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. Chapter 15
Dane Amleth Dane shivered in the night's cold. He hadn't snagged a jacket--he was only going to the Barn, after all--but he couldn't go inside, not with Clawson in there. Peeking in through the broad French doors that led into the dining room and kitchen area, Dane could see his mother and uncle standing, rigid with worry (in the former case) and fury (in the latter case) and listened to the ranting come through the double-paned glass. "Where is he?" demanded Clawson, tossing his keys on the counter and running anxious fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Clawson, I don't know." Hearing his mother was harder than hearing Clawson, mostly because she was naturally more soft-spoken than his uncle. "I keep telling you--" "I'm not asking you, Jennifer, I'm just…pissed off, that's all." "I know." That was more lip-reading than audible. "I know, but I…" She turned and followed after Clawson, who had started down the main hallway toward the family room--where Dane had fired the ASP. Doubling back, Dane rounded the house until he arrived at the garage itself, the door wide and the light still blazing. He glanced from his mother's car (a Chevy Volt) to Papa Dane's, now driven by his uncle (the BMW M3) and thought for a moment. He needed to talk to his mother--she needed to see this video, and the sooner the better--but how could he do so without bumping into Clawson first? He shuddered to think what that conversation would be like: "Hey, funcle, you see this new video? It's hilarious! Check it out. It'll slay ya!" He shook his head. No, that wouldn't work at all. He had to get them isolated somehow, talk to just his mother… The door from the house started to open, making Dane, in desperation, duck behind the BMW. Over her shoulder, his mother shouted into the house, "I just need to grab my things! Then we can talk." She stomped down the three wooden steps that led from the house to the garage, muttering, "How am I supposed to know what the hell my kid's thinking? He's an adult now, I can't be expected to…" "Mom," whispered Dane as he rose halfway up from behind the M3. She gasped, a loud enough inhalation that Dane could have sworn that he felt the atmosphere about him drop in pressure. "Dane! What are you--" He put a finger to his lips, casting a nervous glance at the closed door. "Shh! Stop. We have to talk." In a lower voice, his mother said, "What are you doing out here? Why did you steal Clawson's gun? Are you nuts?" He shook his head. "No, I'm not crazy. But I definitely need to talk to you. I will explain it all, but…please, Mom. Not here." "Then where?" He gestured at her car. "Grab the keys. Let's go for a drive." She shook her head and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as if trying to dam a headache. "Dane, please. I've had a long day. I just need to rest." "Tell him you forgot that you needed to pick something up at the store. It'll be thirty minutes, then you'll be back. I'll explain myself on the way." He put on his best imploring expression. She regarded him hesitantly. He could see that she was tipping in his favor. Though he didn't want to, he played the last card he had: "Please? I need to speak with my mother. As her son." That did it. He saw her wilt, her will bending to his. She nodded. "My car is almost dead. It'll take a bit to recharge." "Take Dad's." "But Clawson…" "It isn't his," said Dane with more heat than he'd expected to say. It was one thing--a very small thing, admittedly, but emblematic of the larger problem--that really frustrated him. "It's yours. Or mine. Not my uncle's." She sighed, then gave him another nod. "Give me a couple of minutes." Dane did so, waiting impatiently around the corner of the house until he heard his mother come back. Clawson's voice came drifting behind her, laced with rage and warning: "Not a scratch on it, you hear? Not a scratch!" "It's like he think he owns me already," said Mom in an undertone. Dane could see that she was unhappy, though he thought he knew why. "Here," she said, tossing him the keys. "I don't like driving manual." "Fine," he said. "Let's go." They climbed in--noting, as he always did, the sleek feeling of sitting behind the steering wheel of a BMW--he kicked over the engine, and then he backed out of the driveway, taking care not to peel out, despite the raw energy that coursed through him. It was time, it was finally time to talk to her about what he'd been wrestling with. Spinning the wheel to the right, he rolled onto the street, then dropping the car into first gear, started heading toward the mountains. "I get to go first," said his mother, her voice harsh and edged with displeasure. "You cannot go breaking into your father's office--" "Uncle's," he corrected her, but she ignored the interruption. "--and taking out his guns? And what was with that vase? Did you do that?" "Yes." "Dane." She said his name in the way he most despised--the one with an undercurrent of I am trying my absolute best to remain patient, but you have pushed me too far. Using the same tone, he said, "Mom." "You're being unreasonable!" "I'm being unreasonable?" He could hardly believe his own ears. "Which one of us accepted her brother-in-law's proposal the day she buried her husband?" "Oh, Dane," said his mother, flicking her hands in disgust. "Please don't act like this is a surprise to you." "What?" He didn't know precisely how she would act in response to this point, but he hadn't expected