Risen (21 page)

He watched Peg busying herself behind the counter. She looked at him only once, and then he thought he could see Bowie knives hurtling at him from her eyes. He realized that she'd been flirting with him a few minutes ago and he'd been too busy piling stones over his own grave to notice. With typical male single-mindedness he had let a bunch of nonsensical and probably groundless fears sidetrack him from attending to the real business of life.

He imagined himself explaining it all to her. Even in his head it sounded absurd. Peg's affections were a locked room which she had opened the barest crack. If he came across sounding like a madman, it would slam shut in a heartbeat.

No, there would be no explaining. Apologizing. Groveling if needed. But no explaining. He'd confide in someone else, but not Peg, not yet.

He waited for her to glare balefully at him again. When she did, he smiled and gave her a wink. She glanced away before he could read the expression on her face.

He drained his coffee and walked over to the register. She was already ringing him up before he got there, as if she was anxious to see him go.

"I'm looking forward to tonight," he said.

"Oh?" she said. "That'll be a dollar."

He had a dollar bill but he dug for a five. If she had to make change, he'd have about ten more seconds to redeem himself. He leaned in and spoke with a voice he hoped was rich with sincerity.

"Listen, I was distracted there, a few minutes ago. Things on my mind. I'm sorry. I get too wrapped up in my own thoughts sometimes. If it happens again, it'd help if you'd call it to my attention. Any subtle hint—pour coffee in my lap, slap me with a waffle...."

"I'll remember that," she said, handing him his change. Her gaze was encouragingly knifeless.

"I thought I'd stop by the hospital and have a chat with Doc," he said. "I'll look in on Annie and explain that you're at home whipping up a gourmet dinner, okay?"

"Okay," she replied. Warmly, this time.

He peeled a dollar bill out of the four she'd handed him and left it on the counter. "For the waitress," he explained. "You wouldn't know if she's seeing anyone...?"

"I think she is," Peg said. The way her lips curled into almost-a-smile gave him the shivers.

Brant was on his way out when he turned with an afterthought.

"Say...do you know where Tom would be about now?"

"Oh, are you two partners again?"

"In a way. Does he hang out anyplace particular on the weekends?"

"You might try the reservoir. Other than that...." Peg shrugged.

Brant thought for a moment, tapped his finger on the cash register, smiled. "Well, if I don't run into him before, I guess I'll see him tonight," he said, and Peg nodded.

Brant turned and nearly bumped into Madge Duffy. They exchanged greetings and Madge made a beeline for Peg.

Brant started across the street. He stopped in the middle and pretended to pick up a lucky penny, but actually he was sneaking a peek back at the diner. Madge still hadn't taken a seat. She and Peg were chatting about something, and the look on Peg's face told him it was serious. Peg nodded to Madge and then both women unexpectedly looked at Brant. He hurriedly pocketed the nonexistent penny and walked off with what he hoped was a jaunty air.

***

"He's damned lucky to be alive," Doc said, referring to Franz Klempner. "He's got some cuts and bruises and a few cracked ribs, probably some whiplash, but a wreck like that? I'd have expected worse. Much worse. He's got a guardian angel, that's for sure."

Brant nodded. "You never know. When I was...." He caught himself. He'd almost said, "When I was a reporter."

"I've seen people walk away from wrecks that should have killed them, and I've seen the opposite. Maybe the Reverend pulled some more strings."

Doc chuckled. "At this point I'm ready to believe anything. You saw Duffy at church, didn't you? The man hasn't looked that healthy in ten years."

Brant weighed his options carefully. Should he tell Doc about Deputy Haws or not? His paranoia urged him to proceed with caution.

"Maybe Duffy isn't the only one," he said. "Maybe there are others who've risen."

Doc seemed taken aback.

"Why would you think that?" he asked.

"Just thinking out loud. There doesn't seem to be any reason for Duffy to be picked for resurrection. Maybe the phenomenon is more widespread than that. Maybe Death's on a holiday or something."

"That would be my cue to retire," Doc offered. "But surely if there were others, we'd know, wouldn't we? If you came back from the dead, wouldn't you tell somebody about it?"

"I would, if I didn't mind sounding like a nut. Duffy's death was well documented. He couldn't come back quietly and go on about his business. But if I died, say, in my sleep one night, say I had a stroke, and I came back the next day, I might not even know it myself. Except for any changes, of course. And I wouldn't go buttonholing people and saying, 'Look at me! I died and came back!' They'd measure me for a strait jacket."

"I see your point. I think."

"I'm just saying...what if Madge Duffy hadn't phoned the police after killing her husband? What if she'd killed him and buried him under the petunias? Then he'd come back, claw his way out of the flower bed, and how would we have known? Madge wouldn't have broadcast the information, and even now, Duffy isn't saying a word."

"But she did call the police. We know he died."

"We know that about Duffy, but what about everybody else in town?"

"Such as...?"

"Such as everybody! You, me...everybody!"

"You think the entire population of Anderson's come back from the dead?"

"No! I'm just saying that they could! Christ, when I say it out loud, it sounds crazy."

Doc raised one eyebrow. "You said it, Brant, not me."

Brant leaned forward, propped his arms on Doc's desk. "What if I could cite a specific case, a person who died and came back, but for some reason kept the information to himself?"

"Who?"

"I'm speaking hypothetically. If I did find someone like that, what would it mean?"

"It would mean he didn't want his name in your newspaper."

"But it could mean a lot more, couldn't it? Like, a conspiracy."

Doc's patience seemed to reach its end. "Brant, for godsakes, listen to yourself! I'm tempted to sign your commitment papers myself, right now!"

Brant sighed. "Yeah, I know," he said. "But something in this town has changed. It's the air or the negative ions or something. Don't you feel it? The town just feels different."

