The police arrived loudly, sirens blaring, lights flashing. It was far too late, of course, for anyone in the house, save Harmony and Lenny. The former stared in numb disbelief as the officers--friends of the late Sheriff Paul Madsen, she realized in a detached sort of way--began securing the crime scene. The latter they arrested, though he wasn't in any sort of shape to resist. When he'd slipped on the pulverized glass, he'd slammed into the already-broken pane, which had sliced a large gash into his back. He couldn't move, for fear of severing something. The paramedics had a time getting him onto a stretcher.
Clawson had been hit in the lung, falling on his accomplice (and driving the glass deeper into Lenny's body as a result) before dying with an ignominious gurgle. Jenny lay in a heap at the foot of the stairs, her neck broken. The shot at her, from what Harmony could tell, had completely missed. She'd been so startled she'd missed her step and fallen to her death. But it was Dane, silent as the grave, his face pale and blood-streaked, flecks of pizza caught in the hairs of his beard, that would haunt Harmony. His kiss had done more to her than she'd let on, sending her own thoughts into an array of possibilities and worries. For most of the movie, she'd been considering what it might mean to start a more serious relationship with Dane Amleth. She'd never begrudged Gwen and Dane's courtship--both were good friends and she liked seeing them together. Trying for something besides friendship so soon after Gwen's death had seemed unwise…but Harmony couldn't say that the idea of, perhaps someday, farther down the years, something could have come from this. But now, nothing could. It was over. She was the only one left. And she was alone. One of the officers walked over to where she sat, a blanket over her, a cup of untasted tea in her hands. "Miss Roman," said the officer, sitting down next to her on the couch. "The paramedics are ready to check on you now." "I…" The officer smiled softly, then shrugged into her thick parka. "Miss, I understand that you're feeling a little lost right now. That's understandable. We just want to check you for shock. This has been…" "Hell," provided Harmony. The officer sighed. "Yes. Care to come with me?" Harmony swallowed but didn't answer. "Okay. I'll send them to you." The officer stood, adjusted her belt, then stepped carefully over to the two remaining paramedics. The ambulance, now loaded with a critically-injured Lenny, roared away from the Lodge. Harmony watched, uncomprehendingly, at the bustle about her. The partner paramedics approached her, their hands blue from the cold--no, not the cold; they were wearing those gloves, those familiar gloves. "Hey, are you doing okay?" asked the younger of the two, her face lined with concern. "No." "Can't say as I blame you," she said. "Sometimes, talking through things can help you out, you know. Giving a statement, that sort of thing. It can provide closure." "Or it can dredge up old traumas," said the other paramedic. "Frank's right," said the first paramedic. "But if you want to talk things through, that's okay with me. I can listen while we check you over…" But what could she say? That it was ambition, cruelty, casual slaughters, mistaken ideas that had led to the tragedy all about them? How could she even start to explain that sort of thing? Yet, perhaps that was the only way to try to make sense of the chaos that swirled around her. Tears--held in since Dane had slipped away--broke out of her. Through the sobs, she began to explain, starting with the drone of an anemic copier and light gossip between Dad and the secretary, when Harmony had found herself back home. They were alone in the Lodge as they settled down on the couch across from the 4K TV that hung above the fireplace. Dane kept his attention away from the bullet holes, still unrepaired, that stared out at him like condemnatory eyes. Thinking of them reminded him of the way he'd treated Gwen, how he'd shouted at her, shot at her…a wave of embarrassment and shame rolled over him and he turned away. The remote controls wouldn't turn on the TV themselves.
"I'm going to order some pizza, okay?" asked Harmony, flicking her phone on. "Sounds good." "Pineapple and ham sound good?" Dane snorted. "If your bloodline is weak, yeah." Harmony stared at him. "What?" He shook his head. "I mean, I'd rather pepperoni, if that's okay." "Yeah, no problem." She stepped into the hallway to place the order while Dane fiddled with the streaming service until he pulled up a movie he thought might be nice. It was some original programming movie about a knight, a princess, and a sorcerer. Probably a fair amount of blood, guts, boobs, and swearing--the perfect thing to take his mind off of what he'd just been through. Harmony parked herself next to him and they started the film without speaking. Some thirty or so minutes later, the pizza arrived. Dane collected the food and paid the woman, then he and Harmony chomped through most of the pie together. As they ate, Dane found his attention sliding away from the film, floating from one thought to another as the screen flickered and the sound system raged. Why had he kissed Harmony? It had seemed like the right thing to do at that moment, kind of an indication of how much he really appreciated her. It was, after all, just a kiss, right? He caught the profile of her face in the eerie blue hue of a TV screen, her slightly-slanted eyes fixed on the movie. She was beautiful, but that didn't give him any right to do what he'd done. There was no reason for him to invade her space like he had, to say nothing of what it might mean. They'd been friends for so long, the possibility of it being something more was just…strange. It felt completely wrong… …but also completely right. That was what bothered him so much: He wasn't really sorry he'd done it. Sure, he'd startled her, and if she wasn't interested in that kind of physicality, then there was an issue. But in terms of his own heart, it had felt like the right thing to do. Returning his attention to the television, his eyes brushed over the spot where the home-security system had been and he'd shattered with one lucky shot. Gwen… If nothing else, that should be his real impulse toward embarrassment and remorse. His girlfriend, the one he'd shared such wonderful moments, the love they'd shared…was he giving up on that already? Bouncing from a tragedy of death to try to find affection in the arms of the still-living? If that was the case, could he really blame his mother for what she'd done? After all, it had been for him. At least, that's what she'd said, wasn't it? She was doing it for him, to keep Elsinore Ranch in the family. Yet how well was that working, if the Norway deal ended up going through anyway? Clearly, Mom's plans had gone awry. If he was to learn anything, he would have to start learning from others. Dane drew in a deep breath and toggled the pause button on the remote. "Hey!" said Harmony, as though being waked from a deep sleep and not appreciating the alarm. "What--" "Harmony, look," he said, straightening and looking at her. "About…about the…you know…" "No," she said slowly, clearly confused. "Not really." Sighing, he glanced around the room. The bullet holes stared back at him. "I'm sorry about the kiss." "Oh. Right, well…" "I didn't mean to…" Harmony grabbed his hand. "Like I said in the car, Dane, it's something that I have to think about." "No, I mean…I like you. I really do. You're my best friend. You have been for as long as I can remember, it feels like." She chuckled without humor. "Tell me about it." "And you've been the only reason I've survived this past month or so." "It's nothing," she said, squeezing his hand with hers. "It's what friends do. I told you." "I know. It's just…I don't want anything to ruin what we have. Few people are lucky to ever have a friend half as capable, thoughtful, brave, and loyal as you." "Stop, you're making me blush!" "No, I'm serious. You are an incredible woman. I've taken that for granted. So…" He drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry. For anything I may have done to you that I shouldn't have." "Well, apology accepted." She smiled at him in a way that Dane recognized as being a personal, genuine smile--not the sort of thing she would attach to her face at a bar when a guy was trying to con her phone number from her, or the polite-but-not-interested-in-this-conversation smile he'd seen her use with some of her father's clients over the years. It warmed him to know that she was being so honest with him. "But I have a question for you." "Anything." She jerked her thumb at the screen. "Can we keep watching? I want to know what happens." Dane glanced at the TV, then back at Harmony. He laughed and pressed the play button, settling back down. A few minutes later, Mom walked in the front door. "Hey, you two," she said, lurching forward and gripping the bannister that led up from the entryway. "I'm headed straight to bed, if that's all right." "Oh." Dane craned his neck to look up at her. "Are you okay?" "I'm…just tired. It's been a long day." She hesitated. "Dane, you know you shouldn't have…" "I know." "Well, you should apologize to Lenny and Clawson. They didn't deserve what you did." He felt a fire of anger flame in the pit of his guts. "Okay," he said in a non-committal voice. "Really, they're still pretty pissed off." "Where are they, Jenny?" asked Harmony. "They're going to Outer Darkness. I wasn't interested in any drinks, so I asked them to drop me off here before going to the bar." Dane nodded. There was only one bar in all of Noah, and the proprietors spoke LDS-ese well enough to name their establishment after the Mormon version of hell. It was the sort of long-road-to-the-punchline that had entertained Dane when he was younger, but he simply found it tacky now. "Good night, you two," said Jenny, starting her climb up the stairs. Dane heaved himself out of the grip of the cushions and hurried to his mother's side. "Let me help." "I can walk up stairs, you know." "So can I." "I'm fine." "Good." He helped her up to her room, giving her a goodnight hug and bidding her pleasant dreams. He came down the steps to find Harmony involved with her social media. Once he'd dropped back into the couch's embrace and fired up the film, Harmony scooted next to him, quietly watching the story unfold. One movie turned into two, and soon enough, Harmony's head was lolling against Dane's shoulder. He was just as detached from the second film as the first, paying little attention to what was there and letting his thoughts wander where they would instead. Eventually, he, too, slipped into the silence of sleep. Something shattered behind him. Dane's eyes popped open. On the TV, the program was patiently awaiting an action: "Are you still there? Select 'OK' to continue watching." His right arm was numb, with Harmony soundly asleep there. Doing his best to turn without too much disturbance, he felt a ghostly passage of icy air breeze past him. The door was open, with the porch- and moonlight casting diamond-like sparkles over the broken glass on the floor. Shifting, he forced Harmony up. "What is--" He put a finger to his lips as he started to stand… …only to drop as a heavy club dropped across his shoulders. His breath gushed out and he fell to the ground with a dull thud. Harmony screamed and backed away on the couch, her hands near her mouth. For his part, Dane coughed a couple of times. The injuries from the accident, still delicate, shrieked at the abuse. A burning ache started across his shoulders and his mind whirled as he struggled to his feet. Hands dropped on his back, hauling him up. A vicious punch to his stomach sent what little air he'd regained free. Pizza came out in a slimy torrent, spraying over the ottoman footstool and the hardwood floor. A right hook crashed against the side of his head. A Fourth of July show behind his eyelids accompanied him as he dropped again to the ground. Blood pumped from his now-broken nose. Harmony screamed some more, and there was a clatter of feet upstairs just as Dane's eyes came into focus. There, beneath the couch, where he had left it, was the ASP. Struggling against the pain in his body, he reached out. The cold metal lay just beyond his reach. One fingertip caressed the iron sights, then slipped free. Another shout from Harmony, then a confused, "Dane?" and a yelp as someone slipped against the door. He could only hear what happened next, but the report of a gun going off, a cry, and a tumble down the stairs was enough to paint a picture for him. Lunging forward, he pulled out the ASP and got to his feet. "No! What did you do?" The voice crying with despair was deep and familiar. The man--no, men, there were two of them--in his house, clad in dark camo and face covered with a ski mask, stared at his partner, who lay sprawled against the open door. "Freeze!" shouted Dane. It was a stupid thing--coming from too many TV shows, he figured--but it was what came out. The standing man turned at the sound and, perhaps out of spite or surprise, pulled the trigger. There was a pop, a flash of startling pain in his side, and Dane crumpled. The ASP went off as he fell; the standing man fell backwards, crushing his accomplice. In the darkness, his life bleeding out in the same room that he'd threatened Gwen in, Dane suddenly realized something. It had been there all along, the great understanding that had been the key to his own sadness and melancholy. It was so obvious, so clear… Water fell on his face, pulling him out of his reverie before he could formulate what he now understood. He looked up. The room was dimly lit by the TV and the light coming in from the open front door. Harmony, the left side of her face thus illuminated, the other half hidden in shadows, sobbed. She said something, but it faded from his grasp before he could recognize the words. Words. Words were all they had, when he stopped to think about it. Words that told stories, that confessed crimes. That apologized and loved. They were important, words were. So sad that he didn't know them anymore. Harmony had her phone to her ear, she was saying something, crying and blubbering. It was too much. Her words faded into the slight buzzing in his ears. Dane looked around one last time. It was over. The buzzing faded. He had nothing left to hear. The rest was silence. It was too much, he realized only in retrospect, to see his uncle-father and Gwen's brother, out there in the cold, windswept cemetery. Too much anger, too much frustration, too much pain. He knew that Clawson was a killer, that Lenny was mentally unstable. He also knew that he didn't have much in the way of fighting abilities, having never gotten past the introductory time period of karate at some guy's house, twenty minutes away in Ephraim. Knowing all of this and the stupidity of his next action, Dane went in swinging anyway.
