“Stop talking and put the gun down, Harlan. You don’t want to hurt anybody else.”
Harlan turned on him and said, “Oh, but I do, old man. You took my brother, and now I’m going to kill every person in that little shit town. You know what happens to people who mess with my family, Marshal?” Harlan Wells lurched forward, dragging the soles of his boots in the dirt. “I mess with theirs.” Harlan aimed the gun back at Adam and started to squeeze the trigger, but managed to get the gun into the air and fire it at the sky. “Stop resisting me, old man.”
“What the hell’s gotten into you?”
“All of Hell.” Harlan’s mouth twisted and his eyes bulged and it was his own voice that cried out, “Don’t let me do this. I can’t stop him! He’s inside my mind. He’s going to make me shoot them! Please, for the love of God, don’t let me do this.”
“Who’s inside of you, Harlan?” McParlan shouted.
“The brother of that man you arrested. It’s too late,” Harlan gasped. He lowered the gun again at Adam and said, “I can’t—Adam—Please, Marshal, save him.”
McParlan’s gunshot cracked the air and Harlan Wells collapsed. The Marshal holstered his Balrog and kicked the gun away from Wells’ hand, standing silently over the body as people closed in on him.
Claire Miller carried a large basket of vegetables up to her front porch door and kicked it with her boot. “Frank? Frank! Come open this door up. This stuff is heavy.”
She put the basket up against the wall and braced it there as she pulled the screen door open and turned the interior door’s handle. She heaved the basket through the entrance, calling for Frank again. Claire set the basket down and wiped her wet forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. The light was on in the back bedroom. “Stop pretending like you can’t hear me,” she said. “I know you got one good ear. Don’t try to get out of helping me.”
Frank’s chair was turned over in the entrance of her childhood bedroom. She hurried into the back room but stopped at the sight of a dirty-looking man sitting on her bed. He was resting a bandaged leg and picking his fingernails with a knife.
In the corner of the room farthest from her, Frank was standing on a wobbling stack of books. He was naked and shivering and had a noose tied around his neck. There was a sock stuffed in his mouth and the noose was taut from his neck up to the ceiling beams above. Frank’s hands were bound behind his back with what appeared to be a pair of her pants and he was moaning when she walked in, tears spilling from his eyes.
The man on the bed held up a torn piece of a photograph and looked at Claire. He nodded with satisfaction and said, “I knew it. You did grow up to be a pretty one, Claire.”
“Who the hell are you and what do you want?” Claire hissed.
“I’m a friend of your brother’s,” he said. Then he grinned and said, “Well. That might not be the entire truth. The Lord hates it when I lie. Jem and I ain’t friends at all. Now me and you? We’re gonna be real, real close friends before the night is over.”
“Get out of my house, and leave us alone.”
Elijah Harpe smiled to reveal a dripping cesspool of yellow and brown. “I’m trying to be nice to you. Trust me. This is the easy part. It’s what comes next that you got to worry about.”
14. Judges 19:25
Claire Clayton was six years old when her daddy died. Most of her memories of that time were covered by the kind of fog that renders faces blurry and voices faint. She remembered how Sam Clayton smelled, though. Something like good pipe tobacco and worn but well-oiled leather. She remembered sitting in Sam’s lap and him always pressing his chin into the cup of her palm, he’d rub his scruff against her skin until she giggled and tried to get away. Sam let up just enough to let her catch her breath, and did it all over again.
She remembered the night Deputy Frank Banner was murdered in front of their house, and telling Sam, “I’m proud of Jem for protecting us and killing that bad man.”
Sam looked at his little girl and bent down to her level, like he always did when he wanted to talk to her. He wasn’t the kind to stand over her and issue edicts. He was the sort that got face to face with a little girl to tell her why it was necessary for her to go to bed on time. Sam said, “I know that’s the truth, but I want us to agree to pretend that it was Frank who killed that Beothuk.”
“But why?”
“Because it would be bad for Jem if people thought he’d already shot a man before he’s even old enough to shave. They’ll be proud of him for a little while, but if anything bad ever happens, they’re gonna say he got a taste for killing and it never went away.”
“Did he get a taste for it?”
“Of course not. I’m just as proud as can be for him, and of you too, darling. But for now, let’s just keep it between us as a family, okay?”
She did not remember anything about Jem and Anna coming home to tell her that Sam was dead. Anna told her that she sat on her bed and stared at the wall saying nothing until Jem went into his room and slammed the door. Claire remembered the inhuman howling coming from his room. She remembered things crashing and breaking in his room and the gut-wrenching sobs.
Anna put her arm around Claire and rocked her back and forth. “Jem is gonna be all right, Claire. He just needs to let it out. Do you?”
Claire looked up at her and said, “No, ma’am.”
After a time, Claire decided that she and Jem just saw things in different ways. Jem had real memories of their Mama and had lived through her death. For as long as Claire could remember, they’d been alone. The people she loved were already in grief. She never had a chance to think any other way than that you don’t own anything in this world, you can’t control it, and what you love can go away in the blink of an eye.
That’s why Jem was a fool, she thought. He still believed you could hold onto what you love.
The only other thing that stood out in her child hood was an incident that she’d never spoken to anyone else about. It was two years before the night of the Beothuk raid, which made her about four years old. One evening, Katey Halladay knocked on the door and said their daddy was going to be working late. Jem was outside running loose with some local boys, and Claire helped Mrs. Halladay cook dinner and clean up. Sam had never imposed much in the way of chores on the children, and Claire was baffled as to why Katey wanted her to wash her hands and put on a clean shirt. “It’s not like we’re going to church, Miss Katey,” she said.
Katey Halladay put three plates on the table and told Claire to arrange the silverware. “How come you aren’t staying to eat with us?” Claire said.
“I am, sweetie. Your daddy won’t be home for dinner.”
“Where is he?”
“He just had to work is all, Miss Nosey Thing,” Katey said. “Now go call Jem in.”
Over dinner, Jem was shifting in his seat with excitement. “Did you hear what happened?”
“Did I hear what, dear?” Katey said.
“There was some sort of trouble at the Willow Funeral Home with Old Man Willow’s assistant, Zeke. Daddy and Tom Masters had to arrest him and cart him off to the penitentiary all the way out at Seneca 5.”
“Is that right?” Katey said. She tapped Claire’s plate with the tip of her fingernail. “You need some more greens, young lady.”
“Yes, ma’am. So what did the man do?” Claire asked.
Jem shrugged, “Nobody would say. Just that it was pure awful and Old Man Willow was chasing him around with a bat when Daddy got there.” Jem looked over at Claire and said, “I wonder if he hurt Anna?”