chapter 3

No sooner had officer Reid pulled his dusty quad car onto the long gravel driveway of my grandparents home in Moses Lake, then they were outside to greet me, fawn over me, and generally disgust me. I must have endured a dozen kisses before my grandma pulled me tight into her chest. Gross! I guess I should humor her though. She just lost her son. My gran was a tall slender woman, who looked much younger than she must have been. Hell, she looked about the same age as my mom. Still, that doesn't mean I want her b***s thrown in my face. When will this hug end? I guess it wasn't so bad. Then it was grandpa's turn. Just a quick hug and a squeeze on my shoulder, that's the kind of man he was. My grandad was a sharp contrast to Grandma Staffer. He was quiet, reserved and he never lost his cool. He was a man I could look up to. Grandad signed some papers for the officer, then ushered me into the house. It was an old one story deal with lots of windows, sitting on several acres of worthless dirt land. There was nothing to do here, no internet even, but that didn't matter. I didn't plan on staying long. At my first opportunity I was out of there.

 

The first few days were hard.Gran spent most of the time crying, the smallest of remarks could bring forth an upswelling of tears, and there was no comforting her. Consequently, I spent as much time as possible with my grandpa, and that meant work. He seemed to think that if he just stayed busy long enough he wouldn't have time to be upset, and that was more than fine by me.  Judging by the old man's rugged sunbeaten features, his rippling muscles draped over his wiry frame, he'd been working off pains long before I was born. Aside from the wrinkles and the almost leathery tan, I looked alot like my grandpa. We had  the same build, we both fell short of average in the height department, and we both had dark, almost cold eyes that gave away our thoughts even when our faces didn't. Under different circumstances, I would have been glad to spend so much time with the man, he was strong and silent just like I one day hope to be. The first thing my grandad did was order three cords of wood. I remember he told me that when I'm done splitting it all that things would be better, that  would have control. And with every swing of the sledgehammer, every ping of the wedge, every crack of the wood splitting apart I felt stronger, tougher, more in control.

 

My hands were raw and bloody, my face was dripping with sweat that rolled down into my eyes making my world swim. I pushed myself harder than I had ever been pushed. My arms ached; they felt like they were on fire, but I kept swinging the sledge. I refused to take a break, refused to eat until with dusk approaching I realized that I could no longer pick up the rounds of firewood, let alone swing a hammer or axe. I stumbled back into the house and fell asleep on my bed. If I thought I was sore then, the next day was a wake up call.

 

My grandpa came in and sat at the edge of my bed. He didn't say a word for a few minutes but finally he said "It doesn't happen all at once, it takes time." He was talking about the wood, but in his own way he was telling me that if I wanted to control my emotions, I needed to control all of me, including the part that drove me to the point of collapse the day before.

 

Just when I thought I was mastering my sadness, that I was hardened like Grandpa, I was brought sharply back to reality. My parents funeral was in two days and we would be driving over a day early to help with preparations. This also meant I would be back in my own house for the last time as I packed my few possessions and tossed my dad's porn stash. He was dead but I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted all his relatives stumbling upon that box. It seems silly but I would want someone to do the same for me. So I guess it's alright.

 

After what seemed like a thousand hugs from a thousand strangers, my resolve was about worn down to nothing. But when the pall bearers brought in the matching oak caskets, I broke. My mother's casket was left closed. Why? Had the bullet destroyed her once beautiful face? I couldn't bear to think about it. I walked mournfully up to my dad's body. I don't care how many times you hear it, the dead do not look like they are asleep. All I could see through the tears welling up in my eyes was my dad in his best suit, his face just a little too relaxed to be him. "I love you dad. I know you didn't hear that enough. I love you and I will be strong." I stopped next at my mother's casket. "I miss you, mom. They took you and it's not fair. Did it hurt? Did it last long? I wish I could see your face one last time, I don't care what they've done to it." I started to lift the lid, but the strong hand of my grandpa held it firmly in place, and he said "You don't need to see her like this, Jake. Some things you can't unsee." "I'm not a child!" I retorted. His hand left the coffin lid as mine grabbed it. What I wouldn't give to go back and undo that action. What I saw made the fire rise up inside of me and made my stomach turn. A large portion of her face was missing. The wound was raw and red and I could see part of her jaw bone. It was grotesque, similar to the victims in a zombie movie, but it was so much more real. I swallowed the stone that had risen in my throat, mustered all of my courage and kissed her one last time, on her good cheek. It was this act of desperation, love and bravery that marks my passage between boyhood and being a man. It was the bridge between weakness and strength.