He cleared the low log fence with an easy jump, landing on a frosty clump of dried-up weeds, and ran toward the two men, his mother standing to one side and only dimly entering into his periphery. Lenny noticed the approach in time to step back, but Clawson was blindsided as Dane crashed into him, a wordless bellow accompanying his tackle. The two fell to the frozen ground, with Clawson's superior strength and mass quickly turning the surprise attack around. Before Dane could land more than a punch or two, Clawson had bucked him off and had pinned him tightly to the ground. Lights burst behind Dane's eyelids as first one and then a second blow rocked his head. He tasted blood. Screams filled the air, and then the crushing pressure on his torso lifted. There was more scuffling and it took a moment for Dane's mind to clear enough to understand what was going on: Lenny had pulled Clawson off of his nephew-son, with Mom hobbling over to put calming hands on Clawson's still straining arms. Rolling onto his side, Dane tried to regain his feet, but a wave of dizziness knocked him down again. "--the hell he's doing?" Clawson's shouts were loud enough to cut through Dane's cotton-stuffed ears. "Stop it, Claw, stop it now!" "He nearly killed you!" "It was an accident!" "He killed your dad!" This last one pulled Dane's attention to the speaker, only to realize that it was actually Clawson shouting at Lenny, who was holding Clawson back but with less than his full effort. The reminder had drained Lenny's face of color, and he stared at Dane with an inexpressible expression. "What the hell was that, son?" demanded Clawson, shrugging off the impeding hands but not lunging forward, either. "I'm not your son," said Dane, staggering to his feet. His still-new injuries throbbed. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and he jolted away in surprise. "It's me," said Harmony, her voice low. "You're insane," snarled Clawson. "Jen, you didn't tell me that your kid was a damn retard." "Clawson!" "He attacked me out of nowhere!" "You're selling this land, is that right?" The comment drew Clawson up, and he shot a nervous glance at first Dane and then Mom. "What if I am?" "Clawson," said Jenny, her voice almost too quiet to hear, though there was a tone of dismay that Dane heard. "You're no Amleth. You don't belong here." Clawson snorted. "You're one to talk. Prissy little snot, too busy reading his books and studying the most useless of all majors--philosophy--and then comes home and starts moping around like a damn woman. You think that we're impressed by you?" Before Dane could engender a retort, Lenny stepped forward. "Why are you here at all?" "I live here." "No, I mean, why are you alive and my father isn't? And my sister? You know how she died, don't you?" The question stalled Dane. He shot a glance at Harmony. "I heard, yeah." He worked his mouth a couple of times, the coppery taste of blood making him choke. "I'm sorry for your loss. I…" He hesitated but only for a moment before saying, "I loved her." Lenny snorted. "You didn't act like it." The comment sliced deeply into Dane's heart. He'd been so wrapped up in his own problems, the drama of his current life, that he realized that he had failed Gwen. She'd been special to him--he really had loved her--but he'd lost sight of that. She'd wanted only to keep the men in her life happy. He thought back to their conversation in the church foyer the day of Papa Dane's funeral. She'd tried to be there for him, but he'd had this moment, this strange miscarriage of thought that had made him think that she'd be better off not hanging around the Amleth family anymore. That she was in danger, as Dane had such dark suspicions to unearth. There wasn't much he could say to Lenny's comment, because Lenny was right: Dane hadn't been a very good friend, and a worse boyfriend. The realization made his heart drop into his stomach and he lowered his gaze. "I should have," Dane said, his voice low. "I'm sorry. I mean it." Lenny stared, clearly unmoved. Clawson watched, his face still crumbled in fury. Jenny watched her son, one hand on Clawson's arm--in part to steady herself, in part, no doubt, because she looked to him for comfort now--and the other hand over her mouth. With a quiet nod, he turned from the group and headed toward the street and, up the road a ways, the car that he and Harmony had taken up there together. Harmony fell in step with him, as she always did, and he couldn't help but notice her presence. As he climbed over the fence, he asked her, "Why do you stay with me? Why are you still my friend?" Harmony sighed as she swung one jean-clad leg over the fence and then the other. "You know why, Dane." "I don't think I do. I do stupid stuff like--" and he gestured behind him "--that all of the time. I'm lucky to be alive, what with the fact that I'm living with a murderer. You've put your life on the line for me multiple times." Harmony gave him a strange look, one that he couldn't quite place until she spoke. As the sunlight bled out of the sky and the rapid-dark of a winter night began its conquest of the day, she said, "Because we're friends, Dane. It's what friends are for." He chewed on that thought as they progressed to the car. As they clambered in and Harmony gently backed the car into the road, her head turned to look over her shoulder, Dane noticed the gentle pulse of her heartbeat visible on her neck. Strands of black hair poured from beneath her beanie, framing her beautiful face. Dane had never really noticed before how pretty she was--at least, not normally. He knew she was cute, in the same way that a kid might recognize that same reality about his cousin--true, perhaps, but not noticeable. This wasn't really a surprise; he'd always had eyes only for Gwen. Then he'd screwed that up. Dane shook his head and looked away with a sigh. "What's that mean?" asked Harmony as she settled in the seat and dropped the car into gear. "What's what mean?" "That sigh. There's matter in these sighs." He shook his head. "I guess." "So?" Dane looked out the window, then rolled his gaze over to Harmony just as they passed the graveyard. It was empty now, with Mom, Clawson, and Lenny gone already. "You know, Harmony, that place is special." "What, the cemetery?" "Yeah." She chuckled as she fiddled with the heater. "I gathered as much by the way you tackled your funcle because of the idea that he was selling it off." "No, I mean…special people belong there. After they die, of course." She laughed. "Yeah, I would assume as much. I hope that you don't keep your cemetery for special living people." "No, but…" Dane wasn't sure what he was saying, so he trailed off and watched the death-yellow foliage streak past his window. "But what?" "Don't take this the wrong way, Harmony," he said, knowing what the words were going to be before they made it out, unable to stop them, "but if it were up to me, I'd want you there, too." Harmony considered the road for a second before glancing over at him. "What, like--" "You're part of my family. More than Clawson ever could hope to be." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you." Harmony didn't answer, but he saw a distinct blush rush up from her neck and cover her cheeks. "Dane, I--" "Want to watch a movie?" he asked, desperate to change the subject. Why had he done that? What was that supposed to mean? It was a joke, wasn't it? His mind wasn't on track; it had been acting strangely, thinking strangely for far too long. It was strain…a hope to express his appreciation to her without speaking. That was it. That was all it was. "Um…" "Just something normal, you know? Like two millennials should do on a weekend night." "Oh…okay," said Harmony, her voice small and her fingers tight on the steering wheel. They drove on for a few minutes in silence, until at last Dane said, "I'm sorry for not asking first. I didn't mean…" "No, that wasn't the problem. I just…I'm going to have to figure out what that means." "I--" She shook her head as she pulled into the Lodge's lengthy driveway. "Don't say anything, Dane. Just…give me a bit to think, yeah?" "So…the movie?" He asked more because he didn't want Harmony to go than because there was anything that he really wanted to watch. He was surprised at how happy it made him when she nodded her head. "Yeah. That'd be nice." She clicked off the car and together they walked through the icy wind and into the empty Lodge. Harmony Roman
Sliding into the hospital parking lot, Harmony spotted the unmistakable behemoth of Lenny Madsen's Ford F-150, greasy with travel--a sure sign that he had recently arrived in town. The man was obsessed with that truck, and leaving it that filthy could only mean something else was on his mind. Of course, Harmony didn't have to think hard to figure out what that might be. Eager not to confront the sole Madsen, Harmony hurried inside and turned left just past the nurse's station. She arrived at the door for visitors, which required her to punch in a code--3152#--and let herself in. A brisk walk down the linoleum-tiled hallways and she was at Dane's room. She tapped it gently before letting herself in. Dane was, to her surprise, sitting up on the side of his bed, dressed in his clothes. "Are you…Dane, what's going on?" He looked at her and smiled. "I'm doing better than expected. They said I can go home. I just…" He gave her a sheepish look. "I don't have a phone anymore and I don't, um…I don't know your phone number. I'm glad you came." Harmony laughed and gave him a gentle hug. "This is the best news we've had in…" "A long time?" "Yeah, something like that." She smiled. "Come on. I'll get you home." "Great." Leaving the hospital was the easy part; the next few days, however, were fraught. There was a lot to do, a lot to put back together, a lot to decide. Clawson spent most of his time away, while Harmony would come to the Ranch as often as she could to help Dane get around. A week passed; Jenny came home, though Dane was careful not to cross paths with Clawson. Every time Harmony came over, the tension was sharp in the air. The day before Gwen's funeral, she and Dane sat in his room. He stared out the window, clearly lost in thought. Harmony set down the book she was reading and said, "What's on your mind?" "Nothing," he said. Harmony snorted. He broke off his thousand-yard gaze and focused on Harmony. "I need to get out of the house. Come with me?" "Sure." She stood and stretched. "Where are we going?" "The butte." "It's cold, man." "Wear a coat." Harmony grumbled a bit but obeyed. This was the most active that Dane had seemed since leaving the hospital, and, to be frank, Harmony was glad to leave the chilly atmosphere of the Lodge behind. They took Harmony's car. Dane closed his eyes and she noticed sweat sprinkling his forehead as they rounded the turn that still had the black skid marks from the accident. The bushes, mangled and broken, were dying. She drove on without commenting. Once they'd rounded the turn, Dane loosened up. "Sorry," he said. "Nothing to apologize for." The rest of the trip was in silence. After they arrived at the parking spot near the butte, they hiked up the familiar hill to where they could see over the Ranch. "I was talking to Dad," Harmony said as they settled on the boulders that acted like benches. An icy wind rattled the naked scrub oak branches. Snow was forecasted for the next day, and the skull-gray sky made everything feel washed out and colorless. The weather, it seemed, mirrored the world. "Oh?" "The Norway deal is happening. There's nothing we can do to stop it." Dane grimaced. "How much are we losing?" Harmony gestured. "Basically everything that you see that's south of the Lodge, from about there." She pointed out the landmark. "It's complicated--probably take another few months or so. But by next planting season, yeah…Elsinore Ranch will no longer be in charge of the majority of this place." Dane grimaced. "It doesn't bother you, does it?" He looked down, then regarded the landscape in front of him. "It does." Harmony's eyebrows rose. "I didn't take you for wanting to stay in Noah. I didn't think you were interested in the Ranch." "I'm not. But I'm not interested in it being in someone else's control, either. It's