FINALE

     The ringing of the phone echoed throughout the house and down the wood paneled hallway. J.W. walked out of the bathroom and into the master bedroom of the house. A pair of white cotton boxers lay at the foot of his bed, folded neatly. The towel around his waist dropped as he pulled the boxers up onto himself, taking his time. The phone rang impatiently.

     He walked through the house slowly and steadily, without any impending purpose. Rounding the doorway to the kitchen, he lifted his hand to reach for the long cord phone that was fixed to the wall. The ringing stopped as he lifted the receiver. He put it to his ear without saying a word. He listened silently.

“J.W.?.....Is that you?....It’s Travis.”

“Yeah it’s me. What is it?”

“Most people answer the phone by saying hello.”

“Well, most people ain't suppose to be dead.”

“I guess it would seem odd if a dead man picked up if you called someone’s house. Been layin' low?
Listen, I got word from my man. I know where she’s stayin’ and I know her shifts. All we gotta do is wait till she’s working and grab her. No fuss, it's done.”

“Nah, we ain't hittin’ her at work. Somebody could see us and call the law. When she gets home, she’ll have someone waiting on her.”


     Travis sighed through the telephone.

“Whatever man, it’s your town. Your rodeo.”

“Give me the address.”

“It’s out on Big Woods Road, go down about a half mile, its got a red roof and a broke down chevy in the driveway.”

“3 am, she should be coming home from her shift at the bar. You take care of your end, make sure no one comes into that house behind her. I’ll take care of mine.”

“J.W., you think we oughta just tell them what happened? Let her face her judgement? This just doesn't seem right.”

“You held her, just the same as I did, Travis. Did that seem right to you? She will face her judgement,  but this is beyond the law.”

     The receiver clicked as he set it back on the wall, and the cord tangled beneath it. J.W. leaned his hand against the refrigerator that stood beside him and hung his head. When he closed his eyes he could only see one thing, Rebecca’s pale face staring back.

     He choked back the lump rising in his throat and blinked away tears. For once in his life, he felt that he had control over his life. What happened next was up to him alone, and he intended to find justice. Maybe not the kind of justice that was morally or ethically right, but justice nonetheless.

     As he made his way back to his bedroom he stopped at his nightstand. Sitting on top where he had left it, was his Bible. A thick, black leather bound book that has been with him since childhood. He smiled slightly as he brushed his fingers across the cover. They skipped over every bump and wrinkle.
     He sat on the edge of his bed and began to pull on his black lace up boots. He pulled the strings tight and knotted them at the top, tucking the loose ends inside so they couldn't be seen.

     He stood in silence as he buttoned down his shirt, all the while thinking of Rebecca. The cold touch of her hand that he could still feel. The stickiness of the drying blood that covered her hair. All of the memories he had, all of the smiles and laughter, had been blotted over with these images. He could no longer imagine the day they met or the day they married. Everything was a black void, and at the bottom of that void was her lifeless body.

     J.W. reached one arm into the air and shoved it through the arm hole of his department issued Kevlar vest. His head and second arm followed behind it. Tightening the Velcro straps around the chest, he grunted slightly. A full length mirror across the room shown back his reflection.

     He stared back at it for a moment. This would be the first time in his life he had ever put his uniform on to do anything but enforce the law. And this could very well be the last time in his life that he put it on at all.

******

     At the police station, in the small town of Zwolle, which was now the working headquarters of the state police, people swarmed liked bees. Files upon files were spread out across desks and tables. The entire building buzzed with conversations and the sound of papers flipping.

In a backroom, a long conference table sat with one man at the head of it. His uniform was a dark blue with yellow lining, and a wide brimmed hat of the same color sat on the table to his right. He read the papers of the file, as a younger officer approached him with a manila file folder. The man sitting spoke first.

“Ain't this a damn cluster of police work? It’s a wonder this town hasn’t eaten itself alive. Uncharged murders, domestic abuse, stabbings. Look here, this is a report of a body being found in the parking lot of a bar called Coon Ridge. That’s it. You know what they did? Nothing. No arrest. The family didn’t even file a complaint.”

“Yessir, it has that reputation.”

“It’s a damn shame is what it is. This ain't the wild west. There has to be law. All this frontier justice is chaos. That’s all it is. What’s this one you got?”

