Chris Whitaker - We Begin at the End

“You already said that eighteen times.”

“You want cake?”

“No.”

“How about some potato chips?”

“No.”

They played something fast. Jacob Liston cleared a space and broke out his best moves while the girl he was with clapped awkwardly.

Duchess frowned. “I think he might be having a fit.”

The song switched to something slow, the floor thinned.

“You want to—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Nice suit, Thomas Noble.” Billy Ryle and Chuck Sullivan. “At least it hides his cripple hand.” Laughter.

Thomas Noble sipped his juice and kept his eyes on the dancefloor.

She reached over and took his bad hand. “Dance with me.”

As they passed she leaned over and said something to Billy. He moved away quick.

“Keep your hands away from my ass,” she said, as they reached the floor.

“What did you say to Billy?”

“I told him you had a ten-inch cock.”

He shrugged. “That’s a quarter-truth.”

She laughed, so much and so hard she’d forgotten how good it felt.

She held him. “Shit, Thomas Noble. I can feel every rib.”

“And that’s in clothes. You wouldn’t want to see me topless.”

“I can imagine. I once saw a documentary about famine.”

“I’m glad you came here.”

“You wore me down with relentless pressure. Your father would be proud.”

They bumped into Jacob Liston and his date. Jacob was wriggling like he needed to piss. Duchess shot his date a compassionate smile.

“I mean here. Montana. I’m glad you came to stay.”

“Why?”

“I just—” He stopped moving and for a wretched moment she thought he might try and kiss her. “I just never met an outlaw before.”

She stepped a little closer and moved with him.

* * *

Walk sat in his office, blinds drawn but town lights cut the dark. He cradled the phone on his shoulder, made notes as he spoke to Hal. He rested his feet on a stack of papers, saw his tray fit to burst. He’d get to it all, the mess bothered everyone but him.

He checked in each week, same time on a Friday night.

It was usually quick, a catchup about how the boy was doing alright, still seeing the shrink. And then on to the girl. Sometimes they’d speak five minutes, just long enough for Hal to tell of something bad she’d done, and how he’d had to check his laughter till he was done being pissed. Walk knew that act well.

“It’s slow,” Hal said. “With Duchess it’s slow, but she’s getting better. It’s getting better.”

“That’s good.”

“Tonight she’s at the school dance.”

“Wait a minute. Duchess is at a dance?”

“It’s the winter formal. They go all out. The whole of Evergreen Middle is lit up, you can see the spotlight from Cold Creek.”

Walk allowed himself a smile. The girl was doing alright. Against the odds, and they were stacked, she was living a life.

“And Robin. I think he’s starting to remember.”

Walk dropped his feet down again and pressed the receiver so tight he could hear the old man breathing.

“Nothing concrete.”

“Did he mention any names? Darke?”

Hal must have heard the desperation there because he spoke the next lines softly. “Nothing concrete, Walk. I think he’s slowly opening himself to the fact that he might have been there when his mother was murdered. The shrink is good, she doesn’t ask or pry or try and guide him anyplace at all.”

“Part of me hopes he doesn’t remember.”

“I said that to her. She told me there was a decent chance he never would.”

“I think about all of you up there.”

“I watch out for him. This Darke. When she saw the car I thought he might’ve come, like she always said.”

“And now?”

“I’m still waiting. Shoot first ask questions later.”

Walk smiled a tired smile. Sleepless nights had taken their toll, wrestling his thoughts to the ground and pounding them clean out of his head. Some days he found himself on a stretch of highway and clean forgot where he was supposed to be heading.

“Goodnight, Hal. You take care.”

He replaced the receiver and yawned. Normally he was so beat he’d head right home, drink a sole beer and watched ESPN till sleep found him. But right then he got the overwhelming urge to see Martha, not even to talk, just not sit the night alone.

He picked up the phone, started to dial then killed it. He was fully aware of what he was doing, gradually sliding into a life he had no right to interfere with. It was cold, no matter how he felt, it was a cold and cruel thing to do. When she saw him she remembered the darkest part of her life, and she always would.

He walked down the hallway slowly, the station in darkness.

“Leah, I didn’t know you were still here.”

She looked up, tired, not even a smile. “Overtime, right. Someone’s got to sort the filing system out. It’ll take me the next month, even working through the night.”

“You need a hand?”

“No, you get on. Doesn’t matter if I’m here all night, Ed wouldn’t even notice.”

He went to say something, wasn’t sure what, but then she turned away and went back to work.

He headed out, thinking of Duchess Day Radley at a school dance, and smiling his way into the warm evening.

* * *

The snow, like the talk, worsened as they drove. Mrs. Noble asked Thomas about the dance. He told her it was the best night of his life.

Duchess watched snow build on the farmland beside, usually lost to the dark she could see a mile out to mountains.

When they reached Radley land Mrs. Noble went to turn but the driveway was deep now. Hal couldn’t keep on top of it, it was too long and the snow fell too fast.

“I can walk it from here.”

“You sure, honey? I’d take a run at it but I think we might get stuck the night.”

“Hal will be on the porch. He’ll see your lights and start walking down. You get on.”

She climbed out quick and set off up the driveway, before Mrs. Noble or Thomas could get out and try to follow.

Halfway, she turned and waved and watched them trail light into the distance.

She trudged the snow, lifting her new shoes high at each step. Gum trees stood, branches weighed under snow, arc of white like she was walking through a wedding arch. Free, she faced the sky, the turning snowflakes, the beauty almost too much to take. She thought of Robin and how they would spend their weekend, fanned-out angels and snowmen as tall as their grandfather.

When she cleared the reaching trees moonlight graced the old farmhouse and she smiled without knowing why. In the distance light burned in the kitchen.

She took another step and then stopped dead.

Prints in the snow, almost covered but still they remained.

Footprints.

Big prints.

The first time that night she felt the cold, the real, true bite of Montana cold.

“Hal,” she said, quiet.

She picked up her pace a little, her heart beginning to race. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

And then she saw him.

And she calmed.

He was sat on the bench, the gun by his feet.

When she reached the porch she waved, smiled wide, then climbed the steps. She’d tell him about her night, just how bad it was.

But then she saw his face, pale, tight, sweat by his head.

Labored breaths, but still, he tried to smile for her.

She approached slow, and then, with great care, she pulled the blanket from him.

And that’s when she saw the blood.

“Oh fuck, Hal,” she whispered.

He kept a hand pressed to his stomach, but the blood drained fast and steady.

“I got him,” Hal said.

He offered one hand to her as his life emptied. She took it, his blood to her like some fatal disease.