Something Bad (20 page)

“Shoot, Sheriff. I really like this one.” He stepped forward again and re-extended his fingers, this time with palms down, parallel to the ground.

Sam pulled the trigger and all motion went slow. There was no sound of discharge, no muzzle flash. The bullet exited the barrel of the gun and began a slow, spinning line toward Thibideaux’s chest.

Sam could see it. He could see the bullet move through the air. But as it moved, it dissolved, like a salt crystal dissolves when dropped in a tall glass of water.

Sam’s mind spun. Virga, he thought. Like virga, where rain falls from the clouds but evaporates before hitting the ground.

The bullet was a speck when it reached Thibideaux’s chest and gone before impact. Sam watched the little man’s distorted grin widen to show a double row of silver capped teeth.

“Oh please, Sheriff Merriwether, please shoot me again,” Thibideaux said in the little child’s voice. “I really love this one.” Thibideaux moved his arms out laterally so his body formed a cross.

Sam tried to turn and run but he was frozen in place.

Thibideaux rose on his toes and slowly turned his body toward the jagged hillside. Sam’s rigid body levitated a few inches and moved toward the hillside as if Sam were a puppet under control of an invisible puppeteer overhead. The two moved in a one-to-one ballet that would have been graceful in any other context.

When Sam was in reach of the vertical rock wall, Thibideaux lowered from his toes and Sam’s feet returned to the road.

The car was only five feet away and the engine was still running. If he lets up, I’ll jump in and run the little bastard over, he thought.

“I’m not a bastard,” Thibideaux said. “My mother just had no use for my father. After their few minutes were over, of course.” He chuckled.

Thibideaux jumped backward on the road and bought his arms over his head in a big sweeping motion. Sam was released from Thibideaux’s control, but before he could react, the hillside exploded. Rocks and dirt rained down.

When the dust cleared, the only thing left standing was a partially covered sign that read, “Watch for Falling Rock.” Sam was killed outright. It took longer for his car to die.

A
T ONE-THIRTY
on the nose, Gabe slammed his car door and hurried across the parking lot. His idea looked like a good one—only a few cars meant it was past the noon rush. He’d have most of Miz Murtry’s time. Today, he didn’t want to flirt. He needed to voice his frustration about Sam’s accident. And she was a good listener.

He pushed through the door and immediately lost the bounce in his step. Billy sat at the counter.

“Hey, Billy. You hear about Sam? I was up there last night. Poor guy was killed by a rockslide.” Gabe shook his head and sat down next to Billy. “He was a good man.”

Billy looked at the counter between his hands. “It wasn’t a rockslide.”

“What?” Gabe turned his head in Billy’s direction.

“It wasn’t a rockslide. Me and John went to see Sam yesterday to tell him about Thibideaux, and Sam said he would check him out. Now he’s dead. It was Thibideaux who done it.” Billy’s stare penetrated the counter.

“It was a rockslide, Billy. I went up there.”

“It was Thibideaux. Who do you think caused the rockslide?”

Gabe grabbed Billy’s shoulder and swung him around on his stool so they were face-to-face. “Look at me, Billy. Tell me what you think’s going on.”

“Give me a minute. I got to pee.” Billy stood up and walked to the bathroom.

Gabe’s eyes tracked him until the bathroom door shut. He couldn’t remember when he saw Billy so scared.

Teddy rounded the half-wall and leaned an elbow on the counter in front of Gabe. “What’s wrong with Billy? He’s been here all morning. Had about six or seven cups of coffee. He’s been burbling to no one in particular about the sheriff, a highway, accidents that weren’t accidents, and Thibideaux.

“I wish I knew. I’ll see what I can find out.”

On his way back to his stool Billy stopped and said something to Deena Lee, who reached under the counter and gave Billy a piece of paper and a pencil.

Gabe watched as Billy smoothed the paper on the counter and drew several lines. A few more lines and Gabe recognized the sketch as a crude rendition of a map. Billy put the pencil down and turned his head to look at Gabe.

“This here’s the Tri-counties,” he said.

Over the next fifteen minutes, Gabe sat in silence and listened to Billy’s version of John’s highway theory, the group decision to investigate Thibideaux, and their theory of Mac McKenna’s accident. He let Billy ramble about the meeting with Sam, which was recounted nearly word-for-word, and about Sam’s decision to have a talk with Thibideaux yesterday, just hours before his accident. Billy looked directly into Gabe’s eyes and then twisted his neck back down toward the counter.

Gabe felt a chill. He was about to speak when Deena Lee walked up.

“You two look like you could use a topper.” She tipped her coffee carafe toward Billy’s cup.

“Thank you, Miz Murtry,” Gabe said. “How are you feeling these days? Getting close to your time?” He didn’t intend to smile, and managed to hold it to a slight grin.

“I’m doing all right, I guess. My ankles are swelling more and more, and I’m starting to get a few headaches, but otherwise I’m just trying to rest up as much as I can. I’m just starting my seventh month.” She rested her hands on the sides of her abdomen and tapped it with her right hand.

“You’re looking the better for it all. Be sure to let me know if you’re needing anything. I’m always ready to help.”

“Thank you, Gabe. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before she turned away, Gabe noticed her smile stretched the limits of her face. He watched her waddle away and entered a daydream of how he would come to her rescue, to get her to the hospital just in time, and of how grateful she would be.

Billy slammed his open hand down on the counter. “Gabe. Get them google eyes back down here and tell me what we should do about Thibideaux and all the bad stuff that’s been going on.”

Gabe leaned back from Billy a little. His ranting hadn’t included a request for instructions. “Tell me again about the highway plan and the accidents.” He stared off in the distance, without focus, and tapped his spoon on the counter.

“Gabe. Could you stop banging the spoon?”

