The dusty, green El Camino pulled into the truck stop parking lot. Ackerman saw the lights of the interstate to his right and a sign next to the road on the left that read,
Asherton: 13 Miles.
He had some decisions to make. Several possible paths stretched out before him, but he was uncertain of which road to take. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions—rage, hope, pain, redemption. He needed to seek guidance, and only one person in the world could give it to him. He lifted the payphone’s receiver, inserted his money, and dialed.
“Hello,” Father Joseph said.
“I let them go.”
The man on the other end of the line was silent.
“Did you hear me, Father? I let them go. The family…the mother and the two kids. I spared them.”
“That’s…that’s wonderful. It’s incredible. You have no idea how proud I am of you. This could be the first step.”
“Let’s not get too carried away, but I have been thinking a lot about our last conversation.”
“What about it?”
A trucker moved up behind him, apparently wanting to use the phone. The man hung back at a respectful distance and leaned against the hood of one of the cars. He gave the man a hateful look and then continued in a much lower voice. “About good and evil. About everything having an opposite and things happening for a reason. You see, I’ve come to realize that maybe I was born to be the villain.”
“Francis, that’s not—”
“Just let me finish. If things happen for a reason, then that would mean that everything I’ve endured was meant to serve a specific purpose. So I tried to think of what that purpose could be. I reasoned that if I’m the villain, then my purpose must involve a hero. That’s when I realized that, on some level, I’ve been searching for my opposite for quite a while now. I thought that I was just looking for someone to make the game interesting, but now I believe that it was my soul searching out my other half. It was the natural order of the universe, trying to balance the equation.”
“Can we hurry this up a bit, buddy?” the truck driver said.
Ackerman’s hand shook, and his knuckles turned white around the phone’s receiver. But he fought down the rage. “Wait your turn…buddy,” he said through clenched teeth.
He turned his back on the man and continued. “Earlier this evening, I met a man named Marcus. There was something about him that I can’t describe. A strange familiarity. Like being home. It was as if…I had known this man my whole life. But when I looked into his eyes, I felt overwhelmed with fear. It was like looking into the future and seeing my own death. His eyes reminded me of my father’s eyes. I’m afraid, Padre. I think that if I continue down this path, he’ll kill me. It’s his destiny, and the truly strange part is that, for the first time in my life, I don’t wanna die. I’ve started to wonder what if. What if there is a Hell? I hope for darkness in death, but maybe I’ll find a punishment like nothing I can imagine.”
“Hell isn’t punishment, Francis. It’s simply the alternative. God doesn’t send people to Hell to punish them for their sins. They go to Hell because they’ve chosen to live their lives here on Earth apart from Him. By making that choice, they also choose to be apart from Him in the afterlife. That’s why it’s never too late. No matter what you’ve done, if you ask Him into your heart and home in this world, then He will bring you into His home in the next.”
“I don’t know what to believe. All I know is that my father’s voice in my head has grown quieter lately. The hunger is still so strong, but for the first time, I wonder if maybe I can overcome it…”
“The first step toward redemption is seeing the need. The second is asking for it. You’ll need help, Francis.”
“I know.” He stared in the direction of the interstate. “I’ve also considered what you said about me being even more of a legend if I was able to turn things around. I think you might be right. I’m thinking about turning myself in, but I would need you to be there with—”
“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!”
Ackerman’s brow furrowed, and he turned back to the truck driver. “What is your problem…buddy?” He over-accentuated the last word.
The truck driver shook his head and snorted. “This is really good. Really something. You’re the one with the problem, freak.”
The rage boiled inside him. He tried to beat down the hunger, but his thoughts kept moving to the gun in the back of his jeans and the knife resting on the passenger seat of the El Camino. He considered all the things he could do to this man.
No. Not now.
“Excuse me in my ignorance,” he said, “but what the hell are you talking about?”