my family's land. Not someone else's." He shook his head. "But I don't know the first thing about land acquisition deals or these kinds of sausage-making parties. I just…" He shook his head. "I just feel like I'm letting my dad down by allowing this to happen." "Most of it happened while you were unconscious, Dane. I hardly think he'll hold that against you." "It feels like I'm losing everything, though. You know?" "Yeah." "Like, the Ranch is one thing, but my mom hasn't been the same since she got out of the hospital. I'm still in constant pain. I can't even look at Lenny. And losing…" He struggled to finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. She knew what he meant. Harmony put a hand on his. "Hey. Don't let it eat you up." "This would be so much easier if I had just died." Harmony gasped and retracted her hand. "Don't say that!" "Why not?" "The world is a better place with you in it." He snorted. "George and Ryan probably don't think so." Harmony hesitated. "Yeah. I still can't believe you did that." "They deserved it. And Clawson does, too. He probably hasn't figured it out yet, since he's been so preoccupied. But it'll come." He sighed. "At least I have satisfaction in that." Harmony forced a smile. "See? There's a reason to stick around!" "Because I'm an irritation to my uncle-father?" "I guess. Hey, the wedding isn't going to happen for a while yet, though, right? Because of the accident?" "Small comfort." "Sometimes, Dane, that's all there is." Dane sighed. "Ricky said the same thing." "Ricky?" He nodded. "Ricky Ortega. We called him Ricky-O. He was a farmhand. We loved having him around because he was such a funny guy." "I don't remember him." "By the time you came around, he was getting older, sicker. He died when I was in high school. But when I was a kid, he was always around. I remember he had a chip in his tooth that looked like an upside-down Utah. It always made him whistle when he said the letter S, and since he was Peruvian, he had this great accent to go along with it. He would make great jokes, with perfect timing…anyway. "One time I was really upset about something, I don't remember what. He pulled me aside and told me about how he had lost his wife and kids in a bus accident in Lima. He'd been so devastated that he could only think of leaving Peru behind. He came here, since he had some family who'd settled in Salt Lake. But he was done with the city life. Ended up here. He told me that living with us, helping the Amleth family, was like starting over again. It wasn't the same, of course, but it was something--a small comfort." Dane affected a surprisingly accurate Peruvian accent. "'Dane, you gotta remember that sometimes the esmall comforts are the only ones you get.'" Dane pointed at a gnarled tree in the far distance. "When he died of cancer, we buried him there. As one of the family. It was a small comfort…" "But it was a comfort," finished Harmony. He sighed and nodded his head. Then he paused, a strange look covering his face that she didn't recognize. He stared at her eyes deeply, as if he were trying to memorize what he saw there. His eyes flitted from place to place, taking in her cheeks, her nose, her lips. He leaned slightly closer to her, slowly, but deliberately. He cleared his throat and, deliberately, almost as if he were embarrassed, said, "Harmony, I…" Before he could say anything more, a car pulled up at the family graveyard. Clawson and Lenny threw open their doors, then Clawson went to the passenger side to help Jenny out. "What's going on down there?" asked Dane quickly, straightening and turning his attention to the people below. "I don't know. Maybe…" They watched for a moment. "Maybe what?" asked Dane. Harmony shrugged. "Dad told me that Clawson was interested in interring Gwen here." "Oh. Well. I like that. It would be wonderful to have her on the family Ranch." Harmony blinked in surprise. "Dane, I just told you that this area is going to Norway." "What?" "What do you think I meant when I said the land south of the Lodge was going to Norway?" "But…Why would he do that?" A fire kindled in his eyes, and Dane stood up suddenly, his body tight with an anger that Harmony was sure wouldn't help him recover. "It was part of the deal. The cemetery is going to be Norway's after the deal is over." "Like hell it will," snarled Dane, who spun on his heel and headed toward the car. "Dane?" asked Harmony, alarmed. She scrambled to her feet. "Dane, what are you doing?" He didn't answer as he stomped down the path. Harmony had no choice but to hurry after him. Chapter 21
Clawson Amleth Clawson stared at the tiled floor of the emergency room, a blanket about him, his mind elsewhere. His thoughts kept churning over what had happened: Gwendy's bizarre actions, strange words, and--more than all the rest--the joyful smile on her face as she'd fallen backwards. He had stared a full twenty seconds in dismay and shock at the body crumpled in the water, the sickening crack of her neck breaking still echoing in his ears, before he could get himself to move. He had screamed and shouted while trying to get down the embankment himself. That had been his own trial, as he had to get low enough to land in the water without hurting himself, but fast enough to keep her from drowning. Her limbs had moved with more than the current, as if they were trying to keep Gwen's entire body alive, but every moment that passed would take her a little farther away. By the time he'd reached her, he was confident she'd be dead. Knowing that moving a head after a neck injury was a bad idea, but letting her drown in the muddy creek seemed a worse one, he'd splashed his way toward her, shivering as the icy water splashed over him, soaking his jeans and filling his shoes. The water was only about shin deep, but that would be more than enough to kill her, he had decided. His shouts had brought help, who saw him sitting in the creek, his body acting as a levee of sorts, with Gwendy's head in his lap, just above the waterline. It had taken twenty minutes to get to her. They weren't sure what to expect now, though one doctor had stopped by the curtained area of the ER where he was sitting, his soggy clothes exchanged for a hospital gown, a thin blanket, and a cup of crappy coffee (he remembered his brother's admonition to never drink Mormon-made coffee; they had no idea what they were doing), and thanked him for his efforts. "Without you there," the doctor had said, her hands gently holding onto the stethoscope, as if it were a towel she'd thrown about her neck, "she would've been dead. Completely dead." "Now?" he had asked, though without much hope. "Well," said the doctor, her eyes growing distant. "Well, we'll see, won't we?" Clawson sniffed and shook his head. He could hardly believe what had happened to him the past few days. If he were a superstitious guy, the quantity of missteps and accidents they'd suffered at Elsinore Ranch would be enough to make him think that the land was cursed. Paul, dead; Gwen, insane and at death's door; Jen, recovered and improving, but it had been a close call; Ryan and George, unwilling to return calls or texts; Lenny, saying that he was on his way but without an ETA; and, of course, Dane, the source of all of Clawson's woes, was out of his coma and leaving the hospital the next afternoon--just a few hours after Jenny was scheduled to be released. Thinking of Dane Jr. inevitably led him to think of Dane Sr., which was not something that he really wanted to do. He'd known that there were problems he'd have to deal with when he pulled that trigger; feeling guilty wasn't one of them. Dane Sr. would never have agreed to parcel off the land to Northern Way Ranch, and he certainly wouldn't have given Clawson a fair share of the profit, even though it had been Clawson's doing from the get-go. And Jenny, well…she knew that her husband was probably making a mistake. She didn't know what Clawson had done, of course--who would tell his future wife that it was he who killed her previous husband?--but she certainly had her reasons for being reluctant to marry. Senior's death had thrown so much of the ranch into chaos that it was a wonder that Clawson had managed to fix as much as he had. None of that changed the fact that part of him couldn't really rationalize what he'd done. If he were a religious man, he would have called it a fit of conscience. The thought to pray, to offer up some sort of apologetic supplication slipped into his mind, but he rejected it outright. Not only was he an atheist, but even if he did believe in a god, what god would condone fratricide? Or bribery, as he'd done to Paul to keep the murder from looking suspicious? Or…incest? No, it wasn't that far. He and Jenny weren't actually related. Only in-laws, only through marriage. That, at least, was not something he had to worry about. But why worry at all? Because of the gun, that was why. Dane had acted so strangely in the house while he and Paul had watched through the hidden camera. He wasn't behaving the way a normal, mourning kid would. More than once, Clawson had spotted Dane staring at him with a look of suspicion and outright hostility. Hadn't he given Paul a runaround at the house when the sheriff had gone to talk to him? That was so out of character for his nephew that even Jenny had mentioned that she was worried about her son. And how had she ended up in the accident, anyway? Clawson had thought that she'd gone to town for some groceries, but instead he'd arrived where Ryan and George had told him to go, in the opposite direction--heading into the mountains. He sipped the coffee, then grimaced. In that, at least, Senior had been right: This stuff was awful. Groaning, he stood up, his bare feet rebelling against the cold tile floor. Clawson tugged the blanket more tightly about him, trying hard not to think about how many times someone else's blood had sprayed on the floor here. The buzz of the ER surrounded him, undiminished by the cloth curtains. He tugged free his phone from the pocket of his pants, but it wouldn't turn on. Probably dead for good, after being in the creek for as long as he had been. "Sir! You can't go back there!" The admittance nurse sounded close, shrill, and upset. Clawson frowned as the sound of curtains being thrown back came closer and closer to him. At last, the curtain dividing him from the rest of the emergency room clattered open and, much to his surprise, Lenny Madsen stood there, his face red and huffing, his body taut with a fury that Clawson could empathize with. Behind him was the little admittance nurse, who only came up to about the middle of Lenny's bicep, and was trying to tug on him. "You can't be back here, sir! I'll call security!" Clawson held up a hand. "Please, miss. He's a friend. I can have a visitor, can't I?" She looked from Lenny to Clawson, concern rife on her face. "He needs to sign in." "I'll send him back in just a moment. Please." He gestured at the curtains. "A little privacy?" The nurse didn't look happy to concede, but in the end, she did, leaving the two men alone. "You made it," said Clawson, unsure of what else to say. "You're damn right I did," said Lenny, his voice a mixture of anger, sadness, and confusion. Clawson felt like that made a lot of sense, all things considered. "My dad is dead." "Did you hear--" "About Gwen? Yeah, that too. What'd you do, Clawson? Push her?" Clawson bristled at that. "Oh, please. Why would I have jumped into the creek with her if I'd been the one to push her?" Lenny wiped a hand across the scraggly beard on his face. His dark eyes glared from beneath a beetled brow. "You saw it happen." Clawson nodded at the non-question question. "I did." "Tell me." Clawson did, making sure that Lenny got the understanding that it was no one's fault, really--Gwen was out of her mind and he had not been expecting the blow to the side of the head. It was, by all counts, an accident. Lenny sat down on the gurney-bed, the metal barriers clattering. "Why?" he asked, tears glistening in his eyes, the anger from earlier bled away. "Why did this happen?" Clawson shook his head and sat next to the grieving man. "I couldn't say. The paramedics mentioned that she had started screaming when she