“I had a feeling.” The voice was Ogden’s.
Warren turned around and put the light on Ogden’s face.
“Turn the light off, Warren.”
Warren did. Then the only light was the one Ogden held on him.
“What’s going on, Ogden?”
“Not much. Not much. Why don’t you tell me what you think is going on?”
Warren couldn’t see his friend’s face, not that he would have recognized him if he could. “I think you killed this man right here. Somehow Terry Lowell found you with the body and you shot him, too.”
“That’s pretty much it.”
“Why, Ogden?”
“Because I didn’t want to get caught.”
“No, I mean why you’d kill this guy?”
“Pretty much because I could, Warren.” Ogden sighed. “It was a night sort of like this one. I brought him here and Terry was thinking he’d find a poacher at the hatchery at night.”
“Jesus, Ogden.”
“I’m a disappointment, I know.”
“You killed the men at that house, too.”
“I did. I suppose I did.”
“None of this makes any sense,” Warren said. He wished he could see his friend’s eyes. “What in the world are you into? Are you on drugs or something?”
“Of course it doesn’t make sense. What does make sense, Warren? Nothing in this damn world makes sense. Just look around. I’m out of my fucking mind. I must be. What do you think? Does that have it all make sense for you? I’m an evil man. Live is evil spelled backward or is it the other way around? I’m evil. I suppose that’s what they’ll say. I’m possessed by the devil, lived spelled backward. Does that have it make sense? I wanted some drug money. I’m hooked on meth. Do any of those reasons help this make sense? I was tired of being a good guy. Was I ever a good guy? How about that? Does that have it make sense for you? This is the way it is, Warren, simply the way it fucking is. Sad, sad, sad, sad, sad. Shitty, shitty, bang, bang. Nothing makes sense and that’s the only way that any of it can make sense. Here I am, the way I am, not making any sense. Blood in the water. Blood on my shirt.”
“You know, I’m not stupid, Ogden?”
“I know that, Warren. You’re unlucky, but you’re not stupid. And you found me. I knew you would. That makes you a smart guy, but you are unlucky.”
Warren watched the light as Ogden repositioned himself, adjusted his footing on the slippery rocks. He knew that Ogden had pointed a pistol at him. Warren was cursing himself for not carrying a weapon himself, but he never did and tonight was no different.
“I know you’re not stupid, Warren.”
“Are you going to shoot me?”
“I suppose.”
“I mean, I’m really not stupid, Ogden.”
“I’m counting on that, Warren.”
The shot made animals scurry through the darkness of the brush. It made Warren wince and tighten and his ears rang. Ogden took a step and fell forward.
Warren turned his light back on and looked at the face on his boots. It was not a face he knew. “I hope that’s you, Bucky,” Warren called out into the dark.
“It’s me.”
About the Author
PERCIVAL EVERETT is Distinguished Professor of English at the University of Southern California and the author of eighteen novels, including I Am Not Sidney Poitier, The Water Cure, and Erasure.