. Her advances had both angered and repulsed him. Erin was an attractive girl, but what she had done and said was so outlandish, so unseemly, so wrong, that it had turned his stomach.

Thinking back to that evening and that encounter brought bile to the back of Dan's throat and put a squirming eel in his gut. He stumbled from the shower, pulling the curtain from its rod, slipped his way to the toilet, and—soaking wet and dripping water—retched violently. He needed to get out of the house, needed to get out of town, away from the campus and the accusations and the nightmare that had rammed its way into his life.

4

The Volvo handled the corners of the winding road without so much as a hiccup from the tires and took the steep inclines with the ease of a jet fighter climbing into the sky, eating airspace as if it were something to use up and throw away. It had been a good purchase even if they could no longer afford it. Dan gripped the steering wheel with sweaty hands and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The engine whined but did not seem to strain as it pulled the heavy vehicle up yet another hill.

As he navigated the twisting road, his mind wandered to Sue and the kids. They'd taken the train to New York City for the day to see the sights and do a little Christmas shopping. They'd left early in the morning and wouldn't be back until well after dark. But she'd most likely receive some terrible news before then. He'd resisted the urge to leave a note, knowing it would reveal his true intent and foil any benefit for Sue and the boys. The less she knew the better.

The cracked-asphalt road wove through miles of pine forest as it climbed steadily upward toward the summit. The trees were tall and thick with heavy, drooping boughs that blocked most of the sunlight from reaching the ground. Like the hairy arms of giants from an alternate earth, they leaned over the road and reached for the car, wanting to snatch it from the roadway and cast it off the mountain.

Sue would be okay with the boys. She was a loving mother, a strong woman. She would make things right in their world and, in time, would learn to move on, maybe begin anew, move closer to her parents, find a job.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't second-guessed himself. He'd be a hypocrite if he said he didn't care. But this was the only way, the only solution to a problem with no resolution, questions with no answers.

Eventually the trees thinned and parted their branches and more gray light filtered through to the ground below. The cloud-darkened sky began to show here and there, and the incline of the road leveled a little. A mile more and he'd be at the top. Dan's heart began to bang. His pulse thumped in his neck and temples as if some little man were behind his skull knocking away with a tiny hammer. A knot formed in his throat making it impossible to swallow.

He told himself he didn't have to do this—there had to be another way, but there wasn't. For the second time in his life, God had abandoned him, left him backed into a corner with no hope of escaping the sorrow and shame that lurked there. This was the
only
way; he was convinced of it and wouldn't change his mind. He had to stay the course, finish the job. It was only about Sue, Jack, and Murphy now. He pictured Sue's face in his mind, her brown hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. She smiled at him and her eyes bent into crescents. He'd always loved her smile; it was the first thing about her that drew him. He then pictured Jack and Murphy, so close in age most people thought they were twins. Their little mop heads of dirty blond hair, their blue eyes, their freckles. They looked so much like he had at their age.

Again, he tried to tell himself there were other options. They could flee the country, go to a remote island, and spend the rest of their lives engaging in spectacular bird-watching. Only they couldn't run forever. This was a stalker none of them would shake. No matter where they hid, Dan's infamy would find them and he'd be dragged through the mud by the media and the court system. He'd be demonized, found guilty in the court of public opinion before the trial even started. He'd be the man who assaulted the senator's daughter. It would get very ugly for all of them. If he thought any differently, he'd be a fool. They'd done it to others, to politicians, to CEOs, to athletes, and they'd do it to him. This was the only way, the only escape.

Finally the summit was upon him. The trees cleared and rocky outcroppings populated the road's edge, forming a natural guardrail. Beyond the rocks, the terrain dropped off in a sharp decline that went on for a couple hundred feet. A light snow fell at this higher altitude and already covered the roadway with a dusting of what could have passed for confectioner's sugar if it were a make-believe mountain. But this was no fairy-tale road and would lead to no castle with a good king who would save the day.

For the second time in one day, tears formed in Dan's eyes, blurring the path before him. He dashed them away, but more came and spilled down his cheeks. He didn't want to spend too much time up here lest he change his mind. This was what had to happen. He was doing the right thing.

To the steering wheel and the dashboard and the snow outside, he said, “I'm doing the right thing. I am.” And when no answer came, no words of confirmation or gentle commiserations, he said to the man in the mirror, “I am. For Sue and the boys. Because I love them too much.”

Then
he
was there, in the middle of the lane, the man in the black suit, the man with the pocket watch.

Before Dan had time to think or reason, he yanked the wheel to the left to avoid the idiot and swerved into the other lane. The tires slipped along the asphalt, spinning madly, until they finally found some purchase and gripped the road, pushing the heavy vehicle to the right.

Instinctively Dan hit the brakes and jerked the wheel to the left to avoid the embankment, but the tires lost traction again and spun on the freshly fallen snow. The front end pointed at the rocks along the side of the road. The car's tires hit a small boulder and bumped the vehicle up and over it. The undercarriage scraped violently and groaned. The back wheels caught on the boulder, slowing the vehicle's momentum but not enough to stop it completely.

Reflexively, Dan hit the gas, sending all four wheels spinning. The rear tires found what they were looking for, lifted the car up and over the rock and down the side of the mountain. For a second the vehicle remained on its wheels, aimed straight down the hill, picking up speed as it careened toward a stand of pines in the distance.

But Dan wasn't done. His survival meter was maxed out and his will to live erased any other plans he had. Pressing the brake to the floor, he spun the steering wheel left, hoping to counteract the indefatigable power of gravity.

Instead, it caused the vehicle to pitch and roll. The world then went into chaos. Sounds of breaking glass and crunching metal surrounded Dan, pushed in on him, jerked him about. He was in the mouth of a tornado and the tempest was confined to the cabin of the Volvo.

At some point the seat belt snapped loose, and he was tossed around inside the cabin like a rock in a tumbler. This was the end of Dan Blakely; this was what it was like to die, and here, at the end of it all, he regretted what he'd done.