     The man reached over to grab the file that the young officer was holding.

“Reported as a hit and run. Young girl found beaten and bloody, left in a ditch a few years back. No arrests. The girl never described a vehicle or anything.”

“She live?”

“I didn’t see a matching name in the system or a report of death. I’ll ask the dispatcher if she knows anything about it.”

     The young officer turned to walk out of the room just as another entered. He seemed nervous and a bit excited as he began to speak.

“Sir, there’s a call for you out front.”

“Take a name and number, tell them I’ll call them back.”

“You might wanna take this one sir. He asked for you by name and said it was urgent.”

     The man let out an irritated groan and stood himself up from his chair. He shoved his hat down on his head and stepped heavily toward the front of the building. When he reached the front office desk, he rested one arm down on the table, and picked the phone up with the other.

“Hello……speaking….”

******

     J.W cut the engine of his truck off half a mile from the house Morgan was staying at. He parked off the road, into a small trail so that some trees covered his truck from sight of any passing vehicles.  With ease, he snapped the door shut , before heading out. As he walked past, he dropped his keys into the bed of the truck. He had no intentions of coming back for it.

     For thirty minutes, he stepped through the woods. He zigged in between trees and ducked under branches, trying to make as little noise as possible. The moon was covered by a thick layer of dark clouds, making it that much harder to see. He could hear cicadas buzzing in the distance, singing the soundtrack of his arrival.

     The porch light of the house came into view just on the other side of a tree line. His palms began to sweat. His heart beat began to increase rapidly. He had never even fired a gun at someone his entire career before he killed Campbell. Now, 2 days later, he planned to use it again.

     Every light in the house was off. Darkness bled from inside, while the light from the porch fought against it. The grass in the yard was tall and wet with the dew of the dampening air. As silent as he had arrived, his shape disappeared behind the house.

     The knob of the back door resisted as J.W.’s hand clenched around it and attempted to turn. He took one look around before slamming his fist through one of the four glass panes. Shining splinters rained down onto the floor. Reaching down, he unlocked the door from the inside and turned the knob, which this time cooperated.

     The glass crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the threshold. Blood from his hand dripped along the tile of the kitchen floor as he made his way through. The house was fairly clean on the inside, besides a few dirty dishes lining the sink. On top of the kitchen table sat a stack of 2 or 3 envelopes. He flipped through them, all addressed to Morgan.

“Hmmmmm….”

     He sat them back down and looked to his right, down a dark hallway toward one solemn room at the end. The red letters of a digital clock illuminated the bed. A few clothing items lay on the floor, that were clearly that of a female.

     His steps thundered down the hall. He looked around the room briefly, before removing the pistol that had been resting in the waistband of his pants. Gently, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his boots firmly on the floor. Then, almost robotically, he placed each hand down directly on top of his knees. His right hand clutched the gun.

     For twenty minutes he sat still, the only movement being the blinking of his eyes. They focused so that he could see clearly into the darkness. What began as shadowy blobs were now clear forms to him. Stillness and silence ruled the night. The only sound was his steady breathing.

     J.W.’s thoughts flickered in and out like an old home movie. He thought of his time with the police department. Working with and studying Campbell to learn everything that he knew. As a young man, he looked up to him in many ways. And still, as hard as he had studied him, he hadn’t known him at all.
     For years, Campbell had lived as a mad man and presented only a mask to J.W. Even now, he could not remember his face. Now, he was left wondering, if he could be fooled that easily, what else he could have gotten wrong in his life.

     His wife had certainly seen something in him that made her leave. The love they shared disappeared overnight and as hard as he fought, he could not get it back.

     Suddenly, headlights poured in through the windows of the house and J.W. could hear the engine of the car approaching. Brakes squealed to a stop under the carport and the engine killed. J.W. waited. The door of the car creaked open and then shut behind the driver. J.W. waited. Footsteps up to the front door and a jingle of keys. J.W. waited. Metal slid against metal as the key entered the door. The knob turned and the door swung open. Still, J.W. waited.

     Morgan entered the living room, walking right past the light switch, she left the room dark and tossed her purse onto the couch, with a thud. Next, a polo shirt, with the logo of the bar she worked at, flung across the top of the sofa. In her jeans and bra, Morgan walked toward the kitchen in order to flip on the light.