that. "What do you mean, act like it's a surprise? What were you thinking?" "I was thinking," she said, "of you! Of this ranch, of everything your father worked for!" "How--" "Because," said his mother, her voice almost pleading. "Because there's a lot of stuff that you don't understand, stuff you don't know about, that's going on in the background." "Try me." She shook her head. "Dane, that doesn't matter. The point is, the only way that we would be able to keep Elsinore Ranch is if we kept the business in the family." "The 'only way'? You expect me to believe that?" Dane scarcely noticed that, as his anger increased, their speed did, too. It wasn't a surprise, really--going fast was what the car was designed to do. Easy to do, in fact. "Of course I do! You're a smart kid, Dane. Do you really think that I would go into a relationship with Clawson if there weren't reasons?" "I would think, Mother, that you wouldn't worry about those reasons because it's wrong to marry your brother-in-law! Who cares about Elsinore Ranch? It could burn for all I care…" "Don't say that. Your father worked hard to provide it." "My father?" Dane snorted. "Which one?" That gouged her; he could see it from the corner of his eye. Easing off the gas for a moment, he fished about in his pocket until he coaxed loose his phone. (One thing that was always a trick to do in the deep bucket seats of the M3 was getting into his pocket.) Thumbing it on, he held the phone out. "What is this?" "I don't know. Maybe daddy dearest doesn't know how to destroy all of the evidence." "All of the evidence." Dane jerked his chin toward the phone. "That's what I said. Play it." Mom took the device and pressed the play button on the video. Because Dane had used this car before, his phone was already paired to it, so the audio came through the speakers, filling the space with ghostly sounds of a dead man. Dane kept one eye on the road and the other on the footage, watching as he saw his father in his final minutes of life, fiddling with the GoPro. "Stupid thing. Okay. I think it's…" Dane Sr. paused, moving slowly. "I think I heard something," he said, the camera trained forward. Dane recognized the place--it was exactly where he and Harmony had found the GoPro strap. A hand swept in front of it--Dane Sr. signaling to his murderer to stop. Carefully, oh so carefully, he stalked forward. "I think I see--" Clawson started to shout a warning, making Papa Dane spin about, the camera blurring with the motion. Clawson stood a few paces away, his GoPro deliberately held up and to an angle with his left hand, while the other pointed the same pistol that Dane had found in the office at Dane Sr. Clawson shouted a couple of incoherent things, his gaze fixed on his brother. "Claw, what--?" said Dane Sr. softly, only to be interrupted by two shots, both clearly from the ASP, that sent Dane Sr. to the ground. "He…he killed…me…" The rasping rattle of a breath slipping out of a body, never to return, filled the small car, the excellent speakers making it sound as if they were in the clearing with him. The GoPro pointed upward into the twilight sky as Dane Sr. struggled for breath. "Dane! Dane!" The screen filled with the image of Clawson, his voice sounding terror struck, but his face painted with a broad smile of savage glee. "Don't talk, Dane," said Clawson around his grin, though the voice sounded shrill with panic. "Oh, God. Oh, no. Dane! Dane! Don't die on me!" He reached out, and, with a knife, sawed the GoPro off of his dead brother's chest. Dane Jr. and Jenny Amleth got one last glimpse of their father and husband as the camera swung around, the gruesome wound gaping like a mouth, a flap of the camo jacket looking like a lolling tongue. "Come here, you little son of--" The video came to an end. Dane looked up from the phone to his mother, who stared at the Watch Again prompt with disbelieving eyes. "Mom--" "Look out!" Her cry brought his head up just in time for Dane to see the man standing off to the side of the road, waving his arms. The car was going too fast for him to even get his foot on the brake, and with his attention distracted by what was happening on the screen, Dane hadn't even noticed that he'd started to drift. The body hit the right fender with a wet crunch. Tossed over the hood, the bones in the body snapping as it rolled, Dane saw the man's head spiderweb the windshield with a bright spray of red. With a detached sense of unreality, Dane felt like the sound was similar to when he and Ryan and George had, the day after Halloween, gone out to toss pumpkins into the road. In a delay of understanding that made it seem like time had come to a standstill, Dane could almost see the body soar through the air, easily ten feet high, arcing toward the unyielding asphalt below. Then time accelerated far too fast and Dane could only try to react, his mind panicking and his heart galloping in terror. The collision pulled the wheels to the right, which caused the car to pitch over the soft shoulder and down into the gulley. It smashed into the ground, sending out a constellation of shattered glass that sparkled in the somehow-still functioning left headlight. The car bounced once painfully, making the airbags deploy and rocking his head back painfully. Still, it kept him from kissing the steering wheel. Plastic exploded and metal crumpled as the vehicle gouged a lengthy trench in the dark undergrowth. For what felt like a long time, Dane struggled to keep his mind awake, to not allow the thick blackness of unconsciousness--or even something more permanent--to take him. In the end, however, his will lost, and a darkness swirled in front of his eyes. Chapter 14
