David Morrell: Black Evening

Forgive me for the pain that our deaths will cause you. But our deaths are necessary. You have to accept my word on that. We anticipate. We're eager. What I'm about to do is not the result of despair.

I love you, Ben. I know that sounds strange. But it's true. I love you because we're partners in misfortune. Because you're decent and good. And in pain. Perhaps my gift to you will ease your pain. When you read this, Betsy and I will no longer be in pain. But in our final hours, we pray for you. We wish you consolation. God bless you, my friend. Be well.

Brian

Beneath Brian's signature, Betsy had added her own.

Grady moaned, his tears dripping onto the page, dissolving the ink on the final words, blurring the signatures of his sorely missed friends.

Jeff Clauson's frown deepened as he read the letter. He read it again, then again. At last, he leaned back from his desk and exhaled.

Grady sat across from him, brooding.

"Lord," Clauson said.

"I'm sorry for waking you," Grady said. "I waited as long as I could force myself, till after dawn, before phoning your home. Really, I thought you'd be up by then. I wanted to make sure you were going straight to your office instead of on an assignment. I assumed you'd want to see that letter right away."

Clauson looked puzzled. "See it right away? Of course. That isn't what I meant by a 'terrible way to start the morning.' I wasn't referring to me. You , Ben. I was sympathizing with you . Dear God, I'm surprised you waited till after dawn. In your place, I'd have called my friend… and that's what I hope you think I am… at once."

Grady shuddered.

"You don't look so good." Clauson stood and reached toward a beaker of coffee. "You'd better have another jolt of this." He refilled Grady's cup.

"Thanks." Grady's hands trembled as he raised the steaming cup. "The letter, Jeff. What do you make of it?"

Clauson debated with himself. "The most obvious thing is, Betsy's signature proves she agreed to Brian's plan. This wasn't a murder-suicide, but a double suicide. Betsy just needed a little help is all."

Grady stared down at his cup.

"The other obvious thing is, the letter has gaps. Brian insists it was necessary to leave the note at the compound, sending for you, but he doesn't explain why. Sure, he says he wants you to see the place. But after you found out he'd given it to you in his will, you'd have gone up to see it anyhow. There wasn't any need for you to be forced to look at the bodies."

"Unless…" Grady had trouble speaking. "Suppose I was so repelled that the last thing I wanted was to see where Brian shot Betsy and himself. What if I decided to sell the compound without ever going up there? The truth is, I don't want the compound. Brian might have been afraid of that, so he left the note to make sure I did go up there."

Clauson shrugged. "Could be. He tells you he wants you to see the compound because it's…" Clauson traced a finger down the letter. "… 'special. It consoles.' But he refuses to tell you how. He says he's afraid he might give you expectations that won't be fulfilled."

"I thought about that all the time I was driving here." Grady's throat tightened. "Obviously Brian, Betsy, and those ten people who died in the traffic accident considered the compound a refuge. A private club away from the world. A beautiful setting where they could support each other. Brian might have felt that if, in his letter, he praised the compound too much, I'd be disappointed because the place didn't matter as much as the company did. At the same time, the compound is special. It truly is beautiful. So he gave it to me. Maybe Brian felt guilty because he'd never included me in the group. Maybe he hoped that I'd start a group of my own. Who knows? He was under stress. He wasn't totally coherent."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"About…"

"The compound. You said you don't want it. Are you really so repelled that you don't intend to go back, that you'll sell the place?"

Grady glanced down. He didn't speak for several moments. "I don't know. If he'd given me something else – let's say a watchword I throw it away because I didn't want to be reminded? Or would I cherish it?"

Two days later, Ida Roth helped Grady choose. Not that she intended to. At the cemetery.

Grady had hoped to be one of the pallbearers, but Ida had failed to ask him. Grady had tried to get in touch with her at her home and at the tavern, but he'd never been able to succeed. Sweating from the morning's heat and humidity, he was reminded of the heat and humidity a year ago when he'd arrived at this same cemetery, carrying the urns of his wife and son into the mausoleum. About to turn from the coffins and walk back to his car, he felt a presence behind him, an angry presence, although how he sensed the presence, he didn't know. But the anger was eerily palpable, and he froze when Ida growled behind him, "You won't get away with this…"

Grady pivoted. The glare in Ida's wrinkle-rimmed eyes was perplexing. He'd tried to get close to her before and after the funeral, but she'd avoided him. At the graves, he'd done his best to make eye contact, frustrated at the stubbornness with which she'd looked away.

Now, though, her gaze was disturbingly direct. "Bastard." Her gaunt face, framed by her tugged-back hair, looked even more skeletal.

Grady winced. "Why are you calling me that, Ida? I haven't done anything against you. I miss them. I'm here to mourn them. Why are you – "

"Don't play games with me!"

"What are you talking about?"

"The compound! Brian's attorney told me about the will! It wasn't enough that my damned brother had so much self-pity he let the tavern go to hell. It wasn't enough that since he shot himself I've been scrambling to balance the tavern's accounts so his creditors don't take over the place. No, I have to find out that while he mortgaged the tavern which I inherited, the camp in the woods which you inherited is paid off, free and clear! I don't know how you tricked him. I can't imagine how you used your dead wife and kid to fool him into giving you the compound. But you can bet on this. If it takes my last breath, I'll fight you in court. Brian swore he'd take care of me! By God, I intend to make sure he keeps his word. You don't deserve anything! You weren't there when his twins died. You weren't there to hold his hand. You came later . So count on this. If it's the last thing I do, I'll own that camp. I'm tempted to have the buildings crushed, the swimming pool filled in, and everything covered with salt. But damn it, I need the money. So instead I'll have the will revoked and sell the place! I'll get the money I deserve! And you, you bastard, won't get anything!"

Grady felt heat shoot through his body. Ida's unforgivable accusation that he'd used his grief for his dead wife and son to manipulate Brian into willing him the compound made him so furious that he trembled. "Fine, Ida. Whatever you want to do." He shook more fiercely. "Or try to do. But listen carefully. Because there's something you don't realize. Until this minute, I intended to give up the compound and transfer my title to you. I believed you deserved it. But you made a mistake. You shouldn't have mentioned… Jesus, no, I've suddenly changed my mind. That compound's mine. I didn't want it. But now I do. To spite you, Ida. For the insult to my wife and son, you'll rot in hell. And I'll rot in hell before you ever set foot on that camp again."

Grady tore the yellow NO ADMITTANCE – POLICE CRIME SCENE tape from the chainlink fence at the compound's entrance. Using the key Clauson had given him, he unlocked the gate, thrust it open, and bitterly entered the camp.