He moved his fingers along the rosary in his right pocket. He no longer wasted his time thinking about his fifty-nine enemies. He had finally stopped keeping score.
Madonna had a new album, and he had enough money to buy it. He knew Rachel would take him to Ellis, make a special trip. They were both tired of Like a Prayer. He continued to move his fingers along the chain of beads. He kept the rosary hidden from view, because it felt good to have a secret. There was Catholicism going on inside Jake’s pocket, and Bert would never know.
They passed through a brief opening in the trees, a tiny meadow, the tall grasses brown after summer. Full of rain, the vegetation soaked the legs of Jake’s pants.
Bert held up a hand and Jake stopped obediently in the middle of the meadow. He was starting to shiver. He saw other hunters during their descent, saw the flashes of orange. This was the first day of hunting season, so that was to be expected. But they hadn’t seen any hunters for a while, and Bert looked around and cocked his head, listening for sounds in the brush.
Jake stood still, patiently, thinking about a movie that Laverna might actually enjoy, something that had men with mustaches. Definitely not a musical.
There was a rustle in the brush, and then the flight of birds, their bright colors as they took to the sky. His winter birds. A flock of black-capped chickadees. A burst of yellow as a trio of cedar waxwings hopped from limb to limb, wearing their robber masks.
Jake watched the birds, until a doe stepped into the meadow. The deer did not notice them. Jake remained so still that he could hear the doe chewing, the sound of grass ripped from the soil.
Bert turned suddenly, his face just as expressionless as always.
He looked to the right, and raised his rifle.
Thank God, thought Jake. Maybe they could be done with this.
And Bert turned, just as the sleet began to fall in heavy sheets, and Jake could hear the patter on his shoulders as Bert aimed the gun at him.
Jake didn’t have time to realize what was happening.
A flash, and then nothing.
No Lights Flashing
Rachel finished reading the forty-ninth book of the Nancy Drew series, The Secret of Mirror Bay. She could finish these books in a few hours, figure out the villain within the first fifty pages, and unravel the mystery within the first seventy-five. This brought her comfort—despite the mystery of her own future, at least she was always a step ahead of the girl detective. Perhaps that was where her future lay; Rachel was still young enough to be a police officer.
She listened to the rain for an hour and thought about her future.
Eventually, she got up from the couch and called her mother.
“Jake and I are coming over,” she said. “I just wanted to warn you.”
“I appreciate that,” said Laverna. “I’ll make dinner. I’ve got some steaks in the freezer.”
“That’s not funny,” said Rachel.
“Sure it is,” said Laverna. “It’s not my fault you have a crappy sense of humor.”
“It might be,” said Rachel. “There’s a good chance it might be genetic.”
“I refuse to tangle with you,” sighed Laverna. “Athena told me not to engage when you bait me.” She hung up the phone, and Rachel laughed. Her mother was full of surprises. Apparently, Laverna was also full of Al-Anon.
Rachel filled the sink, and stacked dirty dishes under the running water. She turned on the stereo, and the cassette whirred to life. Madonna blasted through the kitchen, rattling the speakers. She did not hear the knocking.
The music stopped. Rachel spun around, and the Chief was standing in front of the stereo. She waited for him to speak, and kept her hands in the soapy water. She heard Bucky’s truck pull up in the driveway.
“Rachel,” said the Chief. “There’s been an accident.”
Rachel’s mind went many places, all of them dark. “What do you mean?”
“It’s Jake,” he said. “There was a hunting accident.”
“Jake?”
“He’s gone, Rachel.”
She saw Bucky was running through the door and he was in the kitchen in time to help the Chief ease Rachel to the floor.
She didn’t cry. That’s what she would remember, days later. She just went into a gray place. She could recollect sitting on the couch, Bucky and the Chief on each side of her, the phone ringing and ringing. None of them made a move to answer it. Rachel only rose to the corner of the living room, and she wiggled the loose brick where the fireplace had once been. She slid it from the mooring, reddish dust piling at her feet, from passing years and new construction. She wanted to get high. The Chief and Bucky said nothing. Inside the hole, more dust, a neatly cut line of mortar and creosote.