This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Peter Sargent
"Hammers in the Fog," by Thomas Alan Orr, copyright © 1995 and 2014, is reprinted by permission of the author.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
THE DEAD RECKONER
The night train wailed and shook the ground. At dawn
A crow flew past old headstones leaning in the corn,
Coyotes barked in the woods beyond the marsh, hungry
For my chickens, and it thundered in the morning
Without a kiss of rain. I heard hammers in the fog,
Like someone making weather, a distant urgent sound.
My love was baking bread and singing. The neighbor
Put a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Some days warn us and we are still surprised,
Poorly guarded against the angel of dread.
Thomas Alan Orr
Part One: Absolution And Desolation
ONE
Every time she drove down this street, Ruth thought she saw a glimpse of the man she'd put in prison for killing her husband. It was a fleeting and unreliable impression, but not an impossible one. Yancy had escaped a number of years ago. Nonetheless, Ruth had to admit that once at large, the man was bound to haunt both her waking and sleeping mind. She had never seen more than a fragment of a face that looked like his or a gait that walked like his. Then there was that day when Ruth was driving with her son in the back seat, when Yancy appeared in one unmistakable, unthinkable final manifestation.
There was no rain but the air was damp and warm. Through the haze Ruth saw people from both sides of the street stop and stare. Those who were closer to Yancy gathered in a loose, wide circle around him. No one approached closer than an arm's length. The man stood outside a pizza shop on Washington street, in the Boston neighborhood of Brighton. A green and white awning hung over him and his nearest spectators. Yancy was shirtless, his glistening fishbowl shaped belly hanging over his boxers. He'd written the word “TULIP” on that belly using a medium that looked to Ruth like blood. He held his arms out like a cross. As Ruth closed the distance, she saw that he was bleeding from his wrists. The letters were blood.
Detective Ruth Holland fished her badge and cuffs from the glove compartment and pulled her car to curb. She called for help and instructed Jason, the sixth grader in her back seat, to stay put. He rolled his window down as his mother climbed out and cut through the crowd, badge in hand. When Yancy saw her, he tipped his head up and looked into the heavens – or, rather, the awning outside the pizza place.
“The voice of him that cries in the wilderness.” he said, “Prepare the way of the Lord; make strait in the desert a highway for our God.”
Yancy leveled his head again and turned his gaze to Ruth. The look in his eyes made her hesitate. When she noticed that everyone around was now watching her, she stopped. The man extended one of his hands toward her. Drops of blood fell on the sidewalk.
He said, “I've been here, waiting for you.”
So perhaps Ruth had seen the actual man, in flesh and blood, all those times before.
Yancy continued, “I wanted to tell you something. I regret what I did.”
He knelt down, pressing his bare knees against the sidewalk. Then he flattened his palms on it. He stood there like a dog, lifting his head up to see her.
Yancy said, “But I'm not sorry.”
Ruth broke the trance and cuffed him. He didn't resist. He didn't even wince, though the metal must have hurt when wrapped around those bleeding wrists. She saw that the wound wasn't deep. He would live. A few minutes later a squad car and an ambulance showed up to take Yancy away.
As the man retreated he said, “I'm not sorry. It wants me to be sorry, but it won't get that. It can make me stand naked on the street. It can make me cut my wrists. It can make me walk like an animal, but I'll go to hell before it can make me sorry.”
Ruth exchanged a few words with her colleagues, but she was eager to get back to her son. By now his entire head was hanging out the window.
Jason said, “Who was that mom? Did you know him?”
Ruth knew what was expected of her. A parent is supposed to protect her child. A parent is supposed to lie to him. However, she didn't feel that was the right thing to do now. Ruth had never withheld the truth about Jason's father from him. She never let him believe that Frank Holland was a bad man, but neither did she ever hesitate to admit that he was a foolish one. Frank had found himself sunk deep with the likes of Yancy and had died a patsy's death.
“That was the man who killed your dad.” she said.
After a moment's thought, Jason said, “Why didn't you shoot him?”
Ruth drove off. How was she supposed to go on with her day?
“We don't have to go.” she said, looking at Jason's reflection in the mirror. “We can go home.”
“We have to go now, Mom.”
He was right. They had to go. Ruth was proud of her brave, stoic young man. He wasn't fearful. He wasn't shy. And though he was so often oblivious to what was going on around him, he wasn't much of a fool either. They drove on toward the school.
TULIP. Somehow Ruth had forgotten about that. Yancy had murdered many people. Though each homicide had been an execution for those who had failed to meet his expectations, none were staged as such. Rather, Yancy had ripped through his victims as though he were a bear or tiger. He was vicious and brutal, prone to leaving bodies so mutilated they were indistinguishable from ground meat. Yet, he did have a ritual. He used to leave a pink tulip on each body.
Ruth had never known why.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it and felt a pang of dread. Among its various icons, the screen displayed one which looked a bit like a stone cat. She knew it was supposed to be the Egyptian sphinx, but to her it resembled a domestic feline. The icon was blinking.
“Dammit not now.” she said.
“Mom!” shouted Jason.
She looked up and saw the car swerving to the left. The avenue was three lanes wide with a median. She had been in the rightmost lane but was now all the way to the left – and still going left. Ruth swung back, but not before scraping her driver's side wheel against the concrete divider.
“Mom, you never drive like that.”
The kid was right. Mom was a cop, and more than that she was a good one. She liked to set an example. But that damn Sorter, she thought, stealing another short glance at the blinking sphinx icon.
But I'll go to hell before it can make me sorry.
She was pretty sure she knew what “it” was.
A minute later, she pulled into the lot at Edison Middle School. Ruth ripped her phone from its charger and slipped it in her pocket. She unbuckled her son and helped him out. This was an uncomfortable procedure. Jason was much larger than his peers and moved with the agility of a paraplegic ox. His bovine stillness was so serene that at times Ruth thought he resembled a zen master, but it was also making him fat. That's why they were at school on a Saturday.
&n
bsp; Jason started across the lot and Ruth stayed by the car.
She called out, “Forgetting something?”, as she opened the lift gate.
“My uniform!” Jason cried and came sprinting back.
He should've worn the uniform here, but Jason was fastidious and habitual. He insisted on wearing it only during sessions so that it would stay as pristine as possible. He came to the back of the car and dragged out his gym bag. Rifling through it, a worried look crossed his face. Ruth asked him what the matter was.
“I can't find my belt.”
“You think that will get you out of this?” Ruth smiled at him.
“Why would I want to get out of it?”
“I know, I'm kidding.”
Of course Jason didn't want to miss the competition. He wouldn't on a normal day. On a day like today, it was especially important. Ruth envied his ability to focus, to shake off something that would leave most kids balling in a corner. She envied it and was a little afraid of it. No matter how many specialists Ruth saw, she could never understand how Jason's brain worked. It wasn't only different from hers, but different from those of others who shared his condition.
Jason said, “Wait, I remembered – I left my belt in my locker.”
She gave him a pat on the back. “Now let's go, we're late. Run, run.”
This time they ran together for the school. It was good to get Jason out and working his muscles. Knowing that he loved his new sport, she liked to tease him about it. Jason being Jason, he fell for it every time. Yet she sensed it also made him more