Gwendolyn Madsen When she and Dane had first started dating, he had taken her to this butte that overlooked part of the Elsinore Ranch. "It's kind of my refuge, you know?" he'd said then, walking with his fingers intertwined with hers, guiding her up the path, pointing out the areas where shale rock made it dangerous to tread. "It's nice to be able to come to a place where I can just…you know…think. Try to figure stuff out." She had nodded, more enjoying the incredible view of the valley, with Noah a small smudge in the distance, attached to where they were by a thread-thin umbilical cord of a road. They had taken ATVs up from the Lodge, which they'd parked a ways behind them. The hike was just long enough to make her feel like they'd earned the view, but not so long that she dreaded going back down. She could definitely understand why he liked the place so much. Looking over the ranch, Gwen had pointed to a spot that looked surprisingly cultivated. "What's that?" she had asked. "Family graveyard," he'd said, following her finger with his eyes. "Look, you can see the road that runs in front of it. It's not really that far. That's the one that runs to the Lodge." "Ah, cool," she'd said. More small-talk had ensued, which had turned into an unforgettable moment for her: Dane had leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. It was a unique thrill; she'd never been kissed before. Now she sat on the butte, looking over the ranch, over the graveyard, at the distant twinkle of the Lodge, her lips still burning but because of a far different kind of kiss. Anger, not romance, draped itself over her thoughts. "Why'd you kiss me?" she asked the cold November air. Sitting on a boulder, her knees tucked beneath her chin, her butt slowly freezing on the rock, Gwen watched as the night began to unleash its spray of stars. It was dangerous, she knew, since she would have to navigate the trail down with nothing but a phone's flashlight, but she wasn't really worried. Besides, it was worth being alone. The only person that would likely find her here was Dane, and she rather doubted he would be coming after her. And that was one of the problems: She didn't know if that bothered her or not. She didn't want to be played with, yet she'd tried to play games with both her father and her boyfriend. Dane had done something pretty unforgivable--who, in their right mind, would start shooting at someone and then just pretend that it was no big deal and he wasn't really shooting at her?--and Gwen wasn't really interested in forgiving him at this point. And that didn't even take into consideration the horrible things he'd said in his texts the other day, a detail that she'd meant to bring up with him during their conversation… Yet there was the fact that she understood what had him so upset. They had broken up, and that wasn't something that anyone would really want to deal with. Gwen hadn't wanted to, but as a people-pleaser, and in her attempt at pleasing her father, she'd done a pretty cruel thing to him. Then, to make it worse, she had invited her dad to listen in on a private conversation. That didn't excuse the gun, of course--that was out of bounds. But she couldn't say that she was perfectly innocent either, now could she? Guilt swam through her. Of course it was her fault. Dane was in a bad place right now, and she'd pushed through regardless, desperate to make her father happy--and at the expense of Dane's feelings. An upsurge of emotion swept over her and she let loose a furious, wordless scream at the sky. Curling her fingers through her hair, she closed her eyes and screamed again. It felt good. Not helpful, but good. It got something out of her. "What am I going to do?" she asked of the slowly waving branches of the conifers that surrounded her. "What should I do?" The forest had no answers. Frustrated, she dropped her hands into her lap and stood up. "Okay, so…I should tell Dad that I'm not interested in being a part of this anymore. Dane said he'd needed me and I hadn't been there. I should care about him. He's the…" She hesitated, putting a hand just below her bellybutton. "What have we done?" she whispered. The idea of having an abortion flitted through her mind, but she didn't know the first step. She couldn't be certain, but the county hospital probably didn't offer abortion services. And while she didn't feel like she had a human inside of her--at least, not yet--did she want to prevent the possibility of it becoming one? She shivered, but not because of the cold breeze that kept the leaves near her whispering as they passed her. Some decisions were too big, too hard to figure out on one's own. Yet whom did she have to talk about it? Not Dad, that was certain. Lenny was out, too--not just because he was out of range (his training was going to keep him in the mountains near Paris, Idaho for another few days, if she remembered correctly) but because he was Lenny--and normally, Dane was the one she would turn to. But he was one of the problems. The only other friend that Gwen felt like she had was Harmony Roman, which… Well, now that she thought about that, maybe Harmony would be available to talk to. She was a good friend, and had been for a long time. Granted, Gwen only knew Harmony through the mutual friend of Dane, but that didn't really matter, did it? Sometimes, girl