Joe Lansdale - Lost Echoes

She smiled. She had recognized that flying gentleman.

“Good riddance, asshole,” she said aloud.

59

EXCERPT FROM HARRY’S JOURNAL

And so I lay me down to sleep at night, and the bad ear, the gun-banged ear, lies dead, and the other, it does not pick up sound. No, sir.

I hear. But I do not hear what I used to hear. I do not hear behind the sounds. The images rest. No flashes at the edge of the eye, no wiggles of light, and no sensations of terror.

It’s just me now. No time-traveling souls.

And I realize something that I should have realized all along. I wasn’t just afraid of what was in those sounds. I was just afraid. Afraid of life. Afraid of failure. But I had a moment. I was brave. I actually fought well. Even if I won through luck. Had the chief not been standing on that ledge, had his arm lifted a bit more quickly, he might be writing in his journal, telling it what a fine shot he was.

Yeah. I was brave. Or crazy. Angry. And, for one fleeting second, I was one with the universe.

Good for me!

I did what I did, scared or not.

And you want to know something, my journal friend?

Come on. I know you’re curious.

Here it is. I’m still scared.

Scared my hearing in my right ear will come back, and with it will come again my special gift. My fucking curse.

Seems likely. It was just a sudden explosion. Temporary, the doctor says.

I’m scared of that, the sounds returning. Scared I might like a drink someday. Scared of lots of things.

But maybe not so much as before.

60

A week after it all happened, Harry and Kayla met at the hospital, in Tad’s room.

“I to’ed when I should have fro’ed,” Tad said.

Harry reached down and took Tad’s hand, lying limp on the hospital bed, and squeezed it.

Kayla, sharp in uniform, with a cast on her arm, sat stiffly in a chair on the other side of the bed. Tad turned his head to look at her. “You make me feel better than he does. He’s got bruises.”

“I’ve got rib wrappings and some cement,” Kayla said.

“You still look better than he does.”

“We were worried,” Harry said. “Doctor said it was a concussion, and a pretty bad bullet wound, and you were in a delirium for some time, kept asking the same question over and over.”

“What was it?”

“‘Why is he hitting me with that stick?’”

“Oh. Well, yeah. I wondered about that at the time. The chief? What happened to him?”

“He bounced real hard,” Harry said. “Over the side of the cliff. I think when they found him they had to pick his teeth out of his ass. But here’s the thing. He lived. He does any kind of activity from here on out, it’ll be like, you know, the Special Olympics. Maybe they got something there like the Jell-O roll.”

“Figures he would live.”

“It’s best,” Kayla said. “We can prove what he did much more easily. Even if he lies, he can’t say he wasn’t there, and his fingerprints are on the gun that killed Sergeant Pale, and there’s my word on things. And the files I used to put it together. I doubt Harry’s sound stuff is something we want to mention too much, if at all. But it won’t be too hard to prove the chief’s a killer. We also got you, and your testimony, and Harry’s. Joey, he’s in the morgue.”

“Poor guy,” Harry said, “he just can’t get buried.”

“Weasels are not one with the universe,” Tad said. “Even the ground doesn’t want to accept him.” Tad turned his head to look at Harry. “You did it. You actually fought a real bad guy and won.”

Harry shook his head. “After you softened him up. Anyway, looks as if it might all be over with.”

“Yeah,” Tad said. “Just might work out. You two do me a favor?”

“Name it,” Harry said.

“Leave me alone so I can rest. Go somewhere and commune with the universe. Or the bed linens.”

“Tad,” Kayla said.

“Or whatever, and later, maybe you can see if you can sneak me in a bag of taco chips. The hot kind. Maybe some kind of cheese dip.”

Joe R. Lansdale

LOST ECHOES

Joe R. Lansdale has written more than a dozen novels in the suspense, horror, and Western genres. He has also edited several anthologies. He has received the British Fantasy Award, the American Mystery Award, six Bram Stoker Awards, and the 2001 Edgar Award for best novel from the Mystery Writers of America. He lives in Nacogdoches, Texas, with his family.

Also by Joe R. Lansdale

Sunset and Sawdust

A Fine Dark Line

Captains Outrageous

The Bottoms

Freezer Burn

Rumble Tumble

Bad Chili

Mucho Mojo

A VINTAGE CRIME/BLACK LIZARD ORIGINAL, FEBRUARY 2007

Copyright © 2007 by Joe R. Lansdale

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

Vintage is a registered trademark and Vintage Crime/Black Lizard and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Lansdale, Joe R., 1951–

Lost echoes : a novel / Joe R. Lansdale.

p. cm.

eISBN: 978-0-307-27817-3

1. Psychological fiction. I. Title.

PS3562. A557L67 2006

813'.54—dc22 2005058492

www.vintagebooks.com

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