Морган Лливелин - Drop by Drop

Him and his shotgun. He carried a pistol in his pocket.

He had been in place since early morning. Not thinking of anything much, that was the trick of it. If you didn’t think about what you were going to do it was easier to do it. All he thought about was what should have been his. All the good things of life, the rewards of the heroes.

When he got tired he sat down, in slow motion, careful not to disturb a leaf. When he had rested he stood up again. In slow motion.

As the first car pulled up in front of the chapel he froze. Vestry staff. They were inside for a long time before anyone else came. This time it was a florist’s van with boxes full of flowers. While they were being arranged the clergy arrived. Then the first trickle of guests, carrying the invitations Jessamyn Bennett had written out in a careful hand. Soon the little chapel would be packed.

Dwayne waited. He had waited for a long time; he could wait a little longer.

When the wedding party began to appear he almost laughed out loud. This was what the town’s leading lights had been reduced to! Served them right. Horse-drawn carts and carriages and an absurd vehicle that was half pickup truck. A couple of automobiles.

Then Jack Reece and his aunt in his Mustang, with Nell’s children in the back.

Getting close now. Almost here.

Inside the chapel Evan Mulligan watched Jessamyn Bennett enter with her brother. For a moment she paused below the stained glass window, gazing up at the shepherd and his flock. A ray of light streamed through the glass and illuminated her hair, giving her an angel’s halo.

In that moment she was the most beautiful creature Evan had ever seen.

By the time Hooper Watson reached the bar and grill the “Closed” sign was on the door.

Watson began to run, pumping his arms as hard as he could and turning very red in the face.

Wearing a pale green silk dress with a matching jacket, Lila Ragland drove Nell’s car. The bride sat beside her. Nell felt as if she were caught inside a bubble. “I wish today was over,” she said.

“You don’t mean that; this should be the happiest day of your life.”

“It is, it will be. But I don’t think I’ll really appreciate it until I look back on it. Jack says we see more clearly from outside than inside.”

“Well, I see that fool Hooper Watson running like an idiot! What does he think he’s doing?” Lila braked in front of the chapel and called out the window, “You’re not going to miss anything, the bride just got here!”

Watson turned and trotted toward the car just as Lila started to get out.

The blast of a shotgun shattered the day.

The next edition of The Sycamore Seed carried, under the byline of Lila Ragland, the following article:

“Sycamore River has endured more than its share of violence over recent years, but the tragic deaths on the sixth of April shocked us all. Hooper Watson was a lifelong resident of the town and an asset to the community. We unite in sympathy for his wife, Nadine, their daughter, Angela, their extended family and many friends.

“Tyler Whittaker had only been with us for a few years, but he was well liked as a man and respected as a law enforcement officer. His courage in apprehending the murderer of Patricia Nyeberger is a testimony to his character. He displayed that same courage in pursuing the alleged killer of Mr. Watson, who only briefly escaped. Both men died in an exchange of gunfire several blocks away.

“It is hoped these two will be the last victims of the Change, for that is the way Dr. Gloria Delmonico, staff psychologist at Staunton Memorial Hospital, describes them. In an interview yesterday she told this reporter that since the inception of the Change the number of people suffering severe neurological disorders has multiplied tenfold, not only in Sycamore River but probably throughout the world. The stress of living under constantly increasing uncertainty with no end in sight can permanently damage the human psyche, according to Dr. Delmonico.”

Three funerals on three successive days, as if the earth of Sunnyslope could not receive so much all at one time. Every service was well attended, including a large turnout for Tyler Whittaker, who was buried last to allow time for his relatives to come from Ohio.

“The sheriff certainly was a hero,” Bea Fontaine said to her nephew as they finished lunch the following day. Neither had much appetite, but Jack had perked up at the sight of Bea’s layer cake waiting on the kitchen table. “It was heroic of Nell to go to the funerals too,” she added. “Nell and Lila saw what the rest of us didn’t.”

“Nell’s stronger than she realizes,” said Jack. “It wasn’t easy to mourn for Dwayne Nyeberger.”

“We all did it for the sake of his boys, so they wouldn’t remember their father as such a pariah.”

Jack’s fork attacked a large wedge of cake. “Y’know, this is a pretty good town.”

“Haven’t I always told you that? And while I’m handing out plaudits, Lila did a fantastic job with the article in the Seed . A lot of reporters would have sensationalized it.”

“Not if they’d been eyewitnesses, Aunt Bea; no one who was there would want the gory details. The damned bastard used a double-barreled shotgun.”

“Thank God the children and I were already in the chapel,” said Bea. “Who was Dwayne after, does anyone know? Surely not poor Hooper Watson.”

“Guess we’ll never find out. It’s like Gloria said, his mind broke under stress.”

“I’d known Dwayne Nyeberger for years, Jack; that wasn’t a sound mind in the first place. It didn’t take much for the Change to tip it over.”

Jack helped himself to a second cup of coffee. “Maybe what happened can’t be blamed entirely on the Change. But there’s no way to quantify how much damage it has done.”

“Do you think it really is over?”

“Looks like it. ‘No end in sight’ seems to be an error.”

“But how could it start and then stop again?”

Before Jack could answer, Gerry Delmonico ran up the steps and onto the porch. “Jack!” he called at the door. “Are you ready to go?”

“Come on in and have a cup of coffee with us first. And while you’re at it, tell my aunt how the Change could start and then stop. I’d be interested to hear that explanation too.”

They went into the kitchen. When Gerry rolled an eye at the cake, Bea cut a large slice for him. “Where are you two going?”

“The bar and grill.”

“But this isn’t Wednesday.”

“I know. But since, well…”

“Some of you feel a need to be together,” Bea finished. “Human nature. Is Gloria going with you?”

“She’s keeping the baby at home; she’s had all she can take for now.”

“You want to come with us, Aunt Bea? I’m driving.”

“No thanks, Jack. My cats are tribe enough for me; when I’m troubled there’s no comfort like stroking a purring cat.”

While Gerry enjoyed his coffee and cake he explained about mass being congealed energy. “Every time energy is released there is some decrease in mass,” he elaborated, “even if it’s very slight. It’s called a decay event. A fundamental probability is at work in quantum physics, Bea. In decay processes it’s revealed in the seeming randomness of individual events, which is what we saw with the Change. But the universe also has laws of conservation, which means that the total energy it contains, including that held in mass, doesn’t change. So there really wasn’t a Change, just a redistribution. The force behind it was making adjustments. Starting and stopping.”