     As the sole of her shoe hit the tile of the floor, it squeaked and slid a few inches forward. She stopped to look down at the floor and picked up the bottom of her shoe. Her fingers ran across the ridges and she brought them close to her face to examine the wet substance she had stepped in. Her stomach sank as the red blood came into focus. Without looking around, she turned to walk quickly back toward the door.

“Stop!”

     Morgan froze in fear, reaching up only to cover her exposed bra with crossed arms. She began to shake. A voice from the back room spoke.

“Walk in here, slowly.”

“I knew this wasn’t over. I knew it in my heart.”

     As she turned to face him, J.W. used the tip of the gun to flip the light switch on in the bedroom. He waved the gun, motioning  her to walk forward. She did so, hanging her head.

     Morgan walked to the opposite side of the room, while J.W. stood at the door. Tears rolled down her face as she stood cowering, covering herself. J.W. held the gun up, pointed it at her.

“Tell me why! Why?!”

     Morgan looked toward the floor.

“I am broken. Everything was taken from me. My innocence. My Safety. My sight. I lived in fear. Fear that never went away.”

“That had nothing to do with me, that had nothing to do with Rebecca, you bitch!”

     J.W. screamed through his own tears.

“Sometimes you can get buried so slowly, you don’t even know you’re dead. You shoulda killed me in that cemetery, J.W.”

     J.W. shook his head.

“You tried to kill ME. You killed Rebecca!”

     Morgan lifted her head and brushed back the hair away from her blind eye.

“No….the first time….when you did this.”

     Confused, J.W. looked back at her. The gun trembled in his hand.

“Campbell. It was Campbell, you said. You told me.”

“Wake up J.W.! There’s no fucking Campbell. It’s you. You did this to me. You did it to Elizabeth. It was you.”

“No! That’s not true. What are you trying to do?”

     Flashes of memories jumbled through J.W.’s mind. He saw Elizabeth in her car smiling at him, then she screamed as he grabbed her arm. He saw Rebecca’s face as he punched her and dragged her into the back of his truck. He saw Morgan as she crawled away from him crying.

     J.W.’s eyes filled with tears. He shook his head in disbelief, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “It wasn’t me,” he repeated. Morgan rushed across the room. J.W. screamed as her knee jammed into his groin, causing him to buckle over and drop his gun.

     Frantically, they wrestled to retrieve the weapon. J.W. grabbed a handful of her hair as she crawled toward it. She quickly turned and scratched him across the face. With both hands, J.W. held his face and screamed. He only stopped when he heard the cocking of the gun.

“Get up you bastard!”

   J.W. sat, staring up at her, as she now stood over him. The gun was pointed right at his face, held by Morgan’s delicate hands. Suddenly, she swung the gun up toward the door of the bedroom as footsteps bounded in their direction. Travis’ voice yelled.

“J.W.!”

     As he entered the room a shot rang out and J.W. put both hands over his ears. He felt a warm spray of blood across his skin as his eyes clamped down tight. The floor shook as Travis’ body collapsed behind him.

J.W.’s breathing was quickly increasing and he could feel himself hyperventilating. For the first time, he was afraid. He waited for another shot and expected his own death to follow. When it did not come, he slowly allowed his eyes to creep open.

     Standing across the room, Morgan stood crying. She held the point of the gun under her chin with both hands. Her finger rested on the trigger.

“It was you, J.W. It was always you.”

     Red and blue lights broke through the darkness of the night, just as the shot went off. Debris from Morgan’s skull stuck to the wall and slowly dripped down in a red parade of macabre. Her body lay lifeless in front of J.W.

     Police cars filled the yard of the house, every one with lights swirling on top. Officers descended on the property like a swarm of ants. What was once a dark, silent night was now chaos. Guns drawn, yelling at the top of their lungs, officers order J.W. to put his hands behind his head.

     Just beyond the cars and out of the yard, two tires sat on the cool, black highway. A long haired man sat atop a bicycle looking on at the madness. He shifted the bandanna around his head as he put his feet down on the peddles. Redman Smiled as he rode away.

END.

     In 1995, J.W. was committed to the Angola State Prison system. Charged with four counts of first degree murder, he pled guilty.