talk was the best talk, regardless of how the girls got together. She pulled out her cellphone. A quick text would set her to rights. They could eat breakfast at the café--or, better yet, go get a milkshake from Rall's Grill and Dairy Freeze on SR-85, even if it was "fraternizing with the enemy", as Rall's Grill was the primary competition to Trucker's--and grouse about the men in their lives until Gwen felt better. "Oh," she said, feeling deflated. "Never mind." There was no cell service out here. She knew that--it was one of the other perks of coming out here, because no one could get a hold of her--but, in the roil of her thoughts, she had forgotten. Well, it was still a good plan. She just needed to get into town to set it in motion. Gwen stood, brushing the dust off the back of her jeans. Just as she was about to start her trek down to where she'd parked the car--off the side of the road on a spongy shoulder--she heard the choking cough of an approaching vehicle from the road in front of the Elsinore graveyard. As she watched, a large truck--or possibly SUV--lurched to a shuddering stop. The lights remained on as the door flung open, releasing with it a string of curses that, on a night with only a leaf-teasing breeze in it, were able to drift into her ears. "Out of gas, are you kidding me? Son of a…" More swearing, more anger, but what was said didn't really matter to her; it was who was saying it that froze her in place. It was Dad. Sheriff Madsen had, somehow, failed to notice the warning light on his dashboard. It was one of the things, Gwen remembered, that he complained about the most with his service SUV: It had horrible gas mileage and the indicator light was finicky at best. Now, it appeared, the man had run out of fuel while still multiple miles from town. Her first impulse was to shout and draw his attention, to let him know that she was there and she could pick him up. His car was a couple of bends away from hers, so he wouldn't have seen her. He didn't know she was there. The swirl of frustration that she'd been trying to sort through crashed over her again. Did she really want to help him? It was his insistence that had kept her away from Dane during the funeral. It was his idea to break up with Dane, which lead to the horrible texts. It was his idea to spy on Dane during a moment of emotional vulnerability. In retrospect, her dad had not been a particularly good father of late. She knew it wasn't fair to judge him so harshly. He was, after all, a really good dad most of the time. He protected the town and his family. He'd done the widower, single-father gig for a long time, raising a boy (who was just like him) and a girl (who was just like his wife) without help from others. That wasn't something to hate him for. But at this particular moment, Gwen didn't feel like giving him the benefit of the doubt. It was selfish of her, she knew. Granted, Dad didn't know she was there, so he couldn't be mad at her for not picking him up. She could drive up into the canyon a bit further, then loop around and head back in an hour or so, by which time Dad would have gotten some gas. Probably. Drawing in one more deep lungful of mountain air, she nodded to herself. It would serve him right for being a prying, conniving father. Not only that, but did she not much care for the idea of having to talk to her dad at this point. If nothing else, that was enough reason to take the long way. Humming idly to herself as she picked her way down from the overlook, Gwendolyn Madsen did her best to convince herself that she wasn't making the wrong choice. For the most part, it worked. Chapter 13
Dane Amleth His phone buzzed. Dane tapped on the message from Harmony: You're lucky. Clawsons at office. Sheriff is on his way to lodge. You've maybe 20 minutes before Clawson arrives. I'll try to stall him. He swallowed. He'd only just managed to avoid having to talk to Ryan and George--they'd knocked and tried to peek into the house for a good five minutes before finally leaving--and the emotional peaks and valleys of his conversation with Gwen still rattled him. But Harmony was right: He had to get a move on. Stall as long as you can, he tapped back, then sent the message off. Move. He had to move. But where? Dane wandered the Lodge as he thought. The logical place to go was Clawson's office, of course, but Dane hesitated going there. If the GoPro--or, maybe, what was left of it--was there, he hadn't hidden it in the most secure place. Then again, the man couldn't be bothered to keep the key to the gun safe secured, so perhaps he wasn't being as careful? Then again again, the GoPro might contain some incriminating evidence. A man like Clawson wouldn't think that a gun was as dangerous as that information. Thinking in that vein made Dane despair of finding anything. If he had that kind of evidence, the last thing he'd do was keep it nearby. He'd destroy it immediately. But where would-- And then it came to him. The Barn. GoPros were notoriously hard to break--he'd seen a video on YouTube of someone parachuting with one that fell off, and it survived the entire trip down. If it was a matter of breaking into the thing, the tools he'd need would be in the workshop section of the Barn. He needed to head that way. Dane's thoughts severed as lights flickered through the bay windows. Someone was here. He pulled out his phone, but there was no new message. Besides, it had only been a couple of minutes since Harmony's text: It couldn't possibly be Clawson…could