Diane Davidson - The Main Corpse

He motioned for me to recover the plates, then squeaked the gate open and impassively waved me through. The van rocked upward as the rutted dirt road became smooth pavement without warning. Five minutes later, I pulled up in front of a massive, styleless stucco house that looked more like a barracks than a dwelling. Parked outside were three camouflage-painted trucks. Two camo-suited men greeted me at the heavy wooden entrance. Just inside, a closed-circuit camera monitored my movements. One of the men wordlessly took the keys to my van. The other ushered me into a room decorated with a long mahogany conference table and another surveillance camera.

A short, white-haired man in a beige suit soundlessly entered the room. He had pale skin and white hair, and a quiet, assured air. I couldn’t decide if he was a CEO or a yogi.

“Mrs. Schulz,” he said serenely, as if he were greeting me after a church service instead of here in paramilitary purgatory. He extended his hand and I shook it. He did not introduce himself. “You have brought food for our friend. The kind of food he craves, he tells me.”

“Yes. I … used to work for him, and … he loves chocolate. We … have been friends for several years,” I added carefully, as if to explain that I usually didn’t meet the general’s buddies under circumstances like these.

“I see.” He gestured and we both sat down. He steepled his short fingers. “We are extremely worried about General Farquhar. He is being treated for depression by one of our doctors. He is also finishing an important project for us here. We do not think it wise for him to leave the compound.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

His colorless eyes regarded me somberly. “We would be very happy if you could help him in any way he asks.”

I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, but merely mumbled, “Well, sure.” What I thought but didn’t add was, We’re not talking about illegal or immoral help here, are we? The pale man stood: I was dismissed. I was led by Greeter Number One down a joyless, undecorated corridor to a long, windowed room that resembled the day room of a hospital. The guard opened the door and waited for me to pass through, then stationed himself by a window, sentrylike.

In the far right corner, General Bo Farquhar was slumped in a turquoise plastic chair. When he heard us come into the room, he moved slowly to get up. He turned to face me, then held out his arms. I walked forward and hugged him. He smelled of fresh detergent and starch.

He pulled back and assessed me. “I’m so happy to see you, Goldy.” His voice seemed gravelly with disuse. Tears filled his eyes. “It has just been too long.”

In the months since my last visit to the correctional facility at Canon City, General Bo’s hawklike features had gone distressingly slack. His skin had grayed and his expression was distracted. After he had dabbed them with a handkerchief, his blue eyes – eyes that had always reminded me of equal parts of ice and sky – were cloudy. When I’d first met him, his hair had been so close-cropped that it was hard to determine its color-ash blond or white. In prison it had looked like an unevenly mowed hay meadow. Now the general’s hair had grown out in loose, pale yellow waves. I found myself wondering how this compound could have a shrink but no barber. Bo’s muscle-hard constitution had registered at least a fifteen-pound gain since the last time I’d seen him. He still looked fit, but the olive green uniform he wore hugged the new folds on his stomach and splayed out over his hips like pajamas.

“Let’s go for a walk.” Again the dulled voice surprised me. In fact, everything about him – his painstaking movements, perplexed expression, lack of focus – made him look twenty years older than the fifty-five I knew he was.

“Will they let us?” I whispered. “We could just stay here and have cookies.” His expression immediately turned crestfallen, and I was sorry I had suggested hanging around. To tell the truth, this place gave me the creeps after just ten minutes. It was no wonder Bo was depressed. “Why don’t we go for a walk,” I said cheerfully. “I’m dying to see the sights at this place.”

He managed a pinched laugh. “Let me get us an escort, then,” he said. He ambled over to the man who had brought me into the room and murmured to him. The guard disappeared. When he came back, he brusquely nodded and gestured to a side door.

One thing about hiking up a Colorado mountain: Unless you know the trail very well, it’s hard to talk while you’re doing it. I huffed up the dirt path at the general’s side. If you’re not as surefooted as a mountain goat-and it was questionable that I possessed any such balance – all you focus on is getting to where the hiking stops. Conversing is out of the question. With clouds still threatening overhead, and our guard close on our heels, we veered to a narrower, steeper path and entered dark woods. I was very glad I hadn’t brought along Arch and Jake.

The general took long strides over the rocks ahead of me. For all his extra weight and unhealthy look, Bo was hiking without effort. Behind us, our dark-haired guard, who clearly could have won a speed-walking race to Vail, easily kept pace with us. After about a quarter mile of this torture, the general decided to ask, “So, how is everybody, Goldy? Arch? Julian? Tom? You didn’t invite me to your wedding,” he said accusingly.

“Yes,” I panted. “I got … married.” What was I supposed to do, send him an invitation in jail? “Arch is fine. Has a new dog.” Another mile of this, and I’d be dead.

“I heard. And Marla, how is she? I sent her flowers when she had the heart attack… .”

“Fine.” My own heart was pounding. Would he send me flowers if I collapsed? “Everybody’s great. Marla’s got a boyfriend. He’s with that firm you’ve invested in – “

“I know, I know, that’s why I invested in it, so I could see her sometime. I would love to get together with her, Goldy, if you could arrange it,” the general interrupted, his tone very serious. “When I was in prison all I could think about was reconnecting with Marla. She’s my only connection to my dear Adele… .”

My shins were on fire. Ahead, the trees thinned to reveal a grassy area. To the left, a sudden view of overcast sky indicated that we were on the edge of an overlook. In the distance, I could hear roaring water.

“Please,” I panted, “let’s… stop.”

“Keep going,” was the barely audible command from our dark-haired companion.

Oh, marvelous. I fastened my eyes on the ground, put one foot in front of the other, up, up, up, and tried to think about energy, white light, and running the bases in softball when I was ten. These did not help.

“Look, let’s take a break,” the general said finally. He stopped and put his hands on his hips. “It’ll be okay,” he told the guard. “Let’s go to where we can see the creek. It’s across from the spot where we’ve been doing some testing – “

“Not a good idea, sir,” countered the guard. “There’s a full moon…”

Bo gave him the ice-blue gaze I knew of old. “I don’t think we’re in any danger.” The guard looked away. I guess Bo got whatever he wanted from everybody. And why should a full moon matter, anyway?

We threaded through the trees until we reached the rocky overlook. Water roared close by. Where were we? I held out both arms to keep my balance as I teetered between granite boulders the size of elephants. I inadvertently stepped into a mud puddle and quickly hopped out. The ridge lay ten yards ahead.

Thunder cracked overhead. Or was it an explosion nearby? To my astonishment, the earth seemed to be moving, crumbling under my feet. The enormous rocks on either side of us skewed sideways.