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. |