The truck driver reached past him and grabbed something on the side of the payphone. “I’m talking about this.” The man shook a bundle of wires at him. “I’m talking about me standing out here twiddlin’ my thumbs, waiting to talk on a phone that’s not connected. Not hooked to anything. You’re out here talking to yourself, moron. Thanks for wasting my time.” The truck driver shook his head and stormed off, mumbling something more under his breath.
Ackerman was dumbfounded. He grabbed the bundle of wires and examined them closely. He felt around the backside of the payphone. He checked for additional cables but found none.
There has to be some explanation…
His breathing was short and erratic. His heart thundered.
He examined every inch of the payphone, and then he noticed a small slip of paper taped on top of the casing that must have been flipped up by the wind. With one finger, he flipped the little slip of paper down. It read,
Out of Order.
What the hell is going on here?
He picked up the dangling receiver and placed it to his ear. “Hello,” he said in a whisper.
“I’m here, Francis,” the voice replied.
He dropped the receiver as if it was venomous and staggered backward away from the device. He almost fell as he tripped off the curb. Still walking backward and eying the receiver as if it would attack, he stumbled in front of a car pulling away from one of the pumps. The vehicle’s horn blared at him, and he fell forward. He crawled back to the curb and sat up. He pressed his palms against his temples.
This can’t be happening.
Father Joseph is a real person
. He was certain of it. He searched his memories. The priest had been his only friend since he was a boy. The only friend he’d ever known.
He has to be real. He has to be.
As his heart pounded against the walls of his chest and his breathing verged on hyperventilation, he rocked back and forth.
No. No. No. This can’t be happening.
The realization flooded over him. I’m not getting better.
There’s no hope for me. No redemption.
He wept uncontrollably. His cries drew a few stares, but most people that noticed him steered clear. After a few moments, a voice echoed through his mind. His father’s voice, words spoken long ago.
It’s time to play a game, Francis…If you do as you’re told, the pain will stop…Kill...It’s what you are…You’re a monster…
He looked toward the road in front of the truck stop. A car’s headlights illuminated the road sign.
Asherton: 13 Miles.
He dried the tears on his sleeve. “Okay, Father. Let’s play.”
Hands on his head, Marcus marched out of the house and past the body of Allen Brubaker, the man whom he had failed. It had cost Allen and his family so much by helping him. His mind ached and throbbed with an overwhelming sense of guilt and despair. He had done more than fail to protect them. He had been the source of their hardship.
They needed someone to protect them from me, not the other way around.
A deputy told him to stop in front of one of the cruisers. He could still smell the burnt odor of his distraction, but the fire hadn’t continued to burn in the way that he had hoped. The vehicle pointed toward the Brubaker’s old barn, and its headlights bathed him in an eerie, artificial glow.
The Sheriff held Charlie close and kept a cautious distance between Marcus and himself. “Get down on your knees, put your hands behind your back, and put these on.” The Sheriff tossed him a pair of handcuffs.
He felt helpless. He wanted to storm the Sheriff and his men and end the conflict one way or the other. If he hadn’t had more lives to think of than his own, he might have done just that. The situation being what it was, however, he could see no alternative other than to comply with whatever he was told. With his arms behind his back, he placed the cuffs around his wrists and got down on his knees.
After he complied, the Sheriff moved in front of the cruiser. With a hard kick to the legs, he brought Charlie to his knees as well. Charlie stared at the ground, diverting his eyes away from Marcus.
He didn’t blame the boy for any of this, but he knew that Charlie blamed himself. He hoped that they lived long enough for him to tell Charlie that it wasn’t his fault. The only comfort he could find was that they had distracted the officers long enough for the women to escape.
But his heart sank when he saw a deputy lead two people around the corner of the house. The women hadn’t gotten away. They had been captured. It was the final crushing blow to any feelings of hope that he still harbored.
His failure was complete.
He knew that he shouldn’t blame himself. The Sheriff was the bad guy. He was the one who had killed Allen. It was the truth, but it didn’t make Marcus feel any less guilty.