saw…well…" "Dad's body?" "Yeah." "And then, what, they just left her to herself?" Clawson sighed. "She was taken home, and some people came to check on her periodically. No one was around--you were still in training in the mountains, away from our phone calls. We had even had some people go up and try to find you…" "We were doing a rescue simulation," he said, his voice hollow. "We weren't supposed to be easy to find." "The, uh, funeral was nice." He cleared his throat. "Short." Lenny closed his eyes. "And Gwen?" "I don't--" Before he could finish his comment, the doctor from earlier poked her head in. "Mr. Amleth? I thought--oh, I'm sorry. Who's this?" Clawson gestured at Lenny. "This is Gwen's brother, Lenny. He just arrived back in town." "Oh. Well, I guess I should tell you, then…I'm really sorry. There's nothing that we can do. We thought that we could maybe stabilize her enough to get her on the helicopter, but there was a pretty bad accident in Gunnison and the chopper won't be back for another hour or so." The doctor looked genuinely distressed. "I'm afraid she won't last that long." She looked from one man to the other. "Lenny, I can take you back, if you want." "Clawson?" asked Lenny, his voice ragged. "Would you mind coming with?" "Not at all, son. Not at all." Clawson followed along, feeling strangely out of place in his hospital clothes, despite the fact that he was in a hospital. He caught glimpses of Lenny's face as they walked, tears shimmering in the bottom of his eyes. They stopped at the appropriate room--it wasn't far from the emergency room, but then again, the hospital wasn't particularly large--and the doctor let them in. "Here you go," she said softly. "Thank you, Doctor…" "Priest. Doctor Priest." Lenny bobbed his head. "Thank you, Doctor Priest." "Of course. We'll be outside if you need anything." The room was silent except for the mechanical breathing and the buzz of overhead lights. Lenny sniffled. Clawson swallowed back a knot of grief. Losing Paul was difficult--the man was Clawson's best friend, and he owed the sheriff a great deal. Dane getting injured was fine with him…but Gwen? What had she done to deserve this sort of trauma? That she would lose her life in such a stupid way…it was too unfair. She was innocent of any real wrong doing. Why should she have to suffer? But there were no answers to his silent questions. Lenny choked a bit, his large shoulders bouncing in time with his sobs. "Oh, God. Why? Why?" He took a step toward his sister, but his knees buckled. Clawson reached out to steady him. "Why, Clawson? What did she do?" Clawson couldn't keep eye-contact with the agony in Lenny's face, so he looked away, shaking his head. The sound of Gwen stirring on the bed was enough to draw their attention to her. They gathered closer. "Gwendy?" asked Lenny, hope flaring in his voice. "It's me…Lenny. I'm back. Hey." His voice was surprisingly tender, considering the gruffness of his typical demeanor and his massive stature. "Hey, girl. I'm here." A breathing tube filled her mouth, a brace held her neck in place. An array of wires snaked about the bed and into her body, which looked pale and trembling at this chance encounter of siblings. Her eyelids fluttered open. Around the respirator, she tried to say something. "Don't. Don't do that. Don't talk. We'll be…" Lenny's voice tripped, but he mastered himself eventually. "I'm here. That's what matters." Dried lips worked hard around the respirator. "Don't talk…" Lenny tried again, but it was clear that Gwen was trying to do something, to say something. It took a moment--several minutes, in fact--before it was clear: "Good…bye…" Lenny's tears coursed down his cheeks. Clawson wiped away his own with the corner of his blanket. Gwen's head moved about sporadically, twitching a bit as if something bothered her--a fly buzzing around her head, or some other superficial thing--and then lay still. The alarms on the machines went off, and Doctor Priest walked in a moment later. Clawson hardly knew what to do, though Lenny's sudden need for a hug provided some purpose, if only for a while. Eventually, however, there was nothing left to do, and the two men retired into a spare room that Doctor Priest gave them. "I want…I want to do something about this, you know? Like, I can't just let that be it. I can't let her death just be this…" Lenny's grief and rage choked off his words. At last, he said, "Dane." "Excuse me?" "It's Dane's fault. He's the one who ran over my dad--killed my dad." Clawson swallowed at that. The workings of revenge…did Dane know the truth? Did he know, not merely suspect? Was that part of it? If Clawson had been with Paul and walking back to the Lodge to get some gas, Clawson might have been the one who was hit by Dane's car. Had…had the accident been, at least, in part, on purpose? Worry prickled over him. The last thing he wanted was more blood on his hands, but if Dane harbored the same levels of vengeance that Lenny was showing, then it probably wouldn't be safe for him, Clawson, to leave Dane unchecked. "You're right," said Clawson, startling himself and Lenny at the same time. "You're absolutely right. It is Dane's fault." "I'm gonna bash his head in, then choke him with his own tongue," said Lenny standing up with such abruptness that Clawson flinched. "Wait! Wait, hold on." "Why?" Clawson put a consoling hand on Lenny's shoulder, only to have it forcefully shrugged off. "Because, Lenny, going out and punching my wife's son to death will get you in jail. That doesn't help anyone." "It helps me. It makes me feel better." "I don't disagree. But, look: We can figure out something better, you know? We can plan something that will make everyone who sees it believe it's an accident--even his own mother, if you can believe it." Lenny stared at Clawson with incredulity and a fair dash of suspicion. "Why would you want to help me?" "Dane is a menace to the family, Lenny. He's been nothing but trouble since I arrived. And I think that he's mentally deranged, if I'm being honest. I don't need this kind of stress in my life, if you follow me." "Kind of. What are you thinking?" Clawson worked his most charming smile onto his face. "A chance at retribution. So what do you say, Mr. Madsen? Would you like to help me out?" Lenny stared at Clawson's extended hand. After a long moment, he nodded, clasping Clawson's hand. "Just tell me what we're going to do." Chapter 20
Gwendolyn Madsen Gwen wandered through town shivering. Didn't she have a coat? She'd thought that there was one, but she figured she had left it on her father's body when it had been lying on the cold ground, his brains leaking into the pavement. Hadn't she done that? Something had been put on Daddy's face. A mask, maybe. Maybe that's what it was. Maybe, maybe. She giggled darkly. "They used to do that, you know. Put on death masks. Look at the dead man's face one last time." She giggled again, then kicked at a pebble with all of her might. The stone skipped down the sidewalk-free street, getting caught in a clump of weeds ten yards ahead of where she walked. "Dead man, said man, redman--but, no, that's not right to others." She tutted and blinked against the bright sunlight. Walking was a good thing, she had decided that morning. There was a stink in the house--probably Dad, dead in his bed, decaying and rotting and smelling like death--and Gwen had been missing her coat. She would need to find that, if she didn't want to be cold in the winter. The cold, cold winter was coming, it was a-coming. Who wanted to be out in this kind of temperature without a coat? Besides, Dad would need it in the grave he was in, because it was, she had come to understand, quite cold when one's brains were scraped out by the asphalt. Gwen couldn't tell the difference between her spoken and internal thoughts, but she did start when a yelp of pain came out of her own mouth. Or, maybe, that was because she'd kicked another rock, but this one jammed her bare toe before skittering off, its chuckling clatter sounding like mocking laughter. "Well, piss on you, too!" That made her start. Such language. Such bad, bad language. Daddy would be so upset. She made a note, a mental note (Ahahaha, mental) not to tell him, as that might upset him. Not downset. Downset wasn't real, it wasn't a thing. It didn't exist. Like Daddy. The sunlight was bright. A breeze sliced through the tee-shirt she wore--her favorite, the one with Care Bears on it. There was a hole in the armpit of it, which meant that she really should have thrown it away, but instead she'd put her bra on over the shirt. That way, no one would notice the hole. Idly, she reached up to finger the fabric, only to realize that she was still holding the flowers she'd plucked. She looked at them. They were brown, of course, and mostly looked like leaves, but it didn't take too much remembering--good old remembering! That was always the best thing to do, wasn't it?--to see that she was actually holding onto daisies. And roses. And daisies! Good old daisies. Some of her flowers crumpled in her fist, which just meant that she would have to pick them up. They grew in the gutters, and damned--no, that was a bad word, she wasn't damned, no, no--darned if she wasn't going to pick them up. Picking them up would be easy, because she, Gwen, was quite good at it. She'd done it at least a dozen times, she thought, and quite possibly more. Scooping another bouquet of flowers from the black grime that had accumulated in the gutter close to an opening beneath a sidewalk--when had they planted sidewalks here, anyway? She didn't remember that from before, and remembering was always such a good thing to do, so she was certain that she'd missed something--and held it close to her. Black drops of slime fell from the beautiful bouquet, splattering on her bare legs. It was cold, but that fact didn't matter to her too much. She was wearing shorts, after all, so she couldn't stay cold for too long. It was impossible to think that she couldn't wear shorts. Her dad wasn't around to tell her no, was he? Neither was good old Lenny. "Lenny!" She paused in the center of the street, suddenly struck by the possibilities of her brother. "Hey, I remember Lenny!" She resumed her walk. "Yeah, he never decided to come home. Nope, no need. I have everything under control." She giggled. "Yes indeedy." That made her laugh again. The bouquet started to wilt, sadly, the violets turning into dust in her very hands. "That's what happens when you're the age of the universe," she said with a sagacious sigh. "It's unavoidable." To her left, she saw a large building--the largest in the city, possibly the entire world! "Hiya, hospital!" She stopped where she was and waved, a large smile creasing her face and tears streaking down her face. She didn't know where the tears came from, though her feet kind of hurt. She looked down, surprised to see that blood and dirt had combined to make a kind of shoe slurry. The idea made her laugh. Sucking in a ragged gasp, she said, "Maybe the hospital should know about this." Certainly Dad didn't need to know about it. It could be her little secret. She wouldn't even tell Lenny. That would be silly. Stupid and silly. Stilly. Stuply. Something like that. Resolutely, Gwen began to march toward the building. Her brisk attitude made her remember (yes! Remembering!) how easy it had been to come to this conclusion. Some visits from friends--Mrs. Rall had stopped by the night of the accident (certainly not the night of the on purpose, Gwen was certain of that); so had Harmony, plus a couple of other days later--and a couple of confusing moments of people trying to tell her she had to decide what to do with the body (none of them found the idea of skinning Daddy and sprawling him out like a bearskin rug was particularly good, which just went to show how ignorant some people could be), and eventually Daddy was "taken care of", she guessed. She couldn't remember how. Then some people had tried to come to talk to her, but she'd left through the backdoor so that they couldn't find her, couldn't take her away. They were "worried about her" and "concerned about her safety" and "had a wonderful place" for her to visit. Honestly, they sounded a little crazy. That