it? Hesitating almost too long, Dane slipped into the closest room--Clawson's office, as it turned out--just as the kitchen door opened up from the garage. From his position next to the door, he could see the lights flick on in the kitchen. The loud rustle of bags drifted toward him, followed by the distinct clicking of his mother's shoes. "Hello?" The light in the hallway clicked on. "Dane are you--" She stopped. Dane couldn't see anything from this angle, but he could guess why she wasn't calling out anymore. "What the--" Click, click, click, as she approached. "What happened?" She was hunkered over the vase, he was sure of it. A moment later, he heard her stand up, return to the kitchen, and thump around. She walked past the slightly ajar door, and Dane saw she held a broom and dustpan in one hand. Moving as softly as he could, he stepped out behind her and scurried to the kitchen. The back door led out to the patio, and was the most direct path to the Barn. A moment later and he was outside in the bracing air, gently closing the kitchen door. He turned and toward the Barn, easily avoiding the dust-covered lawn furniture and clumps of browned leaves, sticking instead to the stepping-stone pathway that led to his destination. The door, of course, was unlocked, but when he flicked on the overhead fluorescent lights, he couldn't see anything untoward. There were the winterized water toys, covered in tarps and waiting for the next time the Amleths could haul them out to Huntington Reservoir; ATVs, including the ones he'd used with Harmony the other day; an assortment of basketballs, footballs, soccer balls, and other sports equipment, most of it languishing in the dust; and other miscellany that brought back fond memories of when his family was normal. The thought of what he'd lost, of the relationship he'd had with his father, tugged at him. Dane Sr. was not always the best of men, but he'd been a great father. He hadn't deserved what Clawson did to him. Steeling his resolve, Dane scanned the large room again. Where would Clawson put something like that? He drifted past the storage area to the workshop, which was in an open-roofed backroom. Workbenches, toolboxes, and other ranch-upkeep-related items surrounded him. Clicking on the hanging fluorescent lights, he stared at the main worktable in the center of the shop. Globs of paint had dried on it, as well as deep scars from rogue handsaws or power drills. Papa Dane had always liked solving problems with his hands--this workshop felt like an extension of him. More than any other time since the funeral, Dane felt like he was seeing the ghost of his father, and it took the form of this room. Dad's laugh, his barking orders, his intensity when working on a project…the phantom smell of sawdust and wood glue hung in his memories. A wave of sadness and pity swept through him. It was as though the dam of his misery had at last cracked and the sorrow that he should have felt, the mourning that had failed to truly touch him, shoved past all of the carefully constructed justifications of his feelings and Dane, for the second time that night, openly wept. The difference, however, was that he wept for his father, this time. Sitting on the workbench, he cradled his head in his hands, rested his elbows on the table, and let the tears flow. The cascade of emotions travelled from the top of his head and worked its way down through to his soles. His body heaved with the expression of his grief. How long he staid there, letting the feelings of loss express themselves, he didn't know. What pulled him out, however, was the familiar buzz of his phone in his pocket. Sniffing loudly, he looked at his phone with tear-blurred eyes. It took a moment before he could process what he read. He's headed your way from my house. I tried to stall him, but it was no use. You have about ten minutes. Make them count. Wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, he stood up and took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what Harmony had done to give him this time, but it would be ungrateful of him to waste it. And, unsurprisingly, Harmony was right in getting him back on track--a surprising feat, considering the fact that she was miles away. He drew in a cleansing breath, wiped his eyes one more time, then cast about the workroom. There was nothing there. The place was clean--even the debris of the last job was still in the trashcan… He paused. "He couldn't be that stupid," he said to himself, walking over to the bin and peering in. For a long moment, Dane stared, unmoving. He couldn't believe his luck, the fact that Clawson could be so thoughtless--but, the longer he stared at the shattered pieces of a GoPro camera in the folds of a black garbage bag, the less surprising it was. After all, Clawson was like most people Dane knew: Throwing it into the garbage meant the thing ceased to exist. Fingers trembling, he reached in and pulled out the plastic shards. The device looked like it had been pulverized by a sledgehammer--which was probably what had happened. The plastic case in which it would have been strapped onto Papa Dane's body lay next to it, scuffed and chipped but otherwise intact. Though he had no reason to assume that this was what happened, he imagined that Clawson had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to crack open the carrying case before finally looking up a YouTube tutorial on how to remove it. He knew it was dumb--Clawson had his own GoPro that he'd used, after all--but