"Maybe it's you who's changed," Doc said. "Maybe you need a rest. Take a week off and quit stewing about things you can't do anything about. If the Grim Reaper's taken Anderson off his rounds, we'll know soon enough, won't we? Here. I have some medicine for you."

"I don't want any medi—" Brant began, then he saw that Doc was reaching into his bottom desk drawer and pulling out a bottle of Maker's Mark and a couple of shot glasses.

"I keep this handy to steady my hands before surgery," Doc said. When he saw the look on Brant's face, he added, "I'm kidding."

"Don't kid like that around Merle Tippert," Brant advised. "He already thinks you're a drunk."

"Don't I know it," Doc said. He filled the glasses and handed one to Brant. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

Brant drained his glass and set it on the edge of the desk. He waved off Doc's offer of a refill.

"I promised Peg I'd look in on Annie, and I think I'd like a word with Franz Klempner. Can I talk to him?"

"Out of my jurisdiction," Doc said. "He isn't with us any longer."

"Died?! But you said"

"He went home. Oh, I tried to keep him here, but the stubborn old goat wouldn't hear of it. He asked if he was going to die and I said 'Not today' and he said, 'Then I'm going home.' Against my better judgment, but...." Doc shrugged.

"Doc, you don't suppose...?"

"Suppose what?"

"That Klempner didn't make it out of that wreck alive. That he died and came back."

Doc Milford reached across his desk for Brant's shot glass. "I'm cutting you off," he said, "You've bagged your limit. I'll walk with you to Annie's room."

During the walk along the corridor, Brant acknowledged that Doc was probably right about Klempner. "If Franz had come back, why didn't Irma and the Ganger boy? Say...the leg must be doing better."

Doc's limp had disappeared.

"What? Oh, you mean my hip. Never underestimate the power of a good whiskey," Doc said with a wink.

***

Brant explained to Annie that Peg wouldn't be in to see her because she was cooking a special meal for a special night. He told her he was sorry to take her mother away even for one evening but he hoped that she wouldn't hold it against him. He spoke to her just as if she could hear and understand, and he stroked her forehead and confided to her that he thought he was in love with Peg and he was going to try hard to be worthy of her. He said he had a lot to learn about love and faith and determination, and he figured that Peg was as good a teacher as he'd find anywhere.

For some reason none of this seemed foolish to him. Maybe he was buying into the myth that Annie was more than a human vegetable, and maybe she had come to symbolize something to him about his own life and the part of it that needed fixing. If he needed to find a miracle to believe in, the miracle of this little girl's recovery would suit him better than a hundred John Duffys and Deputy Hawses.

As he walked to the parking lot he was unaware of Doc Milford standing at his office window watching him go. Doc's goldfish lay on the doctor's desk, asphyxiated. Doc had pulled it from its tank and plopped it on his desk blotter and watched it flip-flop around for the time it took it to die. He'd never sat back and watched something die before, not when there was something he could do to forestall that death. Life had always seemed so precious.

Now Doc was wondering what the fuss was all about. The fish swam around in its bowl, around and around, with no meaningful direction to its life. What did it matter if this one fish stopped swimming? He watched it die and felt no remorse. Did Seth watch over the little fishes in the sea as he did over humankind? Doc felt that he must. Would the fish know the blessing of Seth's love as Doc did? He felt it would.

He picked the fish up by the tail and dropped it back in its bowl where it floated on its side.

Doc picked up the telephone and dialed the Sheriff's Office. As he'd hoped, Deputy Haws answered.

"Harold?" Doc said, "It's me. Brant Kettering just stopped by. I think we have a situation." He recounted the conversation with Brant, particularly Brant's theory that the town could be secretly infested with Risen citizens.

"I'll deal with it," Haws said.

***

Brant found Tom at the reservoir, all right, talking with the rest of the gang—Kent Fredericks, Buzzy Hayes, and Darren Coombs. They all seem subdued and for once it wasn't attributable to the joint that Kent tried to hide inside his cupped palm when Brant drove up.

"Hi, troops," Brant said. They mumbled their greetings back. "I guess you heard about the...about Galen Ganger."

"We heard," Tom said.

"I'm sorry."

"I know how sorry you are," Darren said. Apparently he was taking over Galen's angry-young-man duties.

Brant blew out his cheeks and stared at the water.

"Well," he said, "Galen wouldn't win any popularity contests with most of the town, but it's hard when you lose a friend. So, Kent...."

Kent looked up as if he'd been called on in class.

"You going to Bogart that joint or pass it around?" Brant asked.

"Huh?"

"Sixties talk," Tom translated. "It means he wants a hit."

Kent was baffled for a few moments, then he held the joint out to Brant. "It's out," he said.

"Got a light?"

Buzzy gave Brant the loan of his Bic and Brant lit up. He hadn't smoked marijuana for fifteen years and he'd heard that today's weed was a lot stronger than the homegrown he'd smoked in college, but he had to knock a hole in the wall between himself and these kids. Somehow he had to tap into their thoughts on the Deputy Haws matter without revealing what he knew about the murder. If the other boys learned that Tom had confided in him, they were likely to kick Tom out of the group and Brant would lose his "mole."

The stories about modern weed were correct. It was all Brant could do not to collapse into a coughing heap on the ground. He fought the constriction in his throat and held the smoke in his lungs as long as possible, then let it out slowly. He did what the boys did, just stared quietly at nothing for the time it took to smoke the joint down to a nub. Buzzy had a roach clip on his key chain that looked like a house key, Brant noticed.

Brant's head was spinning pretty good when Darren asked him, point blank, "Why'd you come out here?"

Brant studied the ground for an honest-enough answer.

"Something's bothered me about the accident," he said. "It struck me as odd."