Authors: R. J. Blacks
I awaken to rays of sunlight streaming
through gaps in the blinds and onto my face. It’s 10:00 AM and Fargo is gone. I
peek out the window and see that his jeep is missing. I slip out of bed, pick
up my underwear, and then dash into the shower. Warm water streams through my
hair and down my back. Oh how good it feels. I watch the soap residue glide
past my toes, circle the drain, and then finally succumb to it. The shower
leaves me feeling totally refreshed, as if the soap has somehow washed away the
events of the last twenty-four hours making me a new woman.
I dry off, wrap a
towel around me, and sneak into my bedroom. I hear a car approaching and see
it’s Fargo’s jeep. I quickly put on shorts and a tee-shirt and greet him in the
kitchen.
“Want some eggs?”
I say.
“Sure, if you’re
up to it.”
I whip up some
bacon, eggs, and toast, place them on the table, and then sit down and join
him.
“I was with
Detective Bolt this morning,” he says.
“Is it something
I should be worried about?”
“They found a
switchblade in Damon’s pocket. The coroner said the blade matched Will’s injury
exactly and they even found traces of dried blood inside the handle that
matched Will’s type. They’re totally convinced Damon was the killer.”
“And what about
Damon?” I say.
“Detective Bolt
surprised the D.A. by taking your side. Showed her how Damon was holding you
under water when you jabbed him with the spear. The coroner said the trajectory
of the wound confirms your story. He said there was no way you could have
stabbed him at that angle unless he was above you. But then the D.A. countered
that you and Damon were in it together, that you killed Damon to hide your
tracks.
“That’s
ridiculous.”
“Then she
concocts this bizarre story about how Will was jealous and wanted you all for
himself. How he smacked you across the mouth with the back of his hand when he
saw you flirting with Damon. Damon attempts to protect you, but Will beats him
up and that’s why he was found unconscious in the ladies room. So then, you and
Damon conspire to kill him in revenge. They’ve already put a trace on your
cellphone records for evidence you and Damon did this in premeditation.”
“This is totally
absurd,” I say.
“She kept
bringing up the point that if Damon was the original perpetrator, why was there
no police report? The cut on your lip was consistent with a beating so why
would you not file a report back in North Carolina? They even managed to get a
statement from the police officer that had observed your swollen lip. He said
you appeared edgy during the interrogation, as if you were hiding something.
This was the
perfect opportunity to file a complaint against Damon, but you didn’t because
it never happened. In fact, she said you told the officer you never saw Damon,
then changed your story all around and told the investigators that Damon had
assaulted you in the ladies room. This brings your credibility into question
and that’s why she believes you and Damon were in this together. When the
police officer originally questioned you, you wanted to disassociate yourself
from Damon so you could use him later to commit murder for you. She kept
insisting your actions back in North Carolina were not consistent with an
attempted rape.”
“What about the
complaints I made to Detective Bolt about Damon harassing me?”
“Well, she
acknowledged the complaints, but said that was all part of your plan. You knew
the police could do nothing because Damon hadn’t broken any laws. But you
wanted it on record that you were afraid of him. You brilliantly set him up to
be the bad guy, and then ultimately, your scapegoat. She said you’re smart, but
she’s seen it all before.”
“Okay, she wants
facts. What about the trajectory of the wound?”
“She said you
tricked Damon into lying on his back and then surprised him with the spear before
he had time to react.”
“And they
believed her?”
“Detective Bolt
countered that she failed to explain the presence of the two airboats. Why
wouldn’t you and Damon both go in one? But she had an answer for that too.
She claimed once
Damon had committed the act, you decided you didn’t need him anymore and ran
away. Then he chased after you and you killed him in cold blood to silence
him.”
“By tricking him
into lying on his back?”
“Well there was
the issue of you showing up in your underwear. She went on this tirade about
how you had seduced Damon to lie on the beach and then grabbed the spear and
stabbed him.”
“That’s totally
insane.”
“Don’t worry,
nobody was buying it. But then she starts hammering away at them, telling them
about this law and that law and about this case and that case and how this one
case was a precedent for a similar situation. She went on for forty-five
minutes, wearing everybody down, and everyone wanted to go home—”
“So there’s going
to be a trial?”
“Well I was
getting to that. The assistant D.A. politely told her she had a weak case, that
there weren’t enough facts to support her conclusions. But she wouldn’t stop.
Called him a coward and then he loses his temper, asks to be taken off the
case.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because he said
he didn’t want to be there when the judge cites them for wasting his time.”
“He said that?”
“Indeed he did.
Then she tells him she’ll do it without him, storms out the room and slams the
door.”
It was obvious to
me she had latched onto this case to bolster her career and she wasn’t going to
let it slip through her fingers. If she could convict me for two murders, it
would be all over the national news and elicit the attention of some very
influential people, opening doors to higher office. It was an opportunity she
couldn’t ignore.
I wander to the
window and focus my attention on a lone sailboat on the horizon struggling
against an incessant wind and high waves. I had seen it from the bathroom
window and there was little progress from before. I watch it tack back and
forth attempting to make some headway, but the wind is coming from the wrong
direction and the waves keep pushing it back. I wonder how long the captain
will do this until he gets frustrated and gives up. Or perhaps the waves will
make the decision for him and topple the boat.
I think about my
new job, how hard I had worked for it, and all the possibilities it would
offer. And then I think about how all this could be taken away from me through
no fault of my own, just like before. Was it worth it?