was why she'd snuck free, creeping out through the back of the house and wandering through the neighborhood. Who knows, maybe those people were still in front of her house, tapping on the door, cupping their hands about the sides of their heads so that they could peer into the house and look at her. As if she were some animal in a zoo, that was what that felt like. No thank you, Mr. President. Gwen wasn't interested in that kind of attention. But going to the hospital? Well, that would make sense, wouldn't it? After all, Dane was in there, and Daddy, too. "No, wait." She paused in the mostly empty parking lot. "No, that doesn't work. Daddy isn't there. He's dead." She looked at her assembled flowers. "Well, darn it. Now what am I supposed to do with these? Just give them away?" No, they were looking a bit dried out, especially the rue. "That rue is different," said Gwen to herself, plucking the brittle oak leaf from the rest of the lot and setting it carefully behind her ear. She smoothed out her greasy hair--she hadn't washed it since whenever and it was, honestly, starting to smell. Not as bad as Dad, who was dead and rotting and probably the reason the house stank like unwashed dishes and spoiled food. Very, very inconsiderate of his daughter, dying was. And spoiling the food. Both of those were bad. With new vigor, she started toward the hospital again, only to notice something in the distance: The creek. "That creek," she said to her bouquet, "runs down from the mountains and out here to Creek Street. The hospital is next to it because the hospital needs water, you see." She marched toward the creek, flowers tight in her fists. When she got close enough, she clambered over the wrought-iron bannister, keeping herself steady with one hand while leaning out over the water to get a better view of the water. It was low--"Winter will do that to you," she said with a tsk--and ran in lazy brown streaks, it seemed. Gwen didn't think the city was doing a very good job of making the creek big, and she thought seriously for a moment about writing to her congressman. But who was that? Well, sometimes, she decided, a citizen had to take matters into her own hands, even if they were filled with flowers. She would fill the creek herself. First step: Get some water. Gwen turned and started. "Oh!" She stared at the man who stood in front of her, on the other side of the bannister. "Howdy, partner." She giggled. "I'm not really a cowgirl, you know, I just play one on TV." She giggled again. "Except that's stupid. Who watches TV nowadays?" "Gwen?" "That's my name, don't wear it out!" She rolled her eyes. "Never mind. You can't do that to a name. See? Gwen, Gwen, Gwen, Gwen, Gwen, Gwendolyn, Gwen. I said it a bunch and it hardly matters. Gwendolyn Rose…that's my middle name, too. Some girls don't have middle names, since they're expected to give up their maiden names when they marry, so the maiden names just--pop--slide right into the middle name slot, easy peasy lemon squeezy. Of course, that's kind of sexist, right? I mean, why don't the guys have to change their names? Rude, really, if you think about it. Like, we don't even have a word for 'maiden name, but for guys', and if we do, I certainly don't hear about it." The man stared at her with a mixture of shock and pity on his face. Or chauvinism. That was possible too. Maybe he didn't like the idea that a woman could keep her own female name, though now that she thought about, basically no one had a name from a mother, since a mom's last name was the same as her dad's, meaning it was inescapable. "Gwendy, are you okay?" He had salt-and-pepper hair, a tight goatee (Gwen had always thought facial hair was attractive, which was only one of the many reasons why she'd been willing to hop in bed with Dane--and, boy, was that an experience…whooo!) and a windbreaker on. "Oh, hey, have you seen my coat? It's missing." He glanced away, as if looking to see if anyone was around. "Are you feeling okay?" "Fit as rain, right as a fiddle, as my dad always said." She paused. "He doesn't really talk too much anymore. Kind of lost his mind." "God, Gwen! What are you doing?" She shrugged. "Harvesting. You want one of my flowers?" She held it up, only to have a gust of wind tug some of them free of her hands. "No!" she shouted, reaching out for them. The man gasped as Gwen started to pitch forward, snatching at her flailing hand. His warm fingers wrapped around her wrist just as she thought it had been too much and was about to plunge over the side. It was a ten-foot drop, she'd guess, maybe twenty. Perhaps as much as thirty. She didn't really know, in all honesty. They'd probably told her in school, but that was such a long time ago. "Who can remember these things?" she asked as the guy grunted. She turned around as a wave of shock and distress flooded her system. This guy was grabbing her! Maybe trying to rape her! "Get off of me! I'm pregnant! I'll tell my dad!" Gwen swung her open hand at the crazy guy--and he must have been crazy to try to grab an innocent girl like that, some stranger who walked up out of nowhere and started making a grab, snatching and grabbing--and popped him a good one. Pop! A good one, right in the left ear. The guy grunted and his grip loosened enough that Gwen's momentum pulled her free and she began to pitch backwards. "Flying!" she cried as the world spun. The fall was quick. Gwen gasped as her body landed on a larger-than-the-rest rock, her neck twisting painfully against it as her head plunged into the shallow water. The rest of her body flopped to one side, but the cold water was hardly even felt now. Warmth radiated out from her neck in sharp spikes of heat, running down from the base where she'd struck the rock and down to the fingers first, then meandering down to her middle. Water rushed into her mouth, coating her throat and worming its way down her nose. A flash of worry about being eaten by a shark now that she was in the water went away as she started to sing "Baby Shark" as loudly as she could. The words came out as a gargle. A worried thought about what this would do for the baby couldn't materialize beyond the fact that she'd heard someone joke about how "It's a 'uterus', not a 'uter-you'," and that made her laugh. She laughed until she couldn't laugh any more. Chapter 19
Dane Amleth Waking up had never really been Dane's strong suit. College had been a great change of pace: Living on a ranch meant early mornings--at least, it did until Dad's work really started to pay off and they could hire out enough to keep them out of the fields--throughout his middle and high school days. During his first semester, Dane made the mistake of scheduling his biology class at eight in the morning. It had been a close call that he passed--mostly because he hardly recognized his professor by the end of term he'd been to class so infrequently. Waking up at this moment, however, was significantly harder. First up: Pain. Lots and lots of pain. His right leg, the skin on his arms, the stiffness in his neck…everything, honestly, gave him enough pain that he wanted to either cry or scream--possibly both at the same time. Secondly: Confusion. Where was he? Everything was blurry and indistinct, making it difficult to figure out what was what. Bright blobs, fuzzy sounds, restricted movement. Why was this happening? How did he get wherever he was? Thirdly: Amnesia. He remembered his name. He remembered taking biology at 8:00 AM for his first semester in college. He knew that his father had done…something…to get Elsinore Ranch into the black. He knew he had a father…had a father. He could remember that: Papa Dane was dead. How? The funeral had happened. Dane hadn't cried. Why? The harder he pushed on the idea, the less clearly he could see it. Lastly: Thirst. An aching thirst in the back of his throat. And the front of his mouth. And on his bone-dry tongue. Breathing hurt (everything hurt), but he could scarcely think to breathe because of the thirst. The darkness pulled him back down and he slid into something resembling the great blank of nothingness, save that he had bad dreams. Squealing of tires; shrieks; crumpled metal and shattered glass. Blood. Blood that poured in rivers. More and more darkness. Then it faded into brightness and Dane opened his eyes. Hospital room. That made sense. There had been an accident. He could remember that. Mom had been there…but the rest was empty. That was okay. He could tease it back. It'd return. That also explained the pain. He couldn't remember what exactly happened to give him each injury. That was also okay. He'd be fine if it never returned. Once he found the nurse-call button, which he pressed weakly. A nurse entered a moment later, dressed in forest green scrubs and her blonde hair tucked back into a ponytail. "Hey, Mr. Amleth. You're awake!" He grunted. "Your friend told us she saw some response earlier today, but it didn't turn into anything." The nurse spoke with a smile, a saccharine lilt that Dane didn't particularly appreciate. "Is there anything I can get for you before I call in the doctor?" Dane tried to ask for a drink, but it came out as a dry croak. He tried to gesture, but that didn't work out, either. The nurse tried to figure out through some pantomiming and questioning, eventually coming to the conclusion that he wanted some water. It was incredible how much better he felt with just that alone. The nurse excused herself to fetch the doctor; Dane closed his eyes. Every moment of wakefulness was pain-threaded and miserable, but at least he was alive. Considering how he had been on the brink of swallowing a bullet, this was a positive step forward. How long it took for the doctor to come, Dane couldn't say. The man talked to him, explaining how lucky he was, asking if he wanted his family to know he was awake again. Other things that didn't seem to matter. The only thing that Dane could really get out of the explanation was that, aside from a broken leg and some neck problems, he was in surprisingly good shape. He didn't feel it. Drugs were administered; Dane slid back into sleep. When he awoke again, he felt groggy and discombobulated. Harmony showed up after some time awake, which cheered him enough that he even smiled when she walked in. "What's going on?" he asked. "I feel like I've gone through a columbine." Harmony nodded, though she looked distracted. This helped sober him enough to be able to ask, "What's wrong?" Harmony shook her head, then said, "Did you find it? After all we did, did you find it?" The blanks of his memory filled as he spoke, relating to Harmony all that he could recall about finding the SD card and showing his mother the video. "We were watching and then…" He trailed off. Eyes widening, he looked at her with a sudden panic. "Did I…did I kill someone?" Harmony swallowed hard, then bobbed her head. "Oh, no." "Sheriff Madsen." Dane closed his eyes. This was bad on a lot of levels, not the least of which was that he had likely committed vehicular manslaughter. That it was his girlfriend's--rather, his ex-girlfriend's--father was horrible, too. And, though it was only a suspicion, there was enough circumstantial evidence for him to think that maybe Paul had been a part of the conspiracy to kill Dane's father. If that were true, then this would seem even less like an accident and more like revenge. His heart sank. The pain in his body seemed nothing compared to the worry of his soul. Everything seemed to be falling apart, endlessly moving from one tragedy to the next. How could he fix this? What could he do? "There's more," said Harmony. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "You've been in a coma for about a week." She paused, then gave him a slight smile. "On the bright side, you missed Thanksgiving." He snorted. "Yeah, could you imagine if you went to Thanksgiving and had to put up with your crazy uncle, except that he was now your father, too? That would've been awkward." Harmony smiled, but the reaction melted soon. Sitting on the hard chair near his bed, she said, "I've been visiting as often as I could, but things are escalating with Northern Way Ranch." "What?" he asked, sitting up--and wincing as he did so. Harmony briefly sketched the problems she was seeing with regards to the land acquisitions. "And," she said as she finished up, "George and Ryan have been making a power play." She hesitated, then glanced at the door as if to double check that no one was eavesdropping. "They have been, I think, passing on information from Northern Way Ranch to Clawson." "They're, what…spies?" Harmony nodded. "Essentially. I poked around--hooray for my Millennial google-powers--and found out that they had been getting into trouble at NWR for a while now, mostly health-related." "Health-related?" She waved her hand. "They were part of the turkey farm. Doing a bad job of keeping the place clean, something like that. The point is, I think they're trying to get into Clawson's good graces by dishing information about NWR, which in turn is strengthening his hand when it comes to this land deal. The whole thing is fishy--and crazy complicated--but it also makes a lot of sense, doesn't it?" Dane thought for a long moment. "Yeah," he said, his voice distracted. "Yeah, it does." She shook her head as if to clear it. "We're getting distracted. What about the video? Did you upload it or anything?" Dane opened his mouth, then closed it. "I…I didn't. I mean, there are still gaps in my memory, but I don't think I did." He let loose a string of obscenities, then glanced at Harmony and apologized. "It's okay," she said. "It's just that…well, your phone was left in the car, which has been taken to the scrapyard already. I think that's gone now." "Dammit." A wave of frustration washed over him. What could he do now? Between the wreck and the loss of the evidence, he was back to square one. Although…"At least we know one thing that we didn't before." "What's that?" His voice was cold as he said, "Clawson did kill my father." Harmony opened her mouth, but stopped whatever it was she planned on saying when a tap came from the door. Without waiting for a response, the nurse pushed open the door. "There are a couple more people out here wanting to talk to you, Mr. Amleth, but you're limited to two visitors at a time." She gave him a professional smile. "Doctor's orders." "Right," said Dane, shooting a glance at Harmony. She took the cue, patting him on the hand and saying, "I'll come back later." Dane nodded, which Harmony understood as a goodbye and the nurse interpreted as permission to send in the next guests. Dane sipped the tepid water from the jug on the food tray, grimacing at the heavy plastic taste the long bendy-straw left in his mouth. It wasn't the greatest of indignities being in the hospital entailed. Not at all to his surprise, Ryan Stern and George Cranston walked in. Both had smiles that, Dane assumed, they thought were genuine, but he could see something conniving in them. Or perhaps he just imagined it. "How ya doing, friend?" asked Ryan, his pale face accented by the brightness of his red-tipped ears. "We heard you were doing better." "Oh, you know," said Dane, raising his hands as if to indicate Look at me, stupid; how do you think I'm doing? "Time heals all wounds and other clichés of that nature." George glanced at Ryan and said, "Right." "What brings you to my prison, friends?" Ryan forced a laugh. "First you ask us why we're in hell, now we're in prison?" "I'm not at liberty to leave. How else would I look at it?" "Fair enough," said George, sitting down where Harmony had sat a minute before. "We're here, though, to deliver a message." It was only then that Dane noticed Ryan's position by the door--it was almost as if he were standing guard, his back almost touching the handle. Like he didn't want anyone interrupting. "You've always been a good messenger boy," said Dane, clicking his eyes back to George. "Good at the reports, I've heard. Unless they're about health, of course." The subtle jab wasn't lost on either of them, and George's body language shifted from a relaxed air to a more aggressive one as he leaned forward. Whatever wisps of a smile had been on his face when he sat were gone now. "Your father's not very happy with you." "Oh, you commune with the dead now, do you? Did you bring your Ouija board with you on this 'unexpected trip' out to Elsinore Ranch?" "You know what I mean," said George, his face drawing down into a frustrated frown. "Clawson is pissed." "Well, he should drink less; it'd be better for his liver anyway." "That's not--" George cut himself off, took a deep breath, then said in a low, insistent voice. "You're meddling, Dane. You wrecked his car--" "--not actually his, you know--" "--and you injured Jenny," George said, ignoring the interruption. "You've been snooping in his office. These things…well, they'll have repercussions." "Oh, glorious," said Dane rolling his eyes. "Vague threats. I'm feeling very intimidated right now." "Oh, please," said Ryan from the door, one hand tightly squeezing his other, the ropes of his veins visible on his bare forearms. "You can't even move. If something were to happen to you…" Dane actually barked a laugh, though the action was painful from a number of places. "Please. This isn't a movie. You're not a Mafioso. You can't do anything to me here." "You won't be here long," said George. "But it isn't your injuries that we're here about." "Oh?" "It's your mother's." Dane didn't have a sarcastic reply to that. Guilt clawed at him for what he'd done--and for what he'd said to her. It was not his best moment, he readily admitted. Nevertheless, he still felt justified for being upset at her decision to marry her own husband's murderer. Of course, that proof was gone now. That did make the next step tricky. "This comes from Clawson directly," said Ryan, pulling Dane's thoughts back to the matter at hand. "If she dies," and George pointed past Dane, signaling that Jenny Amleth was nearby, "you die." Dane chewed on that for a moment. "Well, friends, it's nice to know that we finally cut through all of your bullshit and can talk openly. If nothing else, that's a nice change of pace." "You dumbass," said Ryan. "Don't you know that you're in the worst possible position? You can't do anything, and Clawson isn't the kind of guy you can piss off and walk away from him." "Thank you, Ryan," said Dane with mock enthusiasm. "I'm going to file that away under More Things Ryan Stern Doesn't Know Jack About." Ryan took an aggressive step toward the bedridden man, but George held out a hand. "Look, Dane: We're here because we care." Dane snorted. "We do. We're your friends." The word that he'd intuited when they'd first arrived, when he'd indulged his suspicious itch, came back to mind: Spies. "And," continued George in a measured, if strained, voice, "as your friends, we're only looking out for you." "Are you now?" "Yes," said George. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He turned it on, tapped in a four-digit code, scrolled about for a moment, then handed the device to Dane. "See? We've always been like this." It was a picture of the three of them, from their time in high school, during a fishing trip up the creek. They all stood together, arms around each other's shoulders, grinning manically. George wore ridiculously short shorts, while Ryan had on a wet suit and Dane a typical pair of swimming trunks. They were standing in the river, which only came up to their shins. Dane remembered that day. It had been a good one, filled with jokes, lies designed to impress the others, and essentially no fish. A perfect example of what they had. "And now you come to threaten me," he said, setting the phone on the side of the bed away from George. "You come into my hospital room, with me barely being out of a coma, and you tell me that my uncle is more important to you than I am." "No, I--" "Get out," said Dane, barking sharply. He hit the nurse button with a thumb. "Get out! Keep your forked tongues in your heads and get out of my life!" The nurse tried to enter, but Ryan was there. "Excuse me!" she said, her voice muffled by the door. George looked up at her, and Dane took the distraction to slide the man's phone beneath a fold of sheets. "Sir, I need you to move." "Remember what we said." Ryan's dramatic effect was ruined by the fact that the nurse pushed harder on the door and knocked him forward a step. He moved out of the way and, under the glares of the nurse, made an exit. George followed after him. "What can I help you with?" asked the nurse as the door swung shut behind her. "I'm really tired. Can you keep anyone from visiting for a while?" "Yes, yes. Of course." She smiled. "Anything else?" He shook his head. "That should be fine." "Okay." She retreated, closing the door quietly, and Dane pulled out George's phone. He had watched carefully when George had tapped it in--the code was a simple 2-2-4-6 combination, which let Dane into his former friend's phone. The picture of the three of them was still on the screen. Dane dismissed it with a press of the home button. He fired up the email app, then searched for emails from Clawson. Over a dozen of them popped up. Without bothering to read any, he forwarded each of them to Tim Brahns. He then closed the app and set the phone on the side of the bed. Closing his eyes, he willed his mind to settle down. If they were willing to betray their friendship to Dane by being stooges for Clawson, it was nowhere near his conscience if they ended up reaping the rewards of their treachery. Slowly, painfully, Dane managed to fall back asleep. Chapter 18
Harmony Roman The pearlescent puddle of soap in the middle of Harmony's palm looked flat in the sterile light of the hospital bathroom. The odor of it--antiseptic and grossly clean--brought back unpleasant memories of when Grandma had died, when she would make the long drive with Dad from Noah up to Utah Valley Regional Medical Center in Provo. They would do so every Sunday during the spring of Harmony's sophomore year in high school, traversing the distance in silence. Grandma Roman had gotten some sort of bronchial infection that had kept her in the hospital, scarcely registering the visitors. The doctors had been very particular about germs, and Harmony had become expert at washing up before going into see Grandma. They had the same soap here. Swallowing hard against the sweep of memories, Harmony flicked the hot water handle and soaped up, scrubbing diligently, if only because of habit. Finishing up, she exited the private bathroom and stared at the silent shape of Dane Amleth. Canula in the nose; IVs in the arms; hospital gown and -sheets; the smell of clean suffering…it was all too familiar. Harmony sighed and trudged back to Dane's side. She sat in the chair--a violation of her eighth amendment rights if ever she'd felt one--and, clean hands under her chin, she said, "Where was I before Mother Nature interrupted?" The machines hummed and breathed for Dane while the LCD tracked his vitals, blipping to itself contentedly. Dane did as he always did--nothing. "Oh, right. I was telling you about Dad. Well, it turns out that Tim Brahns, Jr. is trying to parcel out some of Elsinore Ranch. It's been kind of hush-hush--Dad thinks bribes were taken, since your father had been so opposed to the proposal. Northern Way Ranch has, in the past week or so--pretty much since the funeral--been courting Clawson, trying to get him to sign off on these acquisitions. It looks like there's a pretty large kickback that Clawson will enjoy if he divvies up the land." She snorted. "Kind of goes against your father's wishes, if I remember right. But what can he do?" Stretching her legs in front of her, Harmony crossed her feet at the ankles. "I gotta admit, Dane, I could have wished for a better Thanksgiving. Aside from spending time with you as often as I can, I'm helping out Dad as much as possible at the office. Gwen hasn't been right ever since the accident--she's been aloof, you know. Unresponsive. Mostly she sits at home and watches Netflix, barely eating enough. I'm worried, but I don't know what else I can do." Running her fingers through the shimmer of her black hair, she added, "I don't know what anyone could do. I've thought about putting her on suicide watch, but is it really my place? It seems like the sort of thing that Lenny should decide, but no one can get a hold of him--it's like Paris, Idaho has dropped off