Patton swore under his breath, walked to the bed of his truck, and opened the toolbox. He rooted around and came out with a large sledge hammer. He strode over to where the sign stood, the hammer slung over his shoulder.
“This is for you, Buddy,” he said, bringing the hammer down to waist level.
He swore with every stroke, first breaking the sign itself and then taking down the two posts that had held it up. By the time he was done, the sign was in dozens of pieces and Patton was kneeling down in the water-soaked grass, sobbing and thinking about that horrible day his friend had been murdered in front of a live TV audience.
After a few moments he collected himself and staggered to his feet, using the hammer to stand. With his rage subsiding, Patton looked at the mess he’d made. For someone who’d won the war, he didn’t feel like a victor. Maybe that was why so many of his friends from Delta, after returning from a mission or a tour, felt like there was nothing at home for them. He wiped his eyes. It would do no good for someone to drive by and see him in this condition. He was supposed to be a hero—the great liberator of Blue Creek.
He walked up the three concrete steps and paused. Images of Mike intermixed with images of his death and now this. The bastards had turned it into some kind of museum—a warning to those who wanted to escape the oppressed city. A sense of victory came over Patton. He had won. People were free. Jennifer was at home. He looked up at the sky again, took another deep breath, and opened the door and walked into the house. The place was tidy, but dusty. He walked into the large, open living area where Mike hosted his many parties. Warm memories washed over him. He could almost see his old friends and hear their laughter at one of Mike’s many anecdotes.
Patton then made his way over to Frank and Shontae’s house. A similar sentimental feeling came over him. However, the Norton home had a different feeling. It was here that they held their more formal, intimate dinners. There was wine, not beer and liquor. There was conversation and quiet laughter, not the loud reverie they experience in Mike Wilson’s home.
Patton entered the house, dreading the pain he might feel. He noticed that everything of value had been stolen, whether pawned by the new owners or looted by punks. He walked into the living room. It was here that they’d all spent their first Christmas and New Year’s together. He walked out of the house onto their porch through the glass sliding door. The decking was well worn by the weather. Some of the boards were broken and some were missing. The railing leading down into the back yard and Shontae’s garden was also missing.
Patton cried at this sight. For some reason this had been the worst part for him. So many summer nights had been spent out here on this porch. So many card games, laughs, and good times. Patton felt the impulse to leave. He couldn’t stand to be there anymore. The good memories were washed away by the bad, knowing the cause of those memories—those wonderful friends—were now gone. Patton made his way through a side gate, through the side yard and then to his truck, hanging his head in sorrow the entire way.
As Patton drove home he thought of everyone who’d made an impact on his life in Blue Creek. The outcomes were astonishing. Mike, Shontae, and Frank were all dead, as were Charlie Henry, Anna Radinski, and David Asher. Tom Perry, who Patton had bought the fishing shop from, went back home to be with his kids and grandkids.
In contrast to the pain, Bao decided to stay. Not only that, his friend and fellow spy Lindsay, got married and were living together in her house. Later on, as many people from around the country started to move to Blue Creek, Wildcat called Patton and asked how much Jennifer’s house would cost. Like he had with Mike and Frank, Patton and his friends often got together for parties. Patton even bought a little house for his mother, who would live in Blue Creek for most of the year and return to California during the winter.
It took a while for Jennifer to become Jennifer again. She’d been traumatized by her experience and she finally understood her husband, who had been through some terrible experiences himself. Their relationship was difficult at times, mostly because she sometimes had to distance herself emotionally from him. She often preferred to read out on the balcony and look over the lake to the mountains on the far side of the valley. However, there were other times that they went on long drives, just taking in their surroundings.
Eventually things got back to normal. Spending time with their new friends helped that, but as the saying went, “time heals all wounds.” One day, as winter was beginning to give way to spring, Jennifer brought a cup of tea to Patton, who was reading on the balcony. It had been a beautiful day, but it had begun to rain.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it,” she said, gazing at the rain like an awed child.
He looked at her and was suddenly overcome with love.
She returned his gaze. He looked at her for a moment then looked back out at the lake, which was being roiled by the storm. His smile suddenly faded and he had to turn away from her.
“What?” she said, concerned with his sudden change of mood.
Through teary eyes and a choked voice he said “One night… this was after Frank got killed… I was up in the mountains and it was raining like this. I mean, it was pouring.”
He looked at her and she gestured for him to continue.
He cleared his throat.
“And I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t even know if you were alive.” He trailed off, not wanting to finish his thought. He knew at some point, though, he’d have to tell her the worst of what he’d gone through and this was the worst of it.
“Anyway, I’m up on the mountain freezing my ass off. I didn’t have any shelter I just sat there on a rock letting the rain soak me. And I was thinking of you and Frank and Mike and Mary and the kids and I looked down at my .45 and thought how much easier it would be to just… you know,” he said, sounding ashamed.
She looked at him, disbelievingly, tears pouring down her face.
“I can’t believe you thought about doing that,” she said softly.
He looked at her, not knowing what she meant.
“I mean I can’t believe that you thought about doing that.”
He nodded in understanding.
“Anyway,” she said, goading him into continuing his story.
“I thought about you. I mean, I had no idea what they were doing to you. I had no idea if you were alive or if you were in prison or what.”
She looked out towards the lake, a grim expression on her face.
“When was that?” she asked.
“October. Last fall.”
She sat and thought about it. Time had passed in such fits and starts it was hard to keep track of where she had been during a certain time. There weren’t many moments to associate events with.
“I was in prison. Sometimes they had me inside. Sometimes they had me outside in that shed.”
He walked to her and clasped her hand.
“So you almost ended it all?” She shook her head. She almost didn’t believe him but he was so serious about it she couldn’t doubt him.