He just start laying on with it, Harry had written. I run back into the living room and there was blood all over the walls and white stuff on the couch. That was my mother’s brains. Ellen, she was laying on the floor with the rocker-chair on top of her legs and blood coming out of her ears and hair. The TV was still on, it was this show my mom liked about Elerie Queen, who solve crimes.
The crime that night had been nothing like the bloodlessly elegant problems Ellery Queen unraveled; it had been a slaughter. The ten-year-old boy who stopped to pee before going out trick-or-treating came back from the bathroom in time to see his drunken, roaring father split the head of Arthur “Tugga” Dunning as Tugga tried to crawl into the kitchen. Then he turned and saw Harry, who raised the Daisy air rifle and said, “Leave me alone, Daddy, or I’ll shoot you.”
Dunning rushed at the boy, swinging the bloody hammer. Harry fired the air rifle at him (I could hear the ka-chow sound it must have made, even if I had never fired one myself), then dropped it and ran for the bedroom he shared with the now-deceased Tugga. His father had neglected to shut the front door when he came in, and somewhere—“it sounded 1000 miles away,” the janitor had written—neighbors were shouting and trick-or-treating kids were screaming.
Dunning would almost certainly have killed the remaining son as well, if he hadn’t tripped on the overturned “rocker-chair.” He went sprawling, got up, and ran down to his younger sons’ room. Harry was trying to crawl under the bed. His father hauled him out and fetched him a lick on the side of the head that surely would have killed the boy if the father’s hand hadn’t slipped on the bloody handle; instead of splitting Harry’s skull, the hammerhead had only caved in part of it above the right ear.
I didnt pass out but almost. I kept crawling for under the bed and I hardly felt him hit my leg at all but he did and broke it in 4 diferent places.
A man from down the block who had been out canvassing the neighborhood for candy with his daughter came running in at that point. In spite of the slaughter in the living room, the neighbor had the presence of mind to grab the ash shovel out of the tool bucket beside the kitchen woodstove. He slugged Dunning in the back of the head with it while the man was trying to turn the bed over and get at his bleeding, semiconscious son.
Afterwards I went uncontchus like Ellen only I was lucky I woke up. The doctors said they might have to ampantate my leg but in the end they didnt.
No, he had kept the leg and eventually become a janitor at Lisbon High School, known to generations of students as Hoptoad Harry. Would the kids have been kinder if they’d known the origin of the limp? Probably not. Although emotionally delicate and eminently bruisable, teenagers are short on empathy. That comes later in life, if it comes at all.
“October of 1958,” Al said in his harsh dog-bark voice. “Am I supposed to believe that’s a coincidence?”
I remembered what I’d said to the teenage version of Frank Anicetti about the Shirley Jackson story and smiled. “Sometimes a cigar is just a smoke and a coincidence is just a coincidence. All I know is that we’re talking about another watershed moment.”
“And I didn’t find this story in the Enterprise because?”
“It didn’t happen around here. It happened in Derry, upstate. When Harry was well enough to get out of the hospital, he went to live with his uncle and aunt in Haven, about twenty-five miles south of Derry. They adopted him and put him to work on the family farm when it became clear he couldn’t keep up in school.”
“Sounds like Oliver Twist, or something.”
“No, they were good to him. Remember there were no remedial classes in those days, and the phrase ‘mentally challenged’ hadn’t been invented yet—”
“I know,” Al said dryly. “Back then, mentally challenged means you’re either a feeb, a dummy, or just plain addlepated.”
“But he wasn’t then and he isn’t now,” I said. “Not really. I think mostly it was the shock, you know? The trauma. It took him years to recover from that night, and by the time he did, school was behind him.”
“At least until he went back for his GED, and by then he was middle-aged going on old.” Al shook his head. “What a waste.”
“Bullshit,” I said. “A good life is never wasted. Could it have been better? Yes. Can I make that happen? Based on yesterday, maybe I can. But that’s really not the point.”
“Then what is? Because to me this looks like Carolyn Poulin all over again, and that case is already proved. Yes, you can change the past. And no, the world doesn’t just pop like a balloon when you do it. Would you pour me a fresh cup of coffee, Jake? And get yourself one while you’re at it. It’s hot, and you look like you could use one.”
While I was pouring the coffee, I spied some sweet rolls. When I offered him one, he shook his head. “Solid food hurts going down. But if you’re determined to make me swallow calories, there’s a six-pack of Ensure in the fridge. In my opinion it tastes like chilled snot, but I can choke it down.”
When I brought it in one of the wine goblets I’d spied in his cupboard, he laughed hard. “Think that’ll make it taste any better?”
“Maybe. If you pretend it’s pinot noir.”
He drank half of it, and I could see him struggling with his gorge to keep it down. That was a battle he won, but he pushed the goblet away and picked up the coffee mug again. Didn’t drink from it, just wrapped his hands around it, as if trying to take some of its warmth into himself. Watching this, I recalculated the amount of time he might have left.
“So,” he said. “Why is this different?”
If he hadn’t been so sick, he would have seen it for himself. He was a bright guy. “Because Carolyn Poulin was never a very good test case. You didn’t save her life, Al, only her legs. She went on to have a good but completely normal existence on both tracks—the one where Cullum shot her and the one where you stepped in. She never married on either track. There were no kids on either track. It’s like…” I fumbled. “No offense, Al, but what you did was like a doctor saving an infected appendix. Great for the appendix, but it’s never going to do anything vital even if it’s healthy. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“Yes.” But I thought he looked a little peeved. “Carolyn Poulin looked like the best I could do, buddy. At my age, time is limited even when you’re healthy. I had my eyes on a bigger prize.”
“I’m not criticizing. But the Dunning family makes a better test case, because it’s not just a young girl paralyzed, terrible as something like that must have been for her and her family. We’re talking about four people murdered and a fifth maimed for life. Also, we know him. After he got his GED, I brought him down to the diner for a burger, and when you saw his cap and gown, you paid. Remember that?”
“Yeah. That’s when I took the picture for my Wall.”
“If I can do this—if I can stop his old man from swinging that hammer—do you think that picture will still be there?”
“I don’t know,” Al said. “Maybe not. I might not even remember it was there in the first place.”
That was a little too theoretical for me, and I passed it without comment. “And think about the three other kids—Troy, Ellen, and Tugga. Surely some of them will get married if they live to grow up. And maybe Ellen becomes a famous comedian. Doesn’t he say in there that she was as funny as Lucille Ball?” I leaned forward. “The only thing I want is a better example of what happens when you change a watershed moment. I need that before I go monkeying with something as big as the Kennedy assassination. What do you say, Al?”