the map. You add to that the way that Ryan and George keep floating around here, almost like they're waiting for your condition to worsen--as if they don't have anything better to do--and you can easily see why I feel like everything is falling apart." Outside the ground floor window, Harmony could hear the passing traffic of SR-85, the occasional grumble of a semi or a pickup truck whose driver thought it was impressive that he could rev his engine. Despite the blinds, a steady stream of afternoon light filled Dane's hospital room. "It's nice that you're here," she said. "Clawson was insistent that you and Jenny remain close by. You were both lucky--those airbags saved your life. Your coma, well…" She trailed off for a moment. "That's bad luck, I guess. Still, you'd probably be better if they LifeFlighted you out to Provo or something, to get you better looked at. Clawson won't hear of it." She sighed. "I think I know why, too. He probably hopes that you'll die here." The words came out, tugging tears along with them. She willed them back, but that only made her head hurt more, the pain sharper. One slid down her cheek, splashing silently into her sweater. Another followed after. "Why'd all of this have to happen, Dane?" Sobs interrupted her speech, and it took a few minutes before she had the ability to speak again. "Why did you leave me behind? And I don't just mean this." She gestured at him. "Why couldn't we have stayed together. I feel…" Harmony sucked in a shuddering breath. "It's like when we first started hanging out together. Remember that? We were kind of the nerdy outcasts who were ignored by most everyone…except when they wanted to tease me. "There was that one day, where I wasn't sure that I wanted to keep going anymore--that it might be better if I just slid off this mortal coil and left it all behind. I was on the bridge on Creek Street, looking into the darkness beneath it, yearning for an ending. You came by, milkshake in hand that you'd just bought from Rall's Grill and Dairy Freeze at the end of the block. You asked me if I was okay. When I didn't answer, you said something about not liking coconut-and-caramel shakes and would I mind taking it from you? I knew you were lying--that's your favorite milkshake flavor, and it's disgusting, I have to tell you--but it wasn't the fact that you were offering me a milkshake that mattered; it's that you were offering anything at all. "I don't know if I really was going to jump--and, let's be honest, the creek isn't deep enough to really do anything besides make my clothes wet--but after that small gesture of kindness, that small demonstration of humanity…well, things just didn't hurt quite so badly. I could see myself staying by your side, helping you out, giving back to you, just as you had to me. "I don't think I was ever really in love with you, Dane Amleth, but I do love you. I can't really picture a life without you around. I mean…" She grabbed his hand. It was dry and warm--alive, but not living. The tightness around her soul constricted. Tears dripped down her face. "I just…I don't want to face this world of pain without someone that I can rely on. Someone who'll share a nasty-ass milkshake with me just to try to cheer me up. Someone who's interested in talking with me, in being with me, in remembering with me. I can't picture being in this world alone, Dane." She swallowed--a painful action, as there was a knot of tears tied in the middle of her throat. "Please don't leave me." Harmony set her head against the side of the bed and cried. The minutes leaked away like her tears, though eventually she sat up, feeling if not refreshed, at least unrumpled. It had been a stressful couple of days, and that constant building of strain had finally broken her. It was almost as if she were back on Creek Street, looking down at the brown water, the river grasses trembling in the current. It was too much, wasn't it? Too much worry, too much fear. No one could continue on this way; no one could live like this. At least, she couldn't. Her phone buzzed. Pulling the device from a too-small pocket, she looked at the message. It was from Dad. How are you doing? Where are you? She considered, then answered truthfully: I've been better. I'm with Dane. The response came a moment later. Any changes? No. When will you be done? When do you need me? She hoped the answer was that he didn't, but there wasn't a lot of faith in that desire: With Tim Brahns coming by in the next day or two, Dad was really pressed for time. Clawson wasn't particularly helpful at this juncture, either, as he was doing what Harmony did, save it was over Jenny's bed. He wasn't taking the accident well--the loss of his friend as well as the dual injuries had made him close in. While Harmony wasn't necessarily close to Clawson, she could tell just by the way he held himself that things weren't going well for him. Not that Harmony felt bad for the guy. She didn't know why Dane and his mother were on the road that night; she had no idea if he'd been successful in finding the evidence. But Clawson's behavior the night of the accident, when he'd dropped her off, made Harmony feel like there really was something wrong with him. She wasn't religious, but if she were, she would have pleaded with God to let Dane wake up so that he could explain what he'd found--if anything. That lack of knowing was the real stress, and it wasn't just about their investigation into Clawson. Would Gwen snap out of it? Would the buy-out from Northern Way Ranch go the way it was supposed to--and would Dad make money off the deal that would help reimburse him for all of the work he was putting into it now? More than anything, though, Harmony just wished that Dane would wake up. If she knew that he would pull through--even if it were months later--Harmony felt like she would be able to better deal with the stress. No, came back Dad's reply, which made Harmony sigh with relief. I'm just wanting to take a break. There's no rush. I can come in about ten, she texted back. K. She thumbed off the screen and stood. Wiping the drying tears off her cheeks, she looked down at Dane. "I'm sorry this happened." She bent down and gently kissed the top of his forehead. "I'll be back tomorr--" She couldn't get the last syllable out. Had she imagined it? This was too unlikely, too perfectly timed. Real life didn't happen like this. Harmony stared at Dane's hand for a solid minute, unmoving. Then, with a gasp, she saw a finger twitch. With a cry--of joy this time--Harmony ran from the room, calling out for the nurses. Dane was waking up. Chapter 17
Gwendolyn Madsen Despite her resolution not to turn around until she was certain that Dad would have made it to the Lodge, Gwen found herself pulling onto the soft shoulder of the road and then spinning her car about. It really was stupid--she knew it was stupid, it was childish, infantile…but also something that she couldn't ignore. For all of the problems that Dad had created in her life, he'd also been useful in creating her life (admittedly, it was a microscopic contribution in this case, but without it, she couldn't have existed). How could she give up on him like this? It wasn't even a big deal--just an example of knowing that Dad needed help and not leaping to his aid--but it felt huge to her. For a moment, she flashed onto a thought about what Lenny would do if he knew. She shut that down, almost physically shaking herself to keep the thoughts from wandering too far in that direction. Lenny had her respect, too…but that didn't mean she had to think about him whenever she was making her decisions. Coming down from the canyon that led into the winding roads of the mountain range beyond Elsinore Ranch was always an act of gear-shifting and brake-massaging. It took a careful balance of making sure that the car didn't gain too much momentum on the steep grade while at the same time moving along at a sufficient speed. She didn't want to spend all night in the mountains, after all. Gwen passed the spot where she parked to climb up to the butte. Dad's car would be around the next bend… Sure enough, it was there, abandoned on the road. Gwen slowed, pulled over, and stopped the car. She hesitated a moment, looking through the darkness to try to determine where her father was. After some thought, she slid the car into park and climbed out. The fresh air bit into her face and exposed hands, and she zipped up the front of her down-stuffed vest before looking both ways as she crossed the street (old habits came into play, even when she knew that it wasn't necessary.) The SUV, framed in the pale light that leaked out from between the clouds, looked almost haunted. The stars were out, sharp and clear wherever she could see them, but they only added to the silvery hue that wrapped the vehicle and the street and the foliage around her. She shivered and popped the collar of her jacket to try to protect her cheeks. "Dad? Dad, where are you?" Her voice sounded lonely, a single human sound in the vast silence of the night. Ever so faintly, she could hear the distant purr of the creek--or maybe it was the traffic of SR-85. No, she was too far from there to catch any of the noise. She could see Noah sparkling in its October colors of orange lights and black blocks, but it was like an oasis in the desert: Far away and, for all practical uses, illusory. "Dad!" There was a franticness she could hear in her own voice, a feeling of distrust at the situation. Dad must have left already, must have started his walk. That's what she wanted, wasn't it? Drawing in a shaky breath, she willed herself to calm down. The heaviness around her heart, it wasn't anything. She might feel like something was amiss, but that didn't mean it actually was. And, if he had already started his hike, he wouldn't be too far down the road. As Gwen climbed into her car, she decided that she would go slowly, so that she didn't accidentally drive past him. Just as the door started to close, she heard what must have been the wail of a siren. A spike of panic lanced through her. Firing up the car, she stomped on the gas, spitting out gravel as she clawed her way back onto the blacktop. The winding road, illuminated only as far ahead as her headlights could reach--to the next turn, most of the time--seemed to stretch forever ahead of her. The drive couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes--five at the most--but her worry elongated each second. She found she was mumbling, self-excoriations and -imprecations, chastisements about her pride and stupidity, desperate prayers that the siren had been a flicker of imagination, as substantial as dreams. The red-and-blue flicker, so unnerving even at the best of times, could be seen long before she arrived at the actual accident site, splashing the green-black trees with the garish color. Shards of plastic and what looked like a smudge of black against the asphalt, shiny in the garish light, bestrewed the road. A gouge in the foliage to her left ended in the rumpled remains of some sports car. Gwen stopped her own car when a police officer--one of Dad's friends, Reynold had the duty--put up a hand for her to do so. Obedient (always obedient), Gwen thumbed down the automatic window and leaned out. "What is it?" she asked. It took a moment for who was talking to him to register. The professional demeanor of perpetual-if-polite irritation melted from his face. "Oh my gosh, Gwendy…How did you…" He trailed off, then looked over at the ambulance where another officer was talking to the paramedics. "Neil! It's Gwen!" There were intimations, possibilities, surmises that she could throw at the situation, but worst-case-scenarios rarely happened. She couldn't fully entertain what her brain was trying to tell her…what her heart feared to believe. Officer Neil trotted over to Reynold. "What'd you say?" he asked as he got closer. Reynold pointed at Gwen, as if that were answer enough. "Oh, no," said Neil, though Gwen wouldn't have been surprised if he'd wanted to say something a lot stronger. "Sweetie, I'm so sorry…" "It's not true." Gwen swallowed against a massive lump in her throat. The ruined car, the somber faces of the men, the fact that Dad had been walking to get gas, that she hadn't done anything to help him, that she'd let him walk back on his own… Her stomach began to revolt. With a cry, she threw open the door, stumbled past the police, and upturned the contents of her guts into the foliage. Doing her best to keep her golden curls away from her mouth, she stood with one hand on her knee and the other holding her hair. "Gwendolyn," said Neil, walking over to her as he spoke, "I am so sorry. So, so sorry. He died immediately…no one takes that kind of head trauma and lingers." