Joe Lansdale - Lost Echoes

Yeah. That was it…. Goddamn buzzing.

The buzzing continued.

Harry positioned himself so that he was stretched out on the seat, his head against the open driver’s-side window, his side against the steering wheel.

The buzzing was his phone.

Harry removed it from his pocket and answered.

“Hey, goddamn it, I was about to come down for you,” Tad said.

“Sorry. I sort of fainted.”

“You okay, kid?”

“Not really.”

“You saw something?”

“I saw a lot.”

Slowly the Mercedes moved forward, and Harry went up the hill, the rope tied around him, using his legs to bounce along as he was pulled up. He tried to use the phone, but that wasn’t working out so good. He could hardly hang onto it, let alone talk into it. He finally put it in his coat pocket and hoped for the best.

At the top, daylight was spilling through the trees, and the Mercedes stopped. With shaking hands, Harry removed the rope.

Tad got out of the car and walked back.

“You found Vincent?”

“Found something else.”

“And?”

“I think I have more questions than answers.”

50

Harry spent the rest of the morning at Tad’s place, sleeping fitfully.

All he could think about was how Kayla would feel when he told her what he had seen. Her father standing on the sidelines.

Should he tell her? Did it matter anymore? It had happened so long ago.

The car. It had to be the one he had heard about, the one he thought was most likely a legend. The car with the lovers in it. Or that was the story. The bodies had long ago been removed, or they had been removed after lying undiscovered for years. Their killers were never caught.

And the old car just left there, too much trouble to free. That’s the way it would have been done in the past, a little town like this. Forensics would have been thought to be some kind of disease. And the story of the murders would go around, and in time, unless you were really willing to research, it would be thought to be no more than a legend.

It all twisted inside of Harry’s head until he could take no more. He had tried hiding in sleep for a while, but the horror of it would uncoil again and noodle about at the edges of his dreams, and he would awaken.

He not only remembered what he had seen, he felt it all. It was as if he was the one who had been raped. And he had felt the man’s fear just as the gun went off, a sudden sickness and a sad realization that there was no more to his life.

Harry sat up in bed, wadded a pillow behind his head, and watched the sunlight trace along the edges of the window, then flood it.

He got up to make coffee, but Tad was already there. Coffee made. Cooking eggs.

They drank coffee and ate toast and eggs, and when they were finished Tad said, “You’re sure what you saw?”

Harry nodded.

“It was all kind of confusing. The whole event was jumbled.”

“Gonna tell Kayla?”

“Don’t know. Maybe we should just forget the whole thing.”

“Maybe.”

“Would you?”

“Probably not.”

“Come on. Would you?”

“No.”

“Even if it meant you were going to hurt someone you cared about?”

“That question has a lot of roads that can be taken. But if you’re asking me specifically if I were you, and knew what you know, and I had a girlfriend like Kayla—”

“Just friends.”

“Okay. A friend like Kayla. And she trusted you. And she wanted to know what happened to her father…. Yeah. I’d tell her.”

“She’ll hate me.”

“She might. If she does, you won’t have that between the two of you, at least.”

“We won’t have anything between us.”

“Could be.”

“But you’d do it anyway?”

“I would, Harry. But I’m not you. You got to make your own decisions.”

“Shit,” Harry said. “I hate that part. I really do.”

51

She could still hit very hard.

Hard enough he was almost knocked off his feet. He fell backward against Harry the bear, making his wooden namesake wobble, but he managed to keep his feet by grabbing at the wall.

“Kayla—” he said.

She hit him again with the flat of her hand, grabbed his arm, twisted it so that it went behind his back, and he let her. Well, actually he liked to think he let her. Still, he didn’t fight it. No struggle whatsoever. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she pistol-whipped him.

Harry said, “Kayla, I’m sorry.”

“You’re a liar. You’re a goddamn liar.”

“I could be wrong.”

“You are wrong. You and your sounds. What shit, Harry. What shit.”

“I know.”

She let go of him with a shove, fell on the couch, and rolled the side of her face against the back of it. She heaved and then burst out crying.

Harry stood where he was, his face red on both sides, his arm aching from being twisted. He looked at Kayla’s back rising up and down, listened to her bawl. She was still wearing her uniform, fresh off the night shift, her gun was on her hip.

It didn’t seem right, seeing a policewoman cry like that.

“I’m sorry—”

“Just shut up, Harry.” When Kayla spoke her voice was muffled, pushed into the couch.

“Sure.”

“Completely shut up.”

“Okay.”

“I mean not another word.”

Harry caught himself in midapology, realized he was about to speak. He stood silent by Harry the bear. Without thinking about it, he patted the wooden critter on the head. After a moment he put his hands in his pockets.

Well, he thought, this has gone well.

He headed out the door.

“Harry,” Kayla said.

“Yes.”

“Don’t you dare leave.”

“Are you going to hit me any more?”

“No.” Kayla rolled over and slowly sat forward on the couch. She said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe it. I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know what it means, Kayla. No idea.”

“Come sit beside me.”

“You sure you aren’t going to bitch-slap me again?”

“Positive.”

“No arm-twisting either?”

“No arm-twisting.”

“Could you put the pistol away?”

“Harry, come here.”

He sat down beside her. She touched his face where she had struck him. “Can’t believe I did that.”

“It’s still pretty fresh in my memory.”

“Thanks for not hitting back.”

“I didn’t want to open that can of worms.”

She kissed him on his reddened cheek. “I am sorry.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry I said what I said. But maybe it’s not like it seems. Like it looked.”

“I’m just reporting here. Just tell ’em like I see ’em. I may simply be crazy, you know.”

“You’re not. I’m the one who got you into this.”

“I’m into it every day of my life.”

“Did you report it to the department?”

“What’s to report? I found an old car and had some dreams. I didn’t find Vincent’s remains. That’s what I went out there for. But I think he’s on that hill somewhere, covered in vines. What’s left of him anyway. A few bones here and there.”

She turned his face toward hers, kissed him on the lips.

“Harry?”

“Yeah.”

“I just want you to know, and believe me when I say this: I’m not trying to get your gum, so don’t fight me.”

“I’m not chewing gum.”

“Just an example of how you’re acting. To kiss, you have to open your mouth a little.”

“I know that.”

“It’s really okay to kiss back.”