D Carpenter - Infertile Grounds

They crossed the great room and climbed the stairs. At the top was a corridor lined with three doors on each side.

“We’re empty this time of year, so I’ll put you up in the Guide Room.”

“Sounds great,” Chris replied, suddenly exhausted. He didn’t care if Stu put him in the attic on the floor. He needed some sleep.

Stu opened the door to a small but comfortable room.

“Bathroom’s at the end of the hall,” he said. “You need anything, just dial 0 on that phone and either me or Annie’ll pick up.”

“Thanks.”

“Enjoy it. Ain’t often the State picks up the tab. The only thing they ever give me is a big fat tax bill.”

Stu left the room and shut the door. His footsteps faded down the hall. Chris lay down on the bed, trying to force himself to sleep. He was certainly physically and emotionally tired enough after the long day but his mind was racing uncontrollably. He stood up and paced the small room, reliving the events of the day, trying to rationalize everything that had happened. Replaying David’s words over and over again, trying to think if he had missed anything and most importantly, trying to decide if David had been telling the truth. That was the real wildcard. Not that it had been a particularly coherent or lucid conversation, snippets, words, only a few actual phrases but when he put them all together, they painted an ominous picture. But no matter how many times he turned the words over in his mind, he came back to the hard fact that David had been shot. That was an indisputable reality.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven. He’d been driving himself crazy for the better part of two hours and no matter how he looked at it, nothing lined up. He needed to get out of the room and get some fresh air to try to clear his mind.

The door opened silently and he slipped out into the dark hall and listened. The lodge was quiet. Walking to the top of the stairs he peered down through the balusters at the dimly lit bar where Stu sat alone, drinking a beer. The phone rang and he snatched it up before the first ring was complete.

As Chris started down the stairs, he could hear Stu speaking, his voice soft and low. The words of the very short conversation essentially indecipherable except for two that made Chris’ heart skip a beat and his knees buckle. “…Sarah Burns…”

The rusty old IH Scout rattled to a stop in the rest area next to the shiny Crown Victoria. The driver’s side doors next to each other, windows down so Bert and Seth could talk.

“Evening, Bert,” Seth said.

“How do?” Bert replied.

“This is a mess.”

“You got that right.”

“So what do you think? Did David tell this guy anything?”

“Hard to tell.”

“So who is he?”

“Name’s Chris Foster. From down around Boston. He’s got a camp up the St. Croix. He was out fishing and the plane damn near killed him when it crashed.”

Seth shook his head, “What are the fucking odds?”

“Very slim I’d say but that don’t matter, does it?”

“Nope,” Seth replied as he squeezed the steering wheel tightly in his hands. “So what do you think? Gut feel?”

“He seemed real skittish. Five’ll get you ten David told him a lot more than he was telling me.”

“Did he mention anything about seeing anyone shooting at the plane after it crashed?” Seth asked.

Bert shook his head, “Nope. Just said it crashed and the pilot died from his injuries shortly thereafter.”

Seth sighed as he stared out the front windshield at the swath of dirt and woods that his headlights illuminated. Obviously, Chris Foster wasn’t telling Bert everything. It was no more than fifteen minutes from when David crashed to when the plane was strafed. Chris would have undoubtedly heard and, more than likely, seen that.

“Son of a bitch,” Seth said. “Stu’s got him locked up?”

“He does. Go in the back, he’s waiting for you,” Bert replied.

“Good job, Bert,” Seth said as he ground the stick shift into reverse and backed out of the rest area.

“Well, it seems like we lucked out,” said the woman in the rear seat who sat up as Seth headed south in the direction of the Wild Bear Inn.

“It would appear so,” Seth replied.

“I should have trusted my instincts about David,” Sarah said through a sigh. She had loved David, but two years ago decided that there was no room for love in what they were doing. It was too distracting, and, now that they were on the brink of achieving their goal, she knew she had made the right choice even though it had been a painful one. David had been special. More than just a lover. More than just a friend. He was someone she could have envisioned herself settling down with for the duration. They had connected so well – good in bed and good in the head, she had always said. But a part of her would forever regret it. She looked at Seth who returned her stare briefly in the rear view mirror.

“Don’t say that,” he said. “We all missed it. You’d think that after eighteen years we would have known him well enough to see that he’d lost his commitment, but we didn’t. Hell, if we were to act on every suspicion we had, it’d be just you and me. And we’d be a long way from where we are today.”

“You’re right. It’s just not a good time – not when we’re trying to tie up all the loose ends.”

“I know, but that’s all it is, another loose end. Jerry and the guys rented a chopper and are up at the crash site right now cleaning up. When they get done, there’ll be no traces of a crash, and in a few minutes we’ll have the only witness.”

“Speaking of loose ends, you’re going to have to pay Bert a visit soon,” she said as she undid the tight bun that frequently knotted her long brown hair.

“I know,” he replied as he stared intensely at her in the mirror. He knew that Sarah enjoyed but also resented his infatuation with her as she looked away dismissively. He couldn’t help it. He had made passes at her over the years, particularly after her and David broke up but they were all rebuked, some respectfully, others not so much so. But for some reason he couldn’t stop himself from trying. He considered her to be the perfect woman. Out of his league for sure but why not aim high? As the lottery commercials said, “You can’t win if you don’t play.”

Seth moved his head from side to side, cracking the phantom crick in his neck that manifested itself whenever he was agitated.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she said.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound was coming from the windows. Chris sat on the edge of the bed facing the door. After hearing Stu say “Sarah Burns” he had hightailed it back to his room and had been trying to figure out what his next step should be when he drifted into a sort of stupor. He turned to identify the source of the sound. To his surprise, he saw the outline of a man’s head silhouetted against the half moon. The man rapped on the window again.

Chris rose from the squeaky spring bed and walked over to the window. It was the guy with the gold teeth. He held a finger to his mouth.

Chris unlatched the window and slid it up. “What the hell—”

“Did that guy in the plane tell you anything else?” The man hissed.

“What?”

“If you don’t get out of here right now, you’re dead.”

Chris stared back at him stupidly. The cobwebs of sleep still clogged his mind, and he had a hard time processing what the bizarre, old Frenchman said.

“Well, if he did, it was true. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, it don’t matter ’cause they think you do. They’re coming here right now. You’ll see.”