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" The anger lashed out of her like tendrils. "That he died fast?" "Well…" said Neil, casting a confused look at Reynold, who stared in mute confusion. "It doesn't. Oh, God, let me…let me see him…" She didn't know why. At least, she didn't want to admit to why, but she knew--not even deep down, but instead in the place she was most embarrassed to feel this--that she needed to see it for herself. It was macabre, but it was her father, dammit, and she was going to see what happened. No second guessing, no wondering… Neil tried to restrain her, but it didn't last long. She stormed over to the paramedics, who stood next to a sheet-shrouded body on the side of the road, letting the anger--at herself, at the situation, at her father--propel her forward. "Let me see," she demanded. The paramedics glanced at each other, then at Neil, who gave them a shrug. One bent over. "It's not pretty, ma'am." "It's my father," said Gwen. "I have a right." The paramedic didn't look convinced, but he twitched the corner of the sheet. In the stark multitude of different lights, in that surreal swirl of colors, the mangled mess of bone and flesh and brains Madsen didn't look real. She didn't want it to look real. A shout from the gully as the team trying to help those in the wreck brought additional help. There, on a backboard, his neck stabilized by the satellite dish, his body bloody and broken, lay Dane Amleth, Jr. The final pieces clicked together. Dane had killed her dad. Now, just like him, she didn't have a father. Grief slammed into her so hard that she almost stumbled. Dimly, she became aware of a shrill, piercing scream. Then she realized that it came from her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to get herself to stop. Chapter 16
Clawson Amleth Clawson had never had a headache quite this bad before. It had started just behind his right eye, worked its way through to the back of his skull like some worthy pioneer dominating a new land, and now raged throughout his head as an exquisite migraine. Because he was a drinking man, he tried to drown it out with some of his brother's--no, it was all his now--best liquors. A double-malt scotch. A shot of vodka. Hell, he even tried some of the wine that Jenny seemed to like so much, only to spit it out. Rotten grapes. Who in their right mind would drink that crap? Sitting in the darkness of the living room--he'd turned off all of the lights in the house as soon as Jenny had left for the store, as the brightness only seemed to make the headache worse--he brooded. What was Dane playing at? Every time the boy's name crossed his mind, Clawson felt another spike of pain. His heart thudded heavily, and his breath would shorten into gasping sprints. Anger, like meat at a buffet, was the dish he kept returning to, though he found little sustenance in it. Still, he was justified, wasn't he? Dane had stolen into his office, taken his gun, and had shot at Gwendolyn. There was plenty to rage against. Why not indulge some mental retribution? Images of delightful tortures and vindictive, petty retributions began to dance in his mind, courted by the alcohol and given permission by his anger. One such intellectual treat involved hypodermic needles, bleach, and the flesh beneath Dane's fingernails. It was gruesome, yes, but better than the kid deserved. What a piece of shit. Had he known the crap that Dane Sr. was leaving him, Clawson never would have taken the shot… He sipped at the scotch--he'd returned to that as a palate cleanser after pouring the entire wine down the drain where it belonged--and savored its complexities. He'd once read somewhere that drinking a scotch was like drinking rubber, wood, and leather all at once, but in the best of all possible ways. He was inclined to agree with that thought. Smacking his lips appreciatively, he considered that perhaps he still would've taken the shot. Really what he should have done was bring Junior along for the ride, taken care of the bitch and the pup at the same time. "Damn it all," he said. His hands, he noticed with a detached sense of remote concern, trembled just a bit. It probably came from too much drinking without enough in his stomach--he wasn't a young man anymore. He couldn't binge for hours at a time on an empty stomach and only have to piss twice in a night. Dane Sr. could, Clawson knew. He remembered that was one of the reasons why Jenny had been attracted to him…not the pissing part, but just his overall "cool" factor. Of the two Amleth boys, Senior had always been the better--better liked, better regarded, better served. People didn't betray Senior the way they did Clawson. Who could he trust, really, when he got right down to it? He hadn't heard from Paul yet. Jenny had been gone longer than expected… Frowning, he let his mind rove over his fiancé. She'd always caught his attention, even before she'd settled down with Dane. Her ambition was like Clawson's, her sense of the way the world ought to be, her ability to understand a complicated situation…her laugh. In fact, of the two brothers, Clawson was obviously the superior match. In that way, Senior had done his wife a great service, because his death had led her to the better of the sons, the one that she should have been with from the outset. Thinking about her, how he ached for her, how he could only think of the future by having her at his side made him suddenly anxious. He flicked his wrist to look at his smartwatch. It didn't activate. "Piece of--" He flicked it again. It remained blank. Muttering invectives in the dark, he tapped the display. It lit up, making him blink and squint at the comparative brightness. Forty minutes. She'd been gone for long enough. It was time she came home. Fishing his phone out of his jeans pocket, he scrolled through to Jenny's name, then pressed the Call button. It went immediately to voicemail. "Weird," he said to no one. He took another sip of scotch. He tried the phone again, only to the same response. On a whim, he fired off a call to Dane; much to his surprise, he got the voicemail without a ring. "Okay, then," he groused aloud, "Paul it is." That one rang. And rang. And rang. Then it went to the voicemail. Frowning, he scrolled through his recent contacts. Marshal Roman? No, he wouldn't know. He was probably still at the office. Clawson didn't have the number for Harmony--not that she would know anything. "Ryan Stern." He grimaced. Bringing in Dane's old friends had seemed like a good idea when he'd had it. They'd been eager for a chance--they knew that, with new management at Elsinore Ranch, there was room for some aggressive expansion. Abandoning Tim Brahns and the Northern Way Ranch had been easy: A couple of phone calls, a carefully worded email, and boom, Clawson had his spies. But instead of giving him information, they'd pretty much only given him frustration. They'd done jacksquat for him. Well, now might be a chance to have them be worth the time. They were currently holed up in the single motel that Noah boasted, a run-down heap not far from the grocery store. Once Clawson was able to get all of the paperwork done--if Marshal would do his damn job, in other words--he could get them on payroll, get them really involved. That would be nice, as it meant he'd finally have someone he could really trust to help him out. As it stood, however, they were sitting around, probably passing time watching porn or whatever they could get at that dive. He pressed the call button. A moment later, a voice answered, "Yes, sir?" "Hey, you're near the grocery store, right?" "Uh, yeah. We're at the motel." Clawson had a sudden suspicion, an itch that he needed scratched. "Do me a favor--step out onto the balcony and tell me if you can see my BMW in the parking lot. It's the blue one." "Um, hold on a sec." There was a pause and the muffled sound of a conversation--probably between Ryan and Greg, who Clawson assumed were queer, but everyone seemed gay these days--and then, "Um, no, nothing. There are, like, twelve or twenty cars. Most of them are trucks and minivans." Clawson snorted. "Look, I'm trying to find my wife--or Paul, you know, the sheriff. Neither one is answering my calls. Will you troll around and see if you can find them?" On a whim, he said, "You can even start up here--that's where Paul was last supposed to be." "Uh…yeah, sure. I guess. I'll get George and we'll head your way." "Just go up the canyon to the mountains. There's only one road; if he's on it, you can't miss him." "Do you want us to pick you up?" "Nah, just…try to find him." "We're on it." "Good." With that, he hung up. Part of him wanted to go out and join the hunt--he always felt better doing things himself, and the fact that he was stuck delegating rather pissed him off. But he also felt a distraction that he couldn't really pin down. Maybe it was the possibility of guilt, but that was probably the liquor talking. There wasn't anything to feel bad about. Everyone died at some point--and maybe that was part of what really irritated him about Dopey Dane Jr. The punk was acting all strange and typical snowflake-entitled-Millennial, as if he was the first person to have to suffer a break up, or see his mom remarry, or bury a father. Everyone lost their dad. It was the way of the world. Disney made a damn song about it. Clawson tried to sing it, but he couldn't really remember the tune, and not only that, he wasn't much of a singer. Besides, singing made his head hurt. Setting the phone down, he reclined and closed his eyes. It would be some time before Ryan and George could find anything. Honestly, Jenny probably would be back before they could even get here. But that was fine. They were proving their loyalty to him, which was, in most ways, much more important than anything they could actually do to help him. His mind circled around the different preoccupations, the glass returning to his lips repeatedly. It didn't take long before he started picturing Jenny on their wedding night--she wouldn't sleep with him before the wedding, which was just some prudish crap that she was hanging onto from her days as a Catholic, since he knew for a fact that she and Dane Sr. had taken a tumble more than once before their nuptials--and he kept himself in a fine fugue of drunken horniness up until his phone buzzed, pulling him from his indulgent reverie. He fumbled as his wrist and the phone took turns vibrating. He pulled the phone to the side of his head and said, his voice mostly gravel by now, "What?" He hadn't even looked at who was calling--probably Paul, honestly. Jenny wasn't particularly good about responding to calls or texts, despite the fact the phone was practically glued to her hand. "Clawson, you've got to get over here." It was George--or maybe it was Ryan. Come to think of it, he had only assumed that Ryan had answered his phone earlier; the two men were so similar that, even when looking at them, he had a hard time telling which had which name. "What do you mean?" he asked. The headache hadn't really faded, but his ability to care about it had. "What's 'over here' supposed to mean?" "Up the canyon. Near the graveyard. There's been an accident." The blood in his face drained, and despite how much he'd had to drink, he felt (almost) as if the news were enough to sober him up. "Who--" "Sir, it's…we found Jenny. And Paul." Clawson felt the room spin a bit, and it had nothing to do with the double-malt. "And?" "You'd better get here fast, sir." Without another word, Clawson headed to the garage, praying--to whom, he didn't know, since he'd turned his back on God before he'd learned to ride a bike--that there was enough charge in Jenny's stupid-ass hippy car to get him to the graveyard. |