“Of course it doesn’t make any sense.”
“They say he was in contact with Rose somehow. I guess that would mean mail, right? You can’t just call a guy in prison.”
He thought about it. “Or he could have visited him.”
“Right. But either way, they’d have a record of it, wouldn’t they? Don’t they screen your mail in prison?”
“I’m sure they do,” he said. “I’m sure Detective Allen will look into that. Or Maven, if he ever gets his head out of his ass. Allen didn’t go into details, but it sounds like you and Maven haven’t kissed and made up yet.”
“What would happen if I called that Browning guy again?”
“The corrections officer? He’d stonewall you again and you’d get mad again. Why would you even want to call him? What are you going to find out? Alex, it’s over. The guy is dead.”
“It doesn’t feel over.”
“You’ve got to give yourself some time,” he said. “Take a vacation. Go someplace warm for a few days.”
The freighter had moved through the other end of the lock. We could see the back of it now. There was some Arabic writing and next to that it read “Cairo.”
“You were right,” he said. “That was the Egyptian flag. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
He took me home in his BMW. I stared out the window at the pine trees. Pine trees and more pine trees. I was starting to get sick of pine trees. We rode in silence the whole way, and then we were at my cabin. It felt strange to be looking at it again after what had happened. It was the same place. A small cabin made in the woods. And yet everything was different now.
“You want me to stick around for a while?” he said. “Help you clean up?”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I need to be here by myself for a while.”
“I understand,” he said. “Give me a call if you need me.”
“Okay.” I got out of the car.
“Hey Alex?”
I looked back in.
“It’s over,” he said. “It’s really over.”
“I know,” I said.
I watched him leave and then I turned around to face it. My truck was sitting there, the hood still ajar, the seat still covered with glass. Where Sylvia’s car had been, there was just an impression in the grass.
And where the body was. Over in the woods, past the woodpile. They had taken him away, of course, but I wasn’t ready to go look at where I had killed him.
I went into the cabin, wondering if I’d ever feel at home there again. I remembered back when I was a police officer in Detroit. They told us if we ever had to kill somebody, no matter how justified it might be, there would eventually be a price to pay. At some point, an hour later, a day, a week, it would suddenly hit you, the fact that you killed another human being. I kept waiting for it to hit me. But I felt nothing.
I picked up the phone. It was dead. I had forgotten, he had cut the line. I’d have to go down to the Glasgow to use the phone. But first I’d have to go out and clean all the glass out of the truck. Or else I’d have to walk all the way down there. I couldn’t imagine doing either. I needed to sleep. Let me just get a little sleep first. If I can. If it’s possible to sleep, ever again.
I needed those pills. Just one more time. After all that had happened, who could blame me for needing them?
Hell, maybe I can sleep without them. I’ll give it a try.
I lay down on my bed. I put my head back on the pillow and looked up at the rough wooden ceiling. And then I was out.
I WOKE UP a few hours later from a dreamless sleep. It felt like something beyond sleep, like a temporary total shutdown. It was late afternoon. I had never felt so hungry in my life.
I went outside with the broom and tried to sweep most of the glass out of my truck, knocked out the few fragments of glass that were still stuck in the window frame. I tried starting it. Nothing.
I threw the hood up and looked at the wiring. Just standing there, it all came back to me, the way I felt when I had tried to put the wires back, wondering how long I had to live. In my rush, I had gotten two of the wires crossed. I switched them and tried again. The truck started.
I left the truck running while I took a quick look around the place for my cellular phone, hoping he had just thrown it into the woods. When I came to the spot where I shot him, I stopped and looked down at the ground where he had fallen. There were pine needles on the ground, a few pine cones. I could have gotten down on my knees and looked for blood, but I didn’t. I just stood there and replayed it in my mind. He didn’t think my gun was real. Did that give me an unfair advantage? Should I have fired a warning shot into the trees? But then what would have happened? Would he have thrown his own gun down? Am I going to have to wonder about that now for the rest of my life?
There will be no trial, no chance to sit in a courtroom and hear an explanation for it all. FU never find out why he picked me.
Five or six months ago, they said. That’s when this all started. What did I do to him? Why was he so obsessed with me?
As I got back into the truck I felt a sharp sliver of glass slice through my finger. I pulled it out and looked at the thin line of blood. There is nothing so red as blood, nothing so simple. And I had seen quite enough of it for one lifetime.
I ordered a steak at the Glasgow, the biggest damned steak Jackie could find, medium rare, with grilled onions and mushrooms and four ice-cold Canadian beers. Jackie slipped me a quick smile. I think he knew I was on my way back. If I wasn’t quite myself yet, he knew it would only be a matter of time. I borrowed his phone, started to dial the phone company, then I realized it was probably too late in the day. I’d call them tomorrow to have my phone line restored. And an auto glass place to have my window replaced.
I sat there tapping my beer bottle for a few minutes and then I picked up the phone again. She answered on the third ring.
“Sylvia,” I said, “I’m just calling to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she said. “I’m so okay I’m way past perfect.”
Her voice wasn’t right. “Are you drunk?”
“I’m way past drunk,” she said. “I’m just sitting here in this big old house on the edge of the world all by myself getting way past drunk.”
“Do you want me to come out there?”
“Why would I want you to come out here?”
“Because you shouldn’t be alone.”
“Why shouldn’t I be alone?”
“Because you shouldn’t. Damn it, Sylvia, you came all the way out to my cabin last night. Why did you do that?”
“You know, that’s a good question. I’m not sure why I came out there. But obviously it was such a wonderful thing to do. Another brilliant turning point in my life. I got to meet the man who killed my husband, after all. Well no, I didn’t get to meet him really. I did get to see him on the ground with half his head blown off.”
“You didn’t want to be alone,” I said. “That’s why you came to my cabin, all right? It’s okay. After everything that’s happened, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yes there is, Alex. There’s something very wrong with that. I’m not sure what, but I’m sure if I think about it-Christ, where did that bottle go?”
“I’m coming out there.”
“So help me God,” she said. Suddenly, she sounded sober. “If you come here I will kill you. I will kill you or I will kill myself. Or I will kill both of us. And believe me, I can do that now. I’ve been watching the experts.”
“All right, Sylvia,” I said. “All right. Take it easy.”
“Don’t tell me to take it easy. Just leave me alone. You got that? Leave me the fuck alone.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I closed my eyes and listened to the faint sound of her breathing.
“What have we done, Alex?” she finally said, her voice drained of all emotion. “What have we done?”