My mind wanders
as I gaze at that hapless sailboat and wonder if my own life is just like that
boat, moving back and forth in a never-ending cycle of successes and setbacks
pitted against an incessant immovable force with disaster only a heartbeat away
and it depresses me.
“So you’re here
to tell me... she’s going to prosecute.”
“Not exactly.
Detective Bolt calls me about an hour later and tells me they’ve cancelled the
Grand Jury and closed the investigation. Ruled it self-defense.”
“You had me
worried.”
“Didn’t mean to.
Thought you wanted to know what happened.”
“How’d they
convince the D.A?”
“When she cooled
down, she realized it would be really bad for her career if the facts showed
she had falsely charged the victim of an attempted rape. She’s tough, but not
stupid.”
“So I’m free to
go?”
“Yeah. You’re
free to go.”
I nibble at my
breakfast recounting the events of the last six months. It’s a bittersweet
moment. Although I had achieved what I came here for, it came at a price. Will
was kind and gentle; he didn’t deserve this. It made me wonder if there was
truly any justice in the world. I would soon have my PhD, but without him, it
would be meaningless. It just wasn’t fair. If we could get Will back, if there
was any way we could turn back the clock, I would gladly relinquish my PhD. I
choke up, unable to receive any more food.
“One more thing,”
he says. “Bolt told me they’ve been trying to contact Damon’s next of kin, but
they’re coming up cold. The name on his license and registration appears legit
on the police computer, but it’s completely bogus. The address is an empty lot
and there’s no record of him ever taking a driving test or even filling out an
application.”
“What about his
fingerprints... or DNA?”
“No match on
those either.”
“How did he
manage that?” I ask.
“Bolt proposed
several scenarios. Damon could have altered police records by hacking into the
system. Or, he may be an ex-cop who had access to the database. Either way,
he’s dead now. So unless someone steps forward and identifies him, they’re
committing his remains to an unmarked grave.”
“Thank goodness
it’s over.”
“Yes, but there’s
still the matter of Will’s funeral.”
“What did you
decide?”
“The tribal
elders agreed to an official cremation, even though Will wasn’t exactly active.
They want you to be fire bearer.”
“What does that
mean?”
“It means you
light the fire.”
“No, please, not
me.”
“You were the
person closest to him. He would want it that way.”
“What about
Juanita?”
“He loved Juanita
passionately, but you were the one he went to when he had a problem.”
“Why don’t you do
it?”
“The elders
prefer someone outside the family. It’s an acknowledgement that Will was loved
by everyone, not just those that were related to him.”
“I don’t know
what to do.”
“It’s easy. The
medicine man will say some prayers, and then instruct you to light the fire.”
“Please don’t
force me.”
“If you refuse,
it would be a great insult.”
I stare out the
window and reflect on my relationship with Will. How he helped me, and expected
nothing in return.
“Okay, fine. I’ll
do it,” I say, but secretly, I’m terrified. Even though I loved him dearly, like
a brother, and would do anything for him, I have this fear I’ll mess up and get
it wrong. To get my mind off it, I turn my attention to more immediate
concerns.
“You know I’m
leaving soon.”
“Yeah, figured
so,” he says.
“Just wondering
what you’ll do with the restaurant.”
“Probably lease
it. It’s meaningless to me now.”
“Look, I’m sorry.
I didn’t want it to end like this.”
“Don’t try to
explain it, you never will,” he says, and then I see a tear form in his eye. He
abruptly walks out the door, down the steps, and onto his airboat. He starts
the engine and then races away without looking back.
I spend the
afternoon alone, packing my clothes. I’ve decided to leave all the chemistry
equipment behind. Fargo can always donate it to a charity if he doesn’t want
it. With my new-found job, I’ll be working in a world-class laboratory with all
the latest gadgets. I won’t ever need that old stuff again.
Fargo returns
about five o’clock and I haven’t yet started dinner.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“I’ll just pick.”
“I’m making
burgers. I can add extra.”
“If it’s no
trouble.”
“No trouble at
all.”
“Okay,” he says,
and strolls to his bedroom.
I grill up the
burgers, prepare some sweet-potato fries, and then place it all on the table. I
tap on Fargo’s door.
“Dinner’s ready.”
The door opens
and Fargo joins me at the table. He helps himself to a burger and fries.
“I’d like to
leave at 7:30. Funeral’s at eight,” he says.
“I don’t know
what to wear.”
“Wear the outfit
Will gave you, the one that belonged to my mother. She’ll see you wearing it
and be pleased.”
See me wearing
it? Suddenly, I’m confused.
“I thought your
mother passed away.”
“In our culture,
the departed, family members and friends, come to assist the deceased on their
journey to the afterlife,” he says. “We can’t see them, but they can see us.”
“Yes, of course.
I’ll wear it.”
Fargo downs
another burger and then retreats to his bedroom. I pick at my meal, in
solitude, thinking about the funeral. I’ve never attended anything like this
before and I’m nervous about what they might ask me to do. I’ll just have to
make the best of it and hope I do well.
I place the empty
dinner plates into the sink and shuffle to my bedroom. I change into the
fringed deerskin skirt, the matching top, the moccasins, the shell necklace,
and then set an eagle feather in my hair. I study my outfit in the mirror
making sure nothing is out of place. The red, blue, and brown embroidery is
beautiful and contrasts nicely against the tan deerskin. I run my fingertips
gently over the design admiring the texture. It’s obvious the person that made
this did so out of love, not just for a quick sale. The craftsmanship and
detail are extraordinary, down to the minutest thread.