Loren and her daughter walked in front of an officer that he didn’t recognize. He wondered how he could have missed a sentry in the backyard, and why the man hadn’t opened fire and drove them back to the house the moment they stepped out. The officer brought the women to their knees beside Charlie.
Loren looked over at him. She looked haggard and beaten. “He was lying in the back seat of the car. We didn’t have a chance. The Sheriff’s thought of everything.”
The Sheriff broke into their conversation and said, “Finally, someone with some sense. You’re right, Loren. I have thought of nearly everything, but I didn’t plan on our friend Marcus here. I never intended for any of you to get involved, but sometimes you just have to play the hand your dealt. Unfortunately, Marcus, your little stunt in the shed allowed Ackerman to escape, and he was very important to our plans. Not to worry, though. I did a little checking on you, and I think that you may serve our purposes even better than Ackerman.”
“Go to Hell. I don’t know what insanity you’ve got cooked up, but I won’t be any part of it. You might as well just kill me now.”
“Oh, all in due time, my friend. Besides, I don’t need your cooperation or your permission. You’ll play the part I’ve assigned to you, whether you like it or not. But I’m afraid I don’t need any extra cast members, so these three are going to be cut from the production.”
Loren’s eyes widened with fear. She locked her gaze on his. Her eyes begged for help, but he was powerless to do anything. Besides, the Sheriff may have been warped and misguided, but he wasn’t evil. Marcus couldn’t imagine him actually murdering a defenseless mother and her children. Then again, the Sheriff had a cause of some kind, and throughout history, good men had committed the most unspeakable atrocities imaginable in the name of a cause.
“I guess we’ll never know why you snapped and went on this killing spree, Marcus. First, Maureen. Now, the Brubakers. And tomorrow…who knows. Honestly, I wish you had never involved them in any of this. But what’s done is done, and the task laid out before me is too important to jeopardize.”
Tears formed in the Sheriff’s eyes, and his voice cracked as he said, “I’m so sorry, but I have my orders.”
The Sheriff shook his head in disgust, drew in a deep mouthful of air, and exhaled slowly. Then, he shot all three of the remaining Brubakers dead. Their lifeless bodies fell to the ground in grim succession.
His brain had barely registered the atrocity when Marcus found himself screaming and running at the Sheriff. He made it two steps before a hard blow from a nightstick into the common peroneal nerve at the back of his leg collapsed him to his knees. More blows followed the first and left him face down in the dirt. He looked up to see the face of Lewis Foster, enjoying his work.
“That’s enough,” the Sheriff said, though the voice seemed distant to Marcus.
He looked across at the lifeless bodies of the three Brubakers.
“I wish to God that their deaths weren’t necessary, Marcus. But we’re fighting a war here, and every war has casualties. Every war has collateral damage, and I’m afraid that they got caught in the crossfire. Evil is at the doorstep every day, and if good men like myself don’t stand up to it, then countless innocents like them are going to continue to die for no reason. It’s a quiet war, but it is perhaps the most important battle that anyone has ever fought. It’s not a war against some foreign power beyond our borders and a world away. We’re fighting against the darkness inside ourselves. We’re fighting against injustice and corruption. We stand for everything that this country was founded upon, but we conveniently forget whenever it suits our needs.”
The Sheriff circled Marcus as he spoke. “The fact of the matter is that we’re fighting a losing battle. Evil, corruption, and injustice are winning because we refuse to fight them on their terms. Men like Ackerman are only the tip of the iceberg. There are others who are much more subtle, but a hundred times more dangerous.”
The Sheriff reached down and pulled Marcus back to his knees. The older man leaned in close. “Events have already been set in motion that will protect the citizens of this nation from a threat far greater than any serial killer. I don’t expect you to understand, but I cannot allow anything to jeopardize the events that will take place tomorrow. It’s bigger than them.” The Sheriff motioned at the three corpses. “It’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than me. It’s bigger than any one person. Sometimes, men like me have to make the tough choices and sacrifice the few for the good of the many. I know that doesn’t make it any easier to accept, but it is an inevitable fact of life and someone has to do it.”