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There’s a loud crack behind me that can’t be anything but gunfire, and a tree branch above me explodes. I hear Griggs scream after me. I glance over my shoulder.
Sheriff George Griggs tears after me, the rifle in his hands.
mile marker seventy-seven
The rain continues to fall as Griggs chases me through the darkening woods.
Branches slap against me, and I raise my arms to protect my face. Thin cuts form when the wood slaps against my skin. The blood from my damaged wrist has soaked through the strip of shirt I used to tie it off. My ankle and foot are going numb. But still I run.
I know where I’m heading. I run toward the place where much of my life ended, and much of it began again. I run there only because I don’t know where else to run. My mind is like a static screen, snowy white and almost incapable of broadcasting. I’m not following logical thought. I’m following my heart, and it’s leading me to the river.
I can hear Griggs crashing through the underbrush behind me, booming steps punctuated by shouts and screams. He’s going to kill me, he bellows. He’s going to kill me like he did my father. He’s going to hold me underwater until I stop kicking and my skin turns blue. He’s going to cut off my head and mail it to my mother and he’s going to laugh, he roars after me. He’s going to watch the look on her face and he’s going to just laugh.
I zigzag around a tree just as he fires the rifle again. The bullet smashes into another tree just ahead, bark flying in the air, pitch leaking like black oil. Like the tree is bleeding after getting shot. He swears behind me and starts to move again.
There are times when I’m so far ahead of him I can barely hear him behind me. These are the times I think about taking cover, trying to find someplace to hide, but something tells me to keep going, that I need to get to the river, that everything will be okay as long as I can reach the river.
Other times it seems he’s so close I can hear him wheezing as he runs. It’s only the terror of knowing he could reach out and grab me that allows me to put on an extra burst of speed, putting more distance between us. If he catches me, I know, I will die in the middle of the woods, and no one will find me again.
I think of many things in the fifteen minutes it takes me to reach the river. I am hyperaware of everything around me, yes, but it’s like I’ve detached from myself, floating high above my own body, tethered to myself only by a thread of brilliant blue.
I remember a time my father broke his leg, when I was eight. He was laid up in the house for six weeks. “Gonna need you to be my right-hand man, Benji,” he told me seriously. “Gonna have to be the man of the house for a bit. You okay with that?”
I feel the pocketknife in my hand. It feels like it’s heating from within. I wonder at the depth of the love between Abe and Estelle, only now accepting with a rip through my chest that Abe is truly gone. They’re together now, I tell myself. Please just let them be together now.
As another bullet flies over my head, I remember the first time my mother smiled after Big Eddie died. We were working outside, raking up the leaves in front of Big House, putting them into a big pile near the old oak tree. We hadn’t spoken for hours when suddenly she stopped and turned her face toward the sky. She dropped the rake and ran and jumped into the leaf pile. She was laughing when she came up, and the smile on her face was one of such heartbreaking beauty I felt annihilated.
I trip and almost fall when I think of Nina.
After I woke up on that third day following my father’s death, she was the next person I saw after Abe. She came into the room and sat in the chair next to me, reaching out to grip my hand. I turned my head on the pillow to look at her. With tears in her eyes, she said, “I know your heart hurts, because mine does. But you have to know you’ll see him again. One day, you’ll see him again.”
I hear Griggs roar in anger behind me as I remember a time about a year after my father died. Abe came into the shop under the pretense of having his car checked out, looking uncharacteristically nervous. When I finally asked if he was okay, he told me gruffly that he was just fine, and didn’t I know there may be gold in those hills? Estelle always had wanted to go look for herself and see. I nodded, following the routine as always. Finally, as he was about to leave, he turned to me, pointed his eyes toward the floor, and said, “You know you’re just about the best friend I’ve got, right? I know I’m just this crazy old guy, but you’re my best friend. Okay?” I nodded, speechless. He left,
and we never spoke about it again.
I remember Mary and Christie telling me they were going to move into Big House, for as long as we needed them there. “You two will never be alone,” Christie had said. “The Trio will never let you down.” I had bunched my fists at my sides, trying to maintain my composure, trying to be the man of the house. Christie had come to me, wrapping her arms around me, holding me as I broke and cried into her neck, saying only, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I remember the people of Roseland gathering for Big Eddie’s funeral. The church was full, with people spilling out onto the streets. Speakers had been set up so the pastor’s voice could reach everyone. Most people kept their heads bowed the entire time. Many had tears on their faces. We stood next to each other, my mother and I, after the service and before the cemetery. It seemed like every single Roselandian waited in line just for the opportunity to touch one of us in some way, either a handshake or a hug. A hand on my shoulder. A kiss on my cheek. “He was a great man,” they all said. “He was a wonderful man.” Even Sheriff Griggs had shown, wearing a tie. He was one of the last, and even though I wanted to ask him about the status of his investigation, I couldn’t find the words. He shook my hand gently and said, “I grew up with your daddy. He’s always been a part of my life. I’ll never understand why these things have to happen to good people.” I nodded and looked away.
But even through all these thoughts, even through every flash of my life before my eyes, as the pieces are coming together to make the whole of who I am, I think of him. Falling from the sky. Saying my name for the first time. The look on his face when he ate green clover marshmallows. The way his eyes lit up at the sunrise. The way he made a home for himself inside Little House. The way he held me. “I’m a guardian,” he told me. “I’m guarding.”
The sound of the river invades my thoughts. I’m close.
I throw a glance over my shoulder. The forest is dense, but I see a flash of clothing through the trees. Griggs is still behind me, twenty, maybe thirty yards. The rifle is still in his hands. I don’t know how many times he’s fired at me, or how many bullets he has left. It only needs to be one for everything to end. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him bury me in the river and get away with all he’s done. Everyone needs to know, and I need to be the one to tell them.
I no longer feel my ankle. I no longer feel the cuts and bruises. No burning in my chest, no lumps in my throat. I have remembered enough. I have been hurt enough.
Or so I think.
The ground beneath me suddenly gives way, and I think sinkhole before I start somersaulting down a hill instead. My shoulder smashes into the ground repeatedly, and I cry out, stars dancing across the black behind my eyes. I keep my eyes closed as I tumble, wondering just how long I’ll fall. Can’t break my leg or it’s all over, I think as my shoulder hits the ground again. Can’t break or I’ll die. Water splashes up all around me. I squeeze the closed pocketknife tightly, not wanting to let it go.
Nothing breaks, at least as far as I can tell. I reach the bottom of the hill and snap open my eyes, staring, dazed, at the stormy sky. Trees sway around the edges of my vision. Rain continues to fall, the wind gusting over my skin. I push myself up, staring back up the hill I’ve fallen down. I still hear Griggs crashing through the underbrush. Maybe he’ll fall too. Maybe he’ll fall and break his goddamn neck and this whole thing can be over. I turn my head, my brain screaming at me to get up, to get the fuck up. I’m in a clearing.
The clearing where Cal fell.
The clearing is flooded slightly, and for a moment I think it’s because the river has risen so high it has overtaken the hill in front of me and is pouring down to fill the clearing, making a lake. It’s just the ground, though. The ground is so saturated the water can no longer soak into the soil. It’s too much for the ground to handle. It’s—
Gunfire. I hear the whine of a bullet more than I feel it. The ground two feet from my left hand erupts with a spray of water. I turn my head. Griggs stands at the top of the hill behind me, cocking the rifle. He aims for me again, and I still haven’t risen. This is it. This is the moment I die. I’ve almost made it to the river. I don’t know what I would have done had I gotten there, but I wasn’t fast enough. I’ve failed. I’ve failed my test, whatever it was supposed to be.