 

The next six months flew by without incident. I was enrolled in Moses Lake High School to finish my senior year, the only high school around. I did what I had to do, jumped through all the right hoops, all the while waiting for my opportunity to leave. I thought my grandpa might understand that I wanted to go it alone, but that school certainly wouldn't. My mission would be so much easier without missing person flyers all over the town, or worse the news. Do they even print photos on milk cartons anymore? Just a thought.

 

I dragged myself through six months of classes, sitting in the back and remaining as anonymous as possible. When graduation day came along, I didn't bother doing 'the walk'. The only walk I was going to be doing was down the road until someone would offer me a lift. By now it was only two months until my eighteenth birthday, me being an August baby. So I sat down for a talk with my grandparents and told them my plan. Not my real plan, of course. No one could know that. In fact, I hadn't worked up much of a plan yet anyway. I told them that I wanted to head back to Kent and live with a couple friends who have an apartment there. My gran was reluctant but I knew my grandpa had the final say. He was headstrong and came from a family of eleven kids. When he grew up, he didn't have a choice, he left. It seems to me he felt all young men should learn to make it on their own; forge their own destiny, so to speak. He gave me $500 for a graduation present and bought me a greyhound ticket to Seattle. I told him I could make it from there, and that was that.

 

I'd been following Tyler Rich's trial in the papers, and by that I mean online. He was charged with murder but the lawyers couldn't prove that he did it. At least he served time for robbery, come to think of it, that might be better. He would get out sooner, and it would be easier to get to him if he wasn't behind bars. When I got to Seattle, I had one thing on my mind. I had to find Rich.

 

And find him I did, Using a library computer I was able to look up which prison he was in, the Regional Justice Center of King County. Ironically, it was only a block from the Quiznos dumpster he was found in. I bet he could see it from his cell. I had to find a way to see him. But why would he talk to me? If I came as a visitor and he recognized me from the police station, surely he would turn around and walk back to his cell without so much as a word. What I really needed was to offer him something he needed. But what would he want besides his freedom? There's nothing I could do about that. Money? I don't have enough of that for it to be useful. I could always threaten Tyler. If he wasn't the killer, was his threat to dispose of anyone else in the house enough to count as attempted murder? Lets hope he thinks so.

 

I strode calmly and confidently into the RJC building and approached the guard at the front desk. "Can I help you?" the guard asked with a heavy inflection of boredom in his voice. "My name is Jacob Staffer and I would like a visitation with one of the inmates." I replied hopefully, my confidence wavering slightly. "Got a particular one in mind or should I just pick one for you? We've got a nice drunk in the back you could chat with." the guard added with a chuckle. This guy really thought he was funny. Just need to laugh along and don't let him suspect anything. "No, its not uh, like that." I said "I'd like to see Mr. Rich, Mr. Tyler Rich. We have some things to discuss."

 

The guard led me to a metal detector and instructed me to turn out my pockets. "Safety first" he laughed. He then patted me down and led me to visiting room b, where I waited anxiously for the man who haunted my dreams to walk through the door. The doorknob turned and in walked Tyler Rich, escorted by the same guard who had brought me in. I asked the guard if he could wait outside, since Tyler was handcuffed it didn't seem dangerous. The guard obliged and I immediately got to work. I told him what I saw and heard that night. I told him I just wanted his partner's name. I threatened the scumbag but he wouldn't say a word. I got up in his face and proclaimed him to be the most worthless human alive and that he would die with what he had done on his conscience. He just sat there, cold as the steel chair he was cuffed to. And that's when I lost it. I suddenly found my hands, rough and muscular from working, clasped around his neck. I was squeezing and choking the b*****d. He was twitching and squirming in his chair but to no avail. I whispered that I would stop if he would only tell me the name, but of course I was lying.The last words he spoke before I strangled the life out of him were

"Don't kill my brother"

Reviews

[Miss Marie Riorden.]

Jeez it gets better and better the more I read. Though, to be honest, I did start crying at the funeral scene. (Reminds me of the one I went to last Novermber), but well thought out and written. And I love the whole "Don't kill my brother" twist at the end. I'm waiting for the next chapter now.