His mind came back. It was Miz Murtry’s voice, from down the counter. “Sorry. I’m just trying to figure something out.” He defocused again but his mind took an unexpected left turn. Miz Murtry’s head on Wanna’s body, straddling him in the hayloft. He hoped no one was looking at his lap. He was showing his emotions quite clearly.

Billy slammed the counter again. “Why don’t you just give her a big kiss and get it over with? We got a serious problem here and all you can do is drool over Deena Lee. And in her condition.”

“I don’t know what to do, Billy. Let me think about it for awhile.”

“Shit,” Billy said. “It’s like Father Costello all over again, but this time a lot worse.” He got up and rushed out the front door of the Edge, into a dense fog.

Gabe watched Billy disappear into the mist and a mental snapshot froze him. He stared at the front door. Father Costello. He knew the lore about the Father’s meltdown. How he cut up all those animals and arranged them around the altar for when the people came in to worship. And then he disappeared. Gabe had heard the story a hundred times. But this time something was different. The mention of Father Costello triggered a recollection of fog. And a bicycle. Thoughts he had before, but not all together like this.

He swiveled back around to face the counter, put his clasped hands up to his mouth, and rested his elbows on the formica. He was riding a bicycle through fog. Going to see Father Costello? But what for?

He rocked forward and back on the stool and let his breathing fall into the rhythm. Going to see Father Costello … to … confess. Confession, in the … inhouse. With that final word, a flood of memories swamped his attention, flashed in rapid order. Blood. Parts. Then darkness.

“Thibideaux,” Gabe said out loud and snapped the middle finger of his right hand. “He was there.”

“You all right, Gabe?”

Miz Murtry’s voice again. He looked up. She was coming his way. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just lost in a daydream.”

“You scared us half to death. You sure you’re all right?”

Gabe stood and slid a bill under his coffee cup, then fished in his pocket for some change to top it off. “I got to go. You let me know if you need any help.”

G
ABE THOUGHT DARKNESS
would never come. He wanted to keep the memories coming and the best way to do that was to go back to the scene. To the church. Now, he knew he was there twenty-five years ago. So was Thibideaux. And although the details weren’t clear, he knew it wasn’t Father Costello who created the carnage that morning. But Father Costello was there, and that confused Gabe.

The first firefly signaled official darkness as Gabe hurried to his truck. The night was clear and warm and the engine roared on the first jolt from the starter. He wanted to get back before Wanna got suspicious.

He decided to let his mind freewheel. Trying to force memories from their hiding places only caused anxiety and he wanted to keep a clear head. Let them come out by themselves. It was like a game of hide-and-seek, but with a casual search. Ollie, Ollie, oxen free.

His thoughts flew to the church. He knew the confessional wasn’t there anymore. It was dismantled when the Protestants took over the building. But its place, halfway up the west wall, was still marked by the pews. They survived the remodel, and they were shorter from that point to the back of the church, arranged back then so the confessional wouldn’t block anyone’s view of the altar. He needed to be there, at the site of the old confessional. Maybe that would bring back the memories.

He parked to the left of the general store and walked the rest of the way to the church. The front door was locked. He hurried around to the back door and another memory surfaced. If the door was locked, Father Costello had told him to lift up on the knob and give a hard shove. It’d push open.

He tried the knob and it resisted his twist. He spun around in the darkness. The only light came from the rectory windows across the street. It was more of a glow, flickering like it was teasing the darkness. Keeping his eyes on the rectory, he lifted up on the doorknob and pushed his shoulder against the door. It didn’t move. He took a step back, grabbed the doorknob again, and timed his lift with a harder shoulder lunge. The door opened with a slight pop. The back room was dark but familiar.

The darkness hovered for a full minute, but the shapes in the room gradually appeared, like an image on exposed photographic paper in the developer tray. The door to the worship hall was as he remembered it—he pushed through without hesitation.

It was cold. He had an urge to huddle in the inhouse and a sense of warmth enveloped him. To aid his adapting eyes, he ran his hand on the end support of each pew. When a missing support signaled the indentation of the next pew, he turned to face the wall. The confessional had been right there. He sidestepped two steps. The inhouse, here. He stepped forward and pivoted so his back was against the wall, and froze.

Nothing came. He saw the outline of the altar, and the two steps that led up to it, but that was it. Maybe he was forcing it. Try to relax, he said to himself. Let it come.

He slumped on his haunches, to a crouch, and rubbed his eyes with his fists. When he looked at the center of the altar, the wrought iron railing of the first row pew partially obscured his view. An image flashed. He didn’t catch it. He rubbed his eyes again. Just let it come. Another flash lingered for a split second. White robe. But not standing.

He leaned a little to get a better view, and he nearly fell forward. The memory came fast. Father Costello sat on the altar and he wasn’t moving. Someone stood in front of him.

Gabe leaned a little to his right for a slightly different angle. The man was one step down from the altar, but his head was level with the sitting priest. The connection was instantaneous. Thibideaux. And he was saying something to Father Costello.

A cramp seized his left thigh and Gabe let out a gasp. He stood and the dizziness of the sudden posture change brought a shrinking darkness like the fade-to-black at the end of a movie scene. The cramp fought through and he staggered forward a step to regain his balance. A few steps to the back of the church and a few retraced paces and the grip on his muscle lessened. He wanted to bring back the memory stream but he couldn’t squat right now, so he bent at the waist and leaned forward. His eyes defocused.

It flooded back. Thibideaux placed something on the top step of the altar, but Gabe couldn’t see it very well. He leaned left to get a better view and it hit him so quickly he stiffened the just-cramped leg. An extra heartbeat, than another, and another. And then a long pause. This was a bad one. His head went light as darkness fell, and he acted on his one and only impulse. He put out his hands and bent his knees to break his fall.