     Two life sentences without parole kept him there until he succumbed to a heart attack in 2015, spurring the telling of this story.

     In a transcript of the court proceedings and sentencing, it was shown that the judge that handed down the sentence was quoted as saying,

“Evil men will do evil deeds, but in the end, your sin will find you out.”

Episode 16

    
Ephesians 4: 26-27
         Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil.

     We are only here for a short period and then we leave this world. It has been said that in the last moments of life, all of your days pass before your eyes in an instant. All of your deeds, all of your missteps and judgements. All played back for you like an old film projector.
     What if your entire life has been suffering? Should we be made to suffer again? Life is one long line of opportunities. Whether we realize it or not, we are presented with choices everyday. Little moments in time, that while seeming meaningless in the moment, will one day be played back for us to witness our wickedness or our victory, in front of the Great Judge.
     The one small hang-up in this entire system, is that the opportunity to do evil is much more prevalent than that to do good. We are given an unlimited amount of opportunities in this life to do evil, but the chance to do something good, something really meaningful, comes around very seldom.
     Nicodemus said that when he found God, the man he was died, and he was reborn as a new creature. A man without the bindings of the old man's sins. A man free from vengeance.

******

     The hand that gripped the one clawing it’s way through the dirt of the grave, grasped tightly. The soles of boots bared down against the ground and arms pulled as hard as they could. Travis let out a loud groan as he used every ounce of energy to pull forth the man struggling through the brown heap.

     A figure began to rise from beneath the Earth, the fingernails of his free hand digging into the ground so hard that they threatened to break. Finally, the mound grew large enough so that the dirt pushed itself aside and began to tumble down the sides revealing a head. A deep wheezing broke into the darkness, followed by struggling coughs.

      The man collapsed across the ground with his face lying in the grass. The green blades moved forward and back as he sucked in deep, troubled breaths. Travis grabbed him underneath the arms, dragging his body completely out of the dirt. He rolled him over onto his back and slapped his face lightly.

“Wake up, dammit!”

     Travis pried his mouth open with his hands and stuck two fingers down between his teeth. He dug out several large globs of mud that had accumulated during the struggle. He slung them out and continued working. One final ball came out of the man’s throat forcefully and Travis sighed with relief as he could hear unobstructed breathing. The man continued to cough and wheeze. Travis sat back on the ground, panting, gathering his composure.

“I always said I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, I guess I’ll have to eat crow on this one.”

     Through a deep wheeze and a rough, scratchy voice, J.W. answered back.

“You…..shoulda…let me die.. you bastard.”

“Looked like you was fightin’ pretty hard against it, hell I take pity even on dogs. Had to do something.”

     J.W. rolled over to his stomach and climbed up shakily to his hands and knees. He coughed hard and spit out a patch of dark brown onto the grass.

“Rebecca….."

“Just stay put, you ain't got your bearings back yet.”

“Where is she?”

      Travis’ eyes began to glass over with tears and his voice cracked with emotion. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“She’s here, J.W…..she’s here.”

     Sticking out from behind Travis, J.W. could see Rebecca’s legs laying across the ground. They lay motionless. He choked back his own emotion and shook his head back and forth in refusal to believe what he already knew.

     With an unsure body, he crawled slowly in her direction. Travis grabbed his shoulder.

“J.W., stop. You don’t want…..”

     In anger, J.W. tossed aside Travis’ hand and continued crawling. Rebecca’s face came into view, pale blue, and covered in blood. She stared back at him with hollow eyes. The love and laughter had faded as grey as her skin. The hand he held in his heart for years vanished into ashes.

     With the remaining energy he had left, he pulled his legs underneath him into a seated position, while at the same time pulling Rebecca’s lifeless body into his lap. He unwrapped the electrical tape that was spun around her wrists, cutting into her skin. Her hands fell to her sides and J.W. picked one up and held it in his hand. With the other, he brushed her hair back away from her face. He looked at her expressionless face and saw the many years they had together escaping. Slowly, he rocked back and forth as the tears began to roll.

      Travis knelt beside J.W. and placed a hand on his back. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to. At that moment, every difference the two men had in the past, the hatred they felt, faded away. In it’s place grew a feeling that would bind them together with a greater force than hate could ever separate them. Vengeance.

