J.T. Warren - Remains

I looked at Kevin. He glanced at me, then down at the Sheriff.

One last thing, the thing in me said, and I nodded to myself. Standing there, with the gun in my hand, I will never be able to describe the feeling. I heard a woman on a talk show say, once, that the feeling she got on the last push before her son was completely born was powerful freedom, accomplishment, and a sense of tiredness that felt like dying. As I stood there, the light coming off the gun, and the sweat dripping down the Sheriff’s face, I felt just that. All those times my English teachers in high school had described that moment of ultimate action in a story or book; I finally understood. This was the last moment before everything resolved; I knew that, balls to bone. I steadied the gun in my grip, refocused my eyes on the Sheriff’s, and asked “Why?”

The Sheriff shook his head, and looked down. He spat some blood on the pavement, then looked back up at me. I could see in his eyes he was thinking of saying something insulting. At the last minute, though, he decided against it. “His mama wanted me to marry her. She wanted him to be my legitimate son,” the sheriff said, “she kept sayin’ that it wan’t fur her; that it was fur him . She said that if I didn’t marry her and make him legit, she was gonna’ tell somebody.”

I nodded to myself. It seemed so simple; so much like something on a stupid television show. I felt dumb for not knowing. “If he was gone, she wouldn’t have any way to prove it, anymore. She didn’t know about the others,” I said.

And he grinned. He grinned at me, through blood soaked teeth. “Ain’t half as dumb as Ol’ Albert always said you—,” And the gun went off just as I blinked. I turned away from what was left of him. Kevin stood there a bit longer, and the smell of gun powder drifted over me. It smelled right, somehow, as if none of this could have ended any other way. Something in me nodded, and I felt the strength in my legs going.

“Kevin,” was all I had time to say.

The world went blank, again.

I woke up from total blackness. The only thing I had left of the sleep was the heavy, hot, slippery feeling in my limbs. My body wanted to stay asleep for the rest of my life. My head felt empty and my stomach wasn’t tense for the first time in a long time. The room smelled of fabric softener and something else, something clean. My mouth still tasted like wet copper, though. There was something cold against my head, and I wanted to talk but didn’t.

“Shh,” someone said, and a hand pressed against my chest. It felt heavy and distant, as if happening miles away.

“Where?” I tried, but my throat wouldn’t open. All I did was squeak.

“Shush, I said. Quiet,” someone said, this time more insistent. The hand patted my chest. The voice wasn’t Kevin; I knew that. I knew I should open my yes and see, but I couldn’t. “You’re safe,” someone said.

“Kev—?” was all I could manage before my throat closed again, and my arms got too heavy to talk.

“He’s in the other room resting. He’s safe, too.”

“The sheriff?” I asked.

“Seems to have up and left town; nobody knows where to,” the voice said, but something in the tone said ‘dead, son; dead’. It was then I recognized the voice. I smiled, and settled. “Kevin managed to tell us most of what happened,” Dr. Gantner said.

“Us?” I mumbled.

“The few of us that happened to be around when he dragged you into the hospital,” he said. I tried to nod, but nothing happened.

“Fire,” I said, trying to open my eyes. Things were swimming back to the top of my head, once more.

“I’m sorry, son. What they managed to pull out of your parent’s house wasn’t—well—,” the doctor started, then stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“The bones are—”

“Kevin told us that, too. Don’t worry. We’re going to bring that boy to rest, finally,” he said. I heard someone come into the room, and whisper “Doctor,” and then the hand on my chest patted one more time. “I have to go, now, but rest. You’re safe, and things are being taken care of. Rest.”

I tried to ask him to call my sister, but the moment his hand was gone, I felt heavy, and sank back into the ink ocean I’d been hovering over for the last few minutes. I sank deep.

Over the next week, people came to visit me to offer condolences about my parents. The story Bud made up was that I’d been in a rush to get back to the house after someone told me they thought my house was on fire. No one could know about the Sheriff. “A town is a very fragile thing, Mikey. It can be broken just like that,” Dr. Gantner had said, and snapped. It was loud, and made me jump. “Some of us know, though, Mikey. Some of us know what you did, and we’re grateful.” He treated me like a hero, and talked as if I’d been some great warrior.

I knew the truth, though. The thing in me knew, too: it was all an accident. All of it was just an accident. Maybe it was best no one know.

Kevin made it out of bed and came to stay in my room in the hospital. We spent a lot of time in the same room, not talking. I wanted to say things, to ask him things, but every time I was just about to speak, I realized I didn’t have any words. There were questions, but no words to go in them. I guess he felt the same. We watched a lot of television. I guess it would be better to say that the television was on a lot, though; I don’t remember anything that we saw. The noise was comforting.

I called my sister and broke the news to her. She sounded more relieved than upset. I understood that completely. I wanted to tell her about the sheriff; about Katy and about Randy and everything that happened, but I couldn’t. Every time I thought I might, all I could hear was Dr. Gantner’s finger’s snap like an explosion. “Can you exhange your ticket to come here, Michael?” she asked. I said I’d try. “You mind if I bring someone with me?” I asked. She paused for a second, then said “Sure.” I wanted to laugh, and tell her that it was the shortest sentence she’d ever uttered, but I couldn’t. There was the tickle of a funny thought down in that ink sea under things, but no laugh came up.

“I’m going to go to my sister,” I said during a commercial, “and you’re coming, too.” Kevin only looked over at me. He blinked, then looked back at the television screen, and said “okay.”

I never called Susan. I couldn’t go back to that city, or that job. Whoever the puppet was who’d been living my life the past few years didn’t exist anymore.

Toward the end of the stay in the hospital, Kevin and I had sex once. He cried the whole time. I asked him if he wanted to stop, and he shook his head. Even when we had to maneuver around my broken ribs, and he nearly fell off the bed, he still had eyes full of tears. Even while we laughed, holding each other, my shoulders were still wet.

Two weeks later, I went up to the isolation ward. I stopped at the desk, and showed them the paper Dr. Gantner had made for me. He’d left it under a cup of water and a few pain relievers. He’d known all along that I’d do this. The nurse looked it over once, then down at his watch. He looked up at me and barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

He got the key and walked me down to Mrs. McPherson’s door. He went to put the key in the lock, but I stopped him without looking. Through the window, I could see she was sitting on the bed with a pillow stuffed under her shirt. She was holding it with her hands, and rocking herself. Her eyes were closed. I could hear her singing. It was a lullaby. That was all I needed to see.

I turned and walked to the elevator without waiting for the nurse. He kept calling after me and asking questions, but I couldn’t hear him. In my head, I could only hear the sound of her singing. I hummed the song to myself as I got on the elevator, and smiled.