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.