it was a gratifying mental image nevertheless. The camera was indeed ruined, but it wasn't the camera that had him curious: It was the SD card. Holding his breath, he used a fingernail to try to pop open the covering. No good. Glancing at his smartwatch, he realized that if Harmony was right about Clawson's timing, Dane only had minutes left--two or three, probably. Two quick strides took him to the plastic drawers that lined one side of the walled room. Pulling open one, then another, then a third, he cast about for longer than he cared to think until at last finding the drawer containing the needle-nosed pliers. He pulled them out, steadied his hand, and began to pry. A moment later, the SD card came out. Throat dry, he fumbled for his phone and popped out the SD card/SIM card carrying chassis. Substituting his own for the one from the camera, he held his breath as he reassembled his phone and tapped his way to the settings menu. New SD card found. Format? He glanced at the door. Clawson was due any minute now. Heading toward the exit and clicking off the lights as he went, Dane left the Barn, still fixated on his phone. He tapped the No option, keeping his mental fingers crossed that there wouldn't be corruption of the device. The phone thought for a long time, a spiraling circle the only indication that anything was happening. He was almost back to the house when the settings menu returned. He tapped on the card's icon, then went to the video section. Multiple videos were available, but a quick sorting of most recent entries brought up the one that Dane wanted. He heard the thunder of the garage door opening. He was out of time. Chapter 12
Harmony Roman--Twenty Minutes Earlier Harmony hung up her phone and dropped it on the Formica-topped table in the break room, the clatter of the plastic the only sound besides the buzzing of fluorescent lights and the contented hum of the refrigerator. Tenting her hands across the back of her head, she leaned forward and groaned. "Dane. What the hell are you doing to me?" Straightening, she scrubbed her face as if to wash off the strain that her friend had put on her. "Seriously. What the hell." It wasn't even a question, that last one. Just…frustration. With a sigh, Harmony stood, staring at the phone without touching it. More than anything, she regretted telling Dane the truth. She wouldn't have been able to live with herself otherwise--she knew that well enough--but that didn't change the fact that all of this was happening because she couldn't keep her mouth shut. Her Hufflepuff-level of loyalty was at fault here. And, in her heart of hearts--in the place where she kept her feelings for Dane--she recognized that, even if she had known how crazy it would get, she still would have shown him the video. He needed to know. It was only just. Another sigh as she scooped up the phone and mindlessly turned it on. The picture of a Noah sunrise filled the screen. She swiped up on the text message app shortcut. Dane's was on the top, the most recent entry. She opened it up, thumbs hesitating over the digital keyboard. What should she tell him? "Harmony?" She jolted, more because her own thoughts were heavy enough in her mind that she hadn't noticed that her dad now stood in the hallway than because she was actually surprised. "What?" she asked, clicking off the phone and putting it into the poor-excuse for a pocket on her jeans. "Hey, are you going to the Amleths' tonight?" "Um, maybe. Why?" Her dad leaned against the doorsill, a folder in his hand. He stared at it with a furrowed brow, the kind of expression that was equal parts alarm and confusion. "I need to talk to Clawson, but he isn't answering his phone." Harmony pulled on her knit cap and smoothed her hair about it. "Is there something wrong?" "Maybe." Dad sighed, moving back and out of the way so that she could exit the break room. "I think I may just be tired, but I came across this paperwork that makes me think that Northern Way Ranch is maybe…" He stopped and shook his head. "Shoptalk, sweetie. Just, if you see him, will you let him know that I need to talk with him? In case he didn't get the two voicemails. Or the texts." She forced a smile. "Some hyperconnected world we live in, huh?" "Yeah," said Dad, still distracted. "You headed home?" "I--" The rolling tapestry of shadows and lights bloomed on the walls, letting her know that someone had just pulled in. It was past closing time, and it wasn't really common to have a lot of foot traffic for a realtor's office. She squinted as the large vehicle shook with the gentle movement of being put into park. The passenger door popped open and, to her surprise, Clawson Amleth started to emerge. He paused, talking to whoever was driving--probably Sheriff Madsen, since the sheriff had come through earlier in the day to get him. "Dad!" "Hmm!" "I'll go get him." "Who?" "Clawson." She gestured as she hurried to the front door. It was locked--Marcie Rall had clicked the deadbolt into place when she'd left for the day so that no one simply wandered in, desperate for directions through town (which did happen from time to time)--so she had to unsecure it before cruising through. Clawson didn't see her immediately--probably because the streetlight was a good hundred yards away and the building's light cast a feeble yellow glow that was basically worthless. She jogged up to him and blurted out, "I'm glad you're here. Dad said that he needed you to see something." Clawson gave her a startled look. "See what?" Harmony