Chris Whitaker - We Begin at the End

It was on the way in that Cuddy had caught up with him, handed him an envelope.

“What is this?” Walk asked.

“Vincent. He got mail. Doesn’t say much of anything. Thought you might want to take a look.”

Walk had waited till he was alone in the waiting room before he’d unfolded the paper. A letter, typed but no doubt it was from Darke. Funds are hard to come by but I haven’t given up. I know I’m letting you down, so I’ve found a way to make things right. Good luck at trial, sometimes wishes do come true.

He’d read it a dozen times, looked for something that was not there, something he didn’t already know. Darke had a conscience, maybe. It no longer mattered.

When he handed the letter over, Vincent had shoved it straight into his pocket, turned back to Martha and changed the subject. A line was drawn, and Walk was clearly on the other side of it.

With the trial on the horizon, Martha spent her days prepping, calling in favors, even driving down to see her old professor who lived in Cameron County.

She and Walk set up an office in his basement, covered every wall with papers and photos and maps. She read trial transcripts, practiced her opening statement so many times Walk knew every word of it. Martha knew the D.A. by reputation, and knew she’d have been prepping for months. The facts were cogent: Vincent King knew the victim and was found in her house covered in her blood.

There was talk of subpoenaing Dickie Darke, but they could not find him. The D.A. already had his statement. There was nothing tying him to the scene, and doing so would see Dee Lane called to the stand, and Walk would not do that to her children. No doubt he would be called as a state witness.

They mapped out local lives and where they intersected. The D.A. would claim Vincent had dumped the gun in the water. Martha could prove that was not possible in the time he had. It was a small win. They needed it.

At nine Walk sat on a chair and felt the tremor first in his left hand, then his right leg. He closed his eyes like he could will it away. He slowed his breathing and cursed his body for such betrayal at so crucial a time.

“Are you okay, Walk?”

He went to speak but felt it in his face, his jaw and lips. A tingling, then the same tremble of his body. It would pass, but not in time. He felt tears, hot and shameful. He tried to raise a hand to wipe them back, before she saw, but his hand would not move.

He closed his eyes and willed himself from that room and that town and maybe that life. He thought back to being ten years old, riding his bike with Vincent, the two of them crossing each other and smiling the open way only children can.

And then he felt hands on his, not firm but there, warm. He opened his eyes and saw Martha on her knees before him. Her beautiful eyes, even filled with tears.

“It’s alright.”

He shook his head, it was not alright and would not be alright again. It had been a dozen years since he cried. But right then, when he looked around at the perfect mess his life had become, he sobbed like he was fifteen and Vincent had been sent away all over again.

“Why do you carry Vincent with you?”

“It’s on me. That night, after I found Sissy. I went to his place and saw the car. I knew right off it was him.”

“I know. You told me.”

“But I could have woken him. He would have handed himself in. It would have looked better, to that judge and jury. The judge would’ve been lenient. Instead I took it to Chief Dubois. Who does that? Who the fuck does that to their friend?”

Martha took his face in her hands. “You did what was right, Walk. You always have done. The way you looked out for Star even when I know she would’ve pushed you away, it’s something special, to do that is something special.”

“We endure, right. That’s what we do for those we love.”

“The world would be a better place with more people like you in it.” She spoke so sincerely he could’ve believed her. But instead he looked over her shoulder at the board and his friend. They did not have time left for any of this.

He kissed her, suddenly, without thinking.

He started to apologize but then her lips found his, and there was something frantic in the way she kissed him, like she’d been waiting thirty years. She pushed him back, and then pulled him to his feet, took his hand and led him up to the bedroom. He wanted to stop her, to tell her she was making another mistake, that she was better than him in every way. But when she kissed him, he felt it. Fifteen all over again.

The news came in late, Walk’s cell dragging him from the deepest sleep he’d had in a long time. He sat up, Martha stirred beside him.

He listened in silence, then cut the call and lay back.

“What?”

He stared at the ceiling. “The autopsy on Milton. He drowned. Nothing else, no other injuries. He just drowned.”

Martha got to her feet quick, despite the dark sky. “This is it, Walk.”

“What?”

“The gamechanger we’ve been waiting for.”

* * *

That night Robin woke crying, the sheets wet through, the nightmare that gripped him so vivid he could not speak for the first moments Duchess held him.

“It was Mom. I was locked in my bedroom and I heard Mom and she was screaming. I want Peter and Lucy. I want Mom. And Grandpa. I want to go back and for this to be the nightmare.”

She hushed him and kissed his head.

After she helped him wash she pulled plastic sheeting from the other bed and they settled in there. She left the drapes open and they watched a night sky of plentiful stars and the fullest moon.

“It’ll be okay, you know.”

“You think they’ll take us to Wyoming?”

“Your future isn’t written yet, Robin. You can be anything. You’re a prince.”

“I want to be a doctor like Peter.”

“You’d make a good doctor.”

After he fell asleep she sat down by the window and took out her schoolbook. She did her history paper as best she could. She was struggling again.

She looked over at her brother and knew without doubt he was the color to her shade.

The next day as they walked toward school Mary Lou took turns leaning in to the other kids’ ears and whispering something that made them wrinkle their noses tight and laugh.

“What is it?” Robin said to Duchess.

“Nothing. Probably something dumb she saw on TV.”

It continued the whole walk, along Hickory and into Grove Street. They collected four more kids, the Wilson twins, Emma Brown and her brother Adam. Each time Mary Lou did that same thing, brought them close and whispered, watching in delight as they recoiled then laughed.

“Ewww, gross,” Emma said.

Robin looked up at Duchess again. “Henry didn’t want me walking with the big kids today.”

“Henry’s an asshole.”

Duchess stared at them as they walked, at Mary Lou who kept looking back and smirking, and Kelly and Emma and fucking Henry and his cunt friends. She felt that cold lead in her veins begin to melt and turn molten as they reached the school gates and Mary Lou took her whispers to a cluster of kids from her class. They all turned. Giggles turned to open laughs, faces pulled in disgust.

Duchess moved then, Robin grabbed her hand tight and pulled her back.

“Please,” he said.

She knelt in the grass. “Robin.”

He went to speak and she smoothed his curls back.

“What am I?”

He met her eye. “An outlaw.”

“And what do outlaws do?”

“They don’t take any crap.”

“No one pushes us around. No one laughs at us. I stand up for you. Our blood is the same.”

Fear in his eyes.

“You head into class now.”

She gave him a gentle push and he turned and walked into the building, reluctant, nervous.