Ray Gorham - 77 Days in September

Kyle took his pack off his back and set it on the ground beside him. He tossed out his clothes, blankets, and maps, keeping only his food, journal, guns, and water. He shouldered his load again, cinched the waist strap, and headed down the home stretch. With his pack lightened, Kyle started to run. Three miles down this road, then left for a mile and he’d be in the community of Deer Creek. A couple of turns from there, and he’d be home. There had been countless days of walking, and now he was an hour from home. He ran as fast as he could. Everything was familiar, like it had been, kept alive in his memory for the past three months. It was dark when he made it to the first turn, and by then he was losing steam and had to slow to a fast walk. In the distance he could make out the big house that marked the corner of his street.

Breathing heavily, Kyle finally stood in front of his house, the sweat running down his back, his eyes wet with tears. The grass seemed a little long, but everything was what he’d remembered and envisioned for the past weeks. He walked to the door, trying to control his emotions, paused a second, then reached for the handle to throw it open, but it was locked. He pounded on the door with his fist and stood back and listened but heard nothing from inside the house. Concerned, he slowly walked through the darkness to the back of the house and tugged on the sliding glass door. To his relief, it slid open, and he stepped inside. “Jennifer?” Kyle called out, anxiety creeping in. He waited and listened. No response. He walked down the hall to his bedroom and scanned the room. It was dark and difficult to see, but he could tell that the bed was empty and messy, missing the sheets, and appeared not to have been used for a while. As he turned to leave, Kyle noticed dark spots on the wall, spots that, upon closer inspection, looked like blood, both splattered, and smeared down the wall. Then he saw large, dark stains in the carpet, and his heart skipped a beat.

Kyle’s mind erupted in a panic. What had happened? He ran to the front door, threw it open, and ran next door to the Anderson’s. He pounded frantically on their door. “Charles! Grace!” he called out. There was no sound or movement from inside. He ran to the house across the street, trying to think of the people’s names. He pounded on the front door and waited. Hearing nothing, he pounded again before finally hearing footsteps inside the house. As the steps approached the front door, Kyle heard a man’s voice through the door. “Go away! I’ve got a gun!”

“I’m sorry, but this is Kyle Tait. I live across the street.”

“I said go away!” the man snapped.

“I’m trying to find my family!” hollered Kyle back through the door.

“Go away! I’m not opening my door!”

“Please!” yelled Kyle in desperation. As he leaned towards the door, he heard the sound of a shotgun being pumped. “Okay, I’m going,” Kyle shouted. He ran to the next house. It had been empty and for sale before he left and still had the realtor’s sign in the front yard.

At the next house down, Kyle banged on the front door, then waited until he heard someone approach the door. “Who’s there?” came a voice.

“My name is Kyle Tait. I’m looking for my family.”

“They aren’t here. It’s just me and my wife.”

“They,” he started, then caught himself. “We live across the street, in the blue house. Do you know what happened to them?’

Kyle heard the deadbolt being turned, and then the door opened slowly. A man in his mid-50’s wearing a white Budweiser t-shirt stepped out onto the porch, nervously holding a pistol in his hands. He pointed the pistol at Kyle and eyed him with suspicion. “I told you, they aren’t here.”

Kyle raised his hands and stepped back down off the porch. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just looking for my family.”

“Who did you say you were?” the man asked again.

“I’m Kyle Tait. That’s my house,” Kyle said, pointing down the street towards his home. “I’ve been gone, but now I’m back, and my family isn’t there. I’m just trying to find out where they are.” Kyle was tired and scared and could feel himself losing control of his emotions.

The man thought a second, considering whether or not to tell Kyle anything, then shrugged his shoulders and began. “There was a shooting there a couple of weeks ago. The lady shot Doug, the sheriff guy. I don’t know if you know him. Anyway, what I heard was that the kid caught Doug in the bedroom with his mother and tried to fight him. The boy ended up getting stabbed pretty bad, then the lady shot Doug for stabbing her kid. At least that’s what some people are saying, but you know how people talk. I’m avoiding everyone right now, so who knows what the truth is. I did watch them carry a body out of the house, so I know somebody died. It’s all pretty nasty business. Everyone around here has been pretty scared now that Doug isn’t patrolling and with the break-ins and stuff.”

Kyle staggered back away from the man’s house. Everything around him started to swirl, and he collapsed to his knees.

The man gave Kyle a look. “You all right, mister?” he asked.

Kyle no longer heard the man. He dropped his head to the ground, losing awareness of everything around him. The horrible things the man had described echoed in his ears. A violent shudder seized his body, and he had a hard time catching his breath.

“Geez, buddy. You sick? You better not be contagious.” The man hurried back inside his house, locking the door loudly behind him.

Kyle lay in the man’s yard for several minutes, his body weak and his mind numb. Slowly he pulled himself together and staggered to his feet. Had Jennifer given up on him? Maybe she thought he’d died in a plane crash or somewhere between Houston and home. What happened to David? Why had Jennifer let that happen to their son? Where was his family now? Kyle stumbled across the road, struggling to place one foot in front of the other. He found his way back to his house, let himself in, and dropped to the floor where he lay motionless for hours, his mind tumbling from one thought to another, with nothing making sense.

Kyle started to shiver on the cold entryway floor. Slowly he got up and walked down the hall, past his room, to Emma’s, where he pushed the door open and dropped onto her bed. Physically and emotionally drained, Kyle wrapped himself in a blanket and cried.

Friday, November 18 th

Deer Creek, Montana

The bedroom was awash in sunlight when Kyle opened his eyes. Outside, the sky was blue, the air crisp, and a fresh new day had started, but inside, Kyle’s world was cloudy and dark, as dark as any night he’d experienced on his journey. Kyle sat up in bed and shook his head, taking a moment to realize where he was, having slept in cars, trucks, or a tent for most of the last ten weeks. He picked up a picture of his daughter from the bedside table and held it in front of him. Emma stood at the edge of a creek holding a four-inch long fish she had caught on a camping trip back in June. In the background, Jennifer was helping Spencer cast his fishing line. Kyle studied the picture while the memories from the trip rushed painfully back, then set the picture down and walked out into the kitchen. The conversation with the neighbor from the night before replayed in his mind, breaking his heart once again.

Searching through the cupboards, Kyle found no food and assumed his family had taken everything with them, wherever they had gone. As he stood in the kitchen, trying to figure out the best way to find Jennifer and the kids, his eyes caught sight of a single envelope stuck to the middle of the fridge with two happy face magnets. On the front of the envelope, written in large, black letters, was the word KYLE, with small hearts drawn on either side of his name. Kyle snatched the envelope off of the fridge, scattering the magnets, and hurriedly untucked the flap, half tearing the envelope before pulling out the paper inside. He unfolded the note and began to read.