was about to answer, but caught a weird look on Sheriff Madsen's face. Instead, she shrugged. "He was trying to call you, but you didn't answer." "I was talking to my fiancé," said Clawson in a way that sounded almost like a growl. Harmony glanced back at the sheriff. He had a strange expression playing across his face as he looked at her. She knew that, if she had to tell a guy what the expression was like, she wouldn't be able to say what, exactly, it looked like. (If she told some of her girl friends, they all would know immediately what she meant.) It was enough to make her skin crawl. Her stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. "Hello? Harmony!" She broke eye contact and said, "Um, I'm not sure. Fifteen, twenty minutes." "I'm going to go ahead," said Paul from inside the SUV. "If it's all the same to you." Clawson chewed his lip, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, go find Gwendolyn. Leave the rest to me." "Okay. I'll call you before you go to bed, tell you what's up." Clawson nodded, slammed the door shut, and gestured at the building. "Ladies first." Harmony faked a smile and then went inside, keeping the door propped open with one hand so that she could move out of the way and let him into the office. "He's in the back room…" "I know the way," said Clawson, his irritation almost palpable. He disappeared down the hallway, leaving Harmony alone. As soon as he was out of sight, she whipped out her phone and fired off a text, her thumbs a blur: You're lucky. Clawsons at office. Sheriff is on his way to lodge. You've maybe 20 minutes before Clawson arrives. I'll try to stall him. She sent it, then took a deep breath. What could she possibly do to slow him down? When she and Dane had discussed the plan, it hadn't been something like this--a serendipitous arrival and an actual window of time in which to enact it. They had a couple of loose possibilities for how she could help keep Clawson from the Lodge, but "shoptalk with Marshal" wasn't one of them. The phone buzzed. Dane's response was perfunctory: Stall as long as you can. K, she shot back. It wasn't eloquent, but it got the message across. Her mind reeled as she stood in the semidarkness of her father's real estate office. Sending the text reminded her of what she'd been talking to Dane about just before Clawson arrived. Her friend had told her about an awkward conversation with Gwen where he'd "kind of lost my temper". He mumble-mouthed some things about not feeling quite right and that he regretted what he'd done--it hadn't made a lot of sense. He said that he was going to try to find his dad's GoPro--the whole point of their plan--and he'd need her help. Then he had to sign off, since Ryan and George had shown up and he would have to deal with them. Now she was helping him out again. What was wrong with her? She needed to sort out her priorities. It felt like things were growing in complexity, quickly getting out of hand. She didn't want to think about the consequences of what might happen if Clawson caught Dane snooping around. While Harmony might not bear the brunt of the Amleths' wrath, Dad wouldn't be happy about what they were doing. Not only that, but what, exactly, was she supposed to say to Clawson that wouldn't get him instantly suspicious? She walked toward the office, the conversation clearly an uncomfortable one. There was a heat in Clawson's voice, though she couldn't hear anything distinctly, that was clear to her. Swallowing hard and willing her heart to not thunder too loudly in her ears--the nerves of trying to trick a murderer (a maybe murderer; they didn't know for certain) making it hard for her to think clearly--she peeked her head around the corner of the door. "Hey, Dad?" Both men froze, then turned toward her. "Yeah, Harmony?" She swallowed again and stapled a smile to her face. "Hey, I just realized that I can't go home yet because I came with you today, remember?" "Oh, man." He shook his head and gestured at the paperwork. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but this…this is kind of a bad time…" "Do you need me for anything else?" said Clawson in a voice that only thinly veiled how pissed he was. "No, I don't think so," said Dad with a sigh. "It's just…it'll take some time to clean this all up. You know, if you had just--" Clawson stood abruptly. "Fix it, Marshal. That's all you need to do." It had only been a few minutes since she'd texted Dane; he was probably in the middle of his search. If Clawson left now, it would only take another five, maybe seven minutes before he was back to the Lodge. Desperate, Harmony didn't know what else to do but ask, her heart in her throat and her palms sweaty, "A-are you leaving?" Clawson glanced at her. "Yeah, I've gotta go." "So…Dad?" She cleared her throat and summoned her courage. "Can I go with Clawson?" She put out a hand and leaned back, as if to better see the man. "That is, if it's okay with you. I know it's sort of out of your way." Clawson's jaw audibly gritted together. "It's okay with me," said Dad. "In fact, it would help a lot. I could get this stuff done sooner if I don't have to run her home. Would you mind helping me out?" Harmony couldn't decide if the rush that fluttered her stomach came from relief that her dad had vouched for the idea, or fear that she was climbing into a car with Clawson Amleth. The fact that he didn't know she suspected him was her only solace, and it was a thin one. Still, Dane needed her help. She had to do something, and