******

      The fallout of the revelation of Campbell’s activities were widespread. Officials from the state took over the Zwolle Police Department, sifting through filing cabinets, putting every case in the last twenty years into question. The district attorney announced an official investigation into the involvement of any other city employees.

      On the news that night they described the death of the town’s sheriff. “Suspicious Circumstances” is what they called it. In reality, Campbell’s death was the only one that was anything but suspicious. J.W. had admitted to his involvement and that he had killed Campbell. The only thing there was left to investigate was who attacked J.W. and killed Rebecca.

      Nevertheless, the town of Zwolle was in an uproar over the murder of their beloved friend. State agents advised J.W. that if he didn’t want to remain in protective custody, that he would be best advised to lay low and not be seen in town, until they could make an official statement.

      Travis was also questioned on the same day, as they were brought in together after being found on the scene. His explanations were more extensive, as a cop from another district, the eye of suspicion was heavily upon him.

      The two men barely spoke inside the police station. That much had been agreed upon. Any conversations they have would be in private. So, walking through the parking lot, back to their trucks, that’s exactly what they did.

“How hard did they hit you?”

“About what you’d expect. Told them I don’t know shit. Coulda been anyone that hit me with that stun gun.”

“That ain't gonna buy us much time. These ain't parish cops, this is state, they’ll find something.”

“What we gonna do ain't gonna take long. Get with your source, call me when you get something.”

“What you gonna do ‘till then?”

      J.W. looked off into the passing steam form the mill, rising in the sky.

“I’m gonna get lost for a bit.”

      Travis watched as J.W. climbed into his truck and turned to watch as it rattled across the railroad tracks next to the police station, and then drove away. He fished around in his pocket for his keys and then pulled the one for his truck forward. As he sat down in the seat, he let out a sigh and reached up to adjust his mirror. The reflection bent down toward him and he could see three men standing in the front window of the police station. All three men watched his truck, one of the men’s lips moved as he shook his head slowly.

      Travis stared back at them until they turned back into the office. His hands gripped down on the steering wheel until his knuckles shown white. He knew that the round of questioning he had just endured was the first of many and he had done nothing to quell their suspicions. But soon it all wouldn’t matter.

       Driving away, he knew he likely wouldn’t see the police station again. Just two blocks over, a familiar face sat on the curb in front of the Kwik Trip gas station. Looking disheveled and hung over, the man didn’t even look up as the truck approached.  Travis rode past him slowly and gave his horn a quick honk, which seemed to startle the man awake.

      He pulled his truck around to the side of the building, out of sight. In his side mirror, Redman walked toward him, lazily. He adjusted the bandana covering his head as Travis rolled his window down, resting his elbow across the door.

“Well, you look like hot shit on a stick, don’t you?”

“Careful white man, you’re in enough trouble I hear.”

“Temporary my friend, everything in this life is temporary. In the meantime, I need your services in finding someone.”

“Someone additional? Last man you had me find ended up in that shootout at Bayou Scie. People don’t know if he’s dead or alive. Ain't nobody seen him.”

“This time it ain't a man.”

      Travis pulled a picture out of his jean pocket and handed it over to Redman. He studied it closely, and tapped it against his hand, before handing it back.

“You sure about this, white man?”

      Travis shoved a $100 bill into Redman’s front shirt pocket, rolled up his window, and drove away.

******

     That night, J.W. stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom. With one hand, he wiped away the fog that had built up while he showered. He put both palms down onto the sink and watched the water swirl down the drain. He held his hands under the running water and scooped it into his face.

      Everything in his mind was numb. His life felt like a fading impression of what it used to be, and soon it would fade completely. The cool water dripped from his face as he reached up to grab a hand towel hanging on the wall from a hook.

      He stared at himself in the mirror as he placed the end of a spool of gauze on his neck and began wrapping the roll around. The white cotton in the gauze soaked up and immediately became the color of the yellowish, brown blister bubbling from his neck. The burned skin ached and leaked fluid.

      On the edge of the porcelain sink sat a black handgun. It called to J.W. like a ghost. A ghost with the voice of Rebecca. He lifted his hand and it trembled as it reached over toward the gun. Only when it rested down onto the cold black metal did it become steady.

      And then, from the kitchen, the phone rang.