in the wind.
A knock on the door
It was a late summer afternoon thunderstorm, the sort that seemed to plagued the small lake community that summer back in 1961. Two young, drunken boys approached the dilapidated lake house. The smell of thick cigarette smoke wafted out of the windows, and voices emanated from within.
“Come on.” Jay said, motioning to his companion to follow him. Chuck Neigless, three fourths drunk himself, followed.
Once, when they were little, Chuck had sided with another boy in an argument Jay had had over a girl in the school cafeteria. That afternoon when he went to his bike to leave, Jay was waiting for him. A dark, black look had come over him. He didn’t seem angry, but he stood there, looking at Chuck with a set of bolt cutters in his hand. Looking down, Chuck saw that he’d cut every spoke on both wheels of the bike. Looking at him, he’d only said “I thought you were my friend.” with a dead, cold stare. Chuck had secretly feared him ever since that day. Today, that fear would come home to roost.
Jay knocked on the door. The lightning caused the wet boards of the lake house siding to glow, despite their lack of paint. Thunder cracked. A fat, drunken man with a sneer and a cigarette answered the door.
“Yeah?” the fat man said, more a statement of annoyance than a question of any sorts.
“We’re having engine trouble. Do you have any gas?” the tallest of the boys asked…
Janet tells Jay story
The early evening gloaming had settled on the town. Streetlights came on and spilled light lazily through the cheap blinds in the window that looked out of the small police station onto the main drag. An occasional car drove past slowly, and a woman with her child in tow talked loudly on a cell phone as she passed, while her child tried to get her attention. Janet had taken them to the station where she could make phone calls, clean the kids up, get them some water, coffee; to bring some normal back to their world, and to hers. The officer was a whirlwind of activity, jumping from the phone, to the dispatch radio, attempting to contact police from neighboring Sangamon, and the State office in Madison. Then she stopped, looking quietly at the floor for a moment, and in a low voice simply said “What do I tell them?” She looked up at the two shaken teens who stared at her from across the desk. “What do I tell them?” To Tanner, Janet seemed vulnerable in a way he’d never even imagined her capable of. She seemed lost, questioning.
No one spoke for a full minute. Variations of the same thoughts, the same questions went through all three minds. Then Janet said quietly, “For Chrisake, I just ran from a crime scene.”
Tanner stared hard at her. “No you didn’t, Janet. We ran from a nightmare like any sane person would.” Janet thought about this for a few moments, then cast her gaze down.
“I have to go back out there. A man is in danger.”
Tanner spoke. “He’s not in danger anymore. He’s dead.”
They all knew this, of course. They knew that if they went out there, a man’s body would be found in a shallow grave, probably still guarded by things that looked like dogs, but weren’t. Things out of a nightmare. And a boy who was not a boy who was dead, but not really.
“It’s still a crime scene.” She said, looking at Tanner. She didn’t need much convincing.
“And it will still be there when the state troopers get here.” Jen said, surprised at the strength in her own voice. Janet sat quietly for a while, staring at the floor at her feet. Then she looked up and said “I can’t drink on duty, so coffee will have to do.” She rose and poured cups for all of them.
The traffic died down outside, what little there had been. Only a few locals straggling into town to go to one or the other of the two bars that drew the only traffic past sunset on the square. The three sat drinking coffee in silence for some time. Jen found herself crying and she didn’t fight to stop it. Tanner pulled her head onto his shoulder. Janet watched silently, and then spoke:
“Tanner, there was a lot to your uncle that very few people knew about, and those people weren’t much talking. Sometimes people can have a part of themselves so hidden that even they sometimes forget it’s there. This hidden part of your uncle terrified people, and it probably terrified him, too. That’s why he kept it so hidden. Some people have two parts to them. The bad part that they hide from the world, and the good part that makes up for the bad, or at least tries to. This was Jay.” Janet paused for a moment and looked at the cup of coffee in front of her, lost in thought. The teens said nothing, waiting for her to continue.
“My father warned me about Jay years ago, and that warning never left me. My dad may have been a drunk, but he was no liar. I don’t think there’s enough whiskey in the world to make somebody see what he saw, and he was shook up about it, and really mad that no one believed him. Part of me didn’t either, but I never forgot it.” Janet looked deeply into Tanner’s tired eyes, her dark piercing gaze inquiring, looking to see if the young man was ready to hear what she was about to say.
“If he is to be believed, and I’m pretty sure he is, my dad witnessed your uncle trying to bury bodies up there at that cabin.”
Janet told about visiting Chuck Neigless at the nursing home, while the two teens stared at her. Tanner fought back sobs, Jen sat motionless, enthralled, holding tight to Tanner’s arm.
“I’m so sorry, T. You never want to think something so bad about somebody you’ve known to be a good man all your life. Your uncle was a good man. He just had something broken inside him, and it came out that day. He spent the rest of his life trying to make up for it, and hide from it.”
The two teens were speechless. Jen thought about how close she’d come to losing Tanner, and how much Tanner must hurt at the loss of his beloved uncle whom he’d looked up to all his life. Tanner spoke in halting words.
“Janet, how will the law handle this?”
Janet sat quietly squinting out the window, the gaze from her dark eyes a thousand miles away.
“It’s all got to come out, Tanner.” She said, turning briefly to make eye contact with the young man. She looked now like a caring, loving aunt more than an on-duty officer.
“It will all come out. I want you to both see a doctor.” She said.
“I’m fine, Janet – I mean officer.” Tanner replied.
Janet Littlehorse looked at him fixedly.
“It wasn’t a request, Tanner.” She said calmly. Tanner understood and nodded.
“I’ll call both of your folks to meet us at the hospital. That’s the first step. Then I have to follow up with the state buys. This is an old murder case, and it may even cross state lines, so our lives may get busy in the next few days.
Finis
Tanner and Jen stood hand in hand, their tan arms touching, light afternoon breeze flowing through their hair. Neither spoke. Their faces were expressionless. The bright green of late Wisconsin summer pines was deeper here in the woods at the far side of the lake. Delcie stood at some remove, leaning quietly on the tailgate of Tanner’s truck, head on her forearm. After a few moments Tanner dropped Jen’s hand and walked nearer to the building, kneeling setting a small flame to the wet pine needles, the smell of smoke jumping to his nose, then rising and backing away.
“What do we do with the gas cans?” Jen asked casually.
“Put them back in the truck.” Tanner said quietly.
“Isn’t that evidence?” Delcie asked.
“They were in the back of the truck before today, and they’ll be there tomorrow…” Tanner responded.
The flames shot to the dusty old building, licking up the sides with fervor. It had taken very little gasoline to start the process of consumption. The house was empty now, and they both knew this. This act was merely the closing curtain of a play that had reached its end. There was nothing and no one inside. The police tape had been collected earlier that week, the investigation having come to a conclusion. It was just an old, tired, sad looking lake house now. The woods no longer tried to hide it. The heat soon pushed them
back. One last look and the three climbed in the truck and drove away, leaving the building to the fire. As they drove off, the deep green pines swallowed the scene, hiding it from view.
“Somebody should come out here afterwards and sow the ground with salt…” Jen said quietly as the truck rolled off on the hush of the pine needles.
Fire cleanses, they thought. It purifies, sanitizes.
###
About the author
James William Penson makes his living as a technical writer and bluegrass musician in north Texas. He is the father of four, ranging in age from 14 to 30.
You can contact the author at
[email protected].
James W Penson is also on Facebook and Twitter as banjoist123
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