this was the only thing that she could think to do. "All right, fine," said Clawson in that growl-like voice he'd used earlier. "I can do that really fast." Harmony let out a breath that she'd been holding and forced that smile on her face again. "Thank you so much. I'm sorry to make your night harder." He shook his head. "No, it's no trouble. It helps out Marshal, which means that it helps me out. Entirely selfish." He, too, forced a smile on his face that she saw through: He was not happy about this. Mouth dry, she leaned over Dad's desk and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Love you, Daddy." "I love you, too, sweetheart. I'll see you at home." "Yeah." She didn't add, "If I live that long", as it probably wouldn't have gone over well with either male in her company. "Bye." Dad flashed a smile, but was already back in his world of words and laws, his face wrinkled with concentration. "Come on," said Clawson, stomping his way to the front. "I do need to get home quickly." "I'm sorry," said Harmony again, apologizing mostly out of instinct--she'd seen her fair share of "alpha males" who didn't brook being contradicted and saw apologies as effeminate and demeaning. In this case, it seemed the best way to keep what was clearly an agitated man from getting too upset. "I really appreciate it." He grunted an acknowledgment and the two of them climbed into his BMW M3, which sat low to the ground--so low that, if he were to take it much farther up the road past the Lodge, he'd bottom out on the dirt- and gravel roads--and made Harmony feel like she was about to land on the parking lot's pavement. Stretching all the way out, she pulled the heavy door closed as Clawson fired up the engine and spun the wheel, spitting them out of the parking stall and facing SR 85. "You're…where?" "Seventeen eighty-two west and third south," said Harmony. Like most Mormon-colonies-turned-towns, Noah was built on a grid system, with everything being on the compass rose in relation to Main and Center Street. While it meant that the streets were unimaginatively named, it also meant that finding an address was a breeze. Three hundred south was actually north of where they were, so he turned right onto SR 85, gunned the engine, and accelerated so quickly that Harmony had to clutch the door handle to keep herself from flinching in fear. Clawson didn't bother signaling as he changed lanes and sped up, the blocks slipping by with a dizzying speed underneath the sparse oasis of light coming from the streetlamps. Harmony fished out her phone and opened up the texts. She tapped in a message to Dane, then turned off the screen, all the while her heart thumped inside her chest. "Who you texting?" The engine's purr was audible, though muffled, and almost blocked out Clawson's question. "Huh?" She looked at her phone. "Oh, just… Gwen." "Madsen?" Harmony swallowed and forced that smile onto her face--for the first (and, likely only) time, she was grateful for the number of awkward conversations she'd had to endure with clueless guys at parties or clubs, because it meant that she could smile without meaning it with almost no effort--before saying, "Oh, yeah. She's a great girl." Inwardly, she berated herself for such a stupid saying. "She's a great girl." Who said something like that, honestly? Clawson said, "I think she's dating my son." She bristled at the use of the word. "Dane?" "Who else?" "I, um…I heard that things aren't going well for them…" She trailed off as Clawson slowed the car, waiting for a string of southbound cars to pass before turning left onto Three Hundred South. She could just barely see Trucker's Burgers and Fries about a block further up the road before the turn finished and they were into the residential area. He accelerated into the neighborhood, only slightly modifying his speed from the State Road. "Yeah," said Clawson, his voice distant. "I heard the same thing." Harmony thought of the conversation that she'd had with Dane. He told her about the small camera. Were Dane's suspicions true? Had Clawson been spying on him? Was that why the sheriff had looked so angry, why Clawson was so begrudging to help her out? Harmony couldn't say for certain, but it made sense. Every other block, a yield sign was posted to control the flow of traffic (inasmuch as traffic ever "flowed" through the acre-plus lots that made up the neighborhood), none of which Clawson cared about. He drove almost mechanically, so much so that, upon arriving on her block, Harmony had to almost shout "This is it!" to get him to stop in time. The brakes squealed just a little as he scuttled to a rest slightly past the driveway. "Wow," said Harmony, forcing that smile back on her face. "Your car is pretty impressive." By this point she wasn't even sure what to do, but she knew she had to do something; Dane counted on her. "How fast can this thing go?" "Dunno," said Clawson, fiddling with the gearshift. "Pretty fast, if necessary. Here you go." Harmony, defeated, gave him a timid thanks, then got out of the car. The door was hardly closed before the BMW whipped around in a tight circle--an impressive feat, she had to admit--and growl its way back toward SR-85…and the Lodge. Pulling free her phone, she drafted another text: He's headed your way from my house. I tried to stall him, but it was no use. You have about ten minutes. Make them count. She looked over the words, then tapped the Send button. "Good luck, Dane," she whispered to the cold November air. He would need it. |