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CHAPTER 22
The sounds had stopped. Tom maintained his position a few paces from the spot where he saw the light. He listened closely, but he could not hear any more sounds. Whatever had happened was completed, and Luther probably wouldn't stay there, once he determined that the victim was not the intended one. Then, he heard a sound, a very faint groan. The adrenalin surging through his veins demanded action, and Tom trudged from his position over to the man laying on the path. As he knelt beside him, he quickly felt his neck for a carotid pulse. Yes! It was strong. It was his brother Zulu. "Zulu, it's me, Tom, where are you hit?" It was then that Tom felt the cold steel against the back of his neck.
"Well, well... what have we here? A tea party, perhaps? Don't think about moving, Hairball, or you're next, I promise you. I've been hoping to meet up with you again, stranger, you've caused me a whole lot of trouble. Now, if you'd be so kind as to sit down right where you are, friendly like, I may let you live a while longer. Do we understand each other?”
Tom could not see his face, but he knew who it was, nevertheless. He dropped onto his butt, wishing that Luther would come around in front of him. He had no chance with him behind.
The voice continued, "That's a good boy. You take orders pretty well. Next order: Take me to Brenda. You and I got a little business to take care of, but I want Brenda to see it, she needs to know what happens when she screws with the real power in Addison County. There's probably not much you can do for your buddy, here, unless you're a preacher, or the likes.... You a preacher man, stranger?"
"No ", Tom replied softly.
"I thought not! Well, no matter. Let's go see Brenda. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against killing you right where you sit, but I think you might like to know a little more about that dung heap that you're protecting. So, if you want the story, take me to her. If you don't, just sit there, and about 30 seconds or so from now, you'll be assuming ambient temperature a bit prematurely."
Heroics were out of the question now. Tom’s only chance was to get back on his feet. To do that, he had to agree to take Luther to the cabin. His hands up in a gesture of submission, Tom rose to his feet.
"They're in the cabin on the back side of this rise."
"See? Now, that's more like it. That shows me that you're a gambling man. You're willing to bet you can out-think old Luther, ain't ya'? Well, you just keep thinking that, if it pleases you to do so, but I gotta remind you, if you take off, I really won't look too hard to find you. See, I know where they are now, and THEY'RE the ones I really want to look in the eye. I mean, I wouldn't hesitate to shoot you down at any time, but if I have to wait a bit for the pleasure, that might even make it more fun!"
Luther snorted as the laugh escaped from his lips. He was on a roll, really starting to enjoy himself.
"Start walkin', Pilgrim," he said, in his best John Wayne imitation, "but one more word to the little lady, and it's a-gonna be you and me! " The deep belly laugh showed his extreme pleasure at his talent. " Move! "
CHAPTER 23
The darkness terrified Brenda, but it wasn't an irrational fear retained from childhood. It encompassed the sense of loss she now felt, as well as the physical reality that confronted her. Until twelve hours ago, she would never in her wildest dreams have envisioned a scenario that would feature her pointing a high-powered rifle at her husband.
She'd had some time to think, sitting there in that desolate locale. The signs of his ever-increasing paranoia had been evident, but she chose to ignore them. Now, farce had become tragedy, and if she didn't kill him, he'd probably kill her and everyone else in the group.
It was just so dark, what if she hit Tom? Brenda sighed a little at the thought of Tom. She realized that she had feelings for him, but she wasn't able to discern whether it was gratitude or something else. She knew nothing at all about this man, but her heart told her of his kind and gentle soul.
The sound of footsteps on the porch signaled the presence of visitors. Brenda shouldered her weapon, remembering Tom's admonishment not to let anyone in. She could feel herself trembling a little as her cheek took position on the rifle stock.
Tom's voice broke the silence, " Brenda, it's me, Tom. Luther has a rifle pointed at my head. I'm going to open the door. When I do, empty the rifle into both of us. It's the only chance you've--"
Luther's voice cut him off. "That's a negative! If I hear one shot, I shoot him in the head, Brenda. I mean it, so help me God!"
His voice was shrill and desperate, and Brenda heard Fudge whimper under her breath.
"Throw it down on the floor, Brenda, where I can hear it. Now! Throw it as far as you can! If you do, I'll let you live, I swear." He was panting now, and Brenda could sense his emotions were at a fever pitch.
The sound of the rifle hitting the floor was all Luther needed. A well-placed boot kicked the door open. Hands clenching Tom’s parka collar, Luther led him into the cabin.
Once inside, Luther said, " Smart girl, Brenda, too bad you weren't smart enough to stay away from Ray. Now, I know you wouldn't come up here without a lantern, so turn it on. " No one moved.
" NOW ! ", Luther screamed.
A frenzy of movement accompanied the sounds of metal being bumped on the floor. Suddenly, the lantern backlit the occupants of the room. Luther pushed Tom into the corner, and he narrowly avoided landing on Fudge. He pointed his rifle directly at Brenda, and said "Happy Anniversary, darlin'! "
The room filled with the roar of three hollow-point slugs being discharged, and Luther Pittman's body jumped backwards as he fell against the wall. No one moved, and the only sound was that of Sarah Michaud sobbing in the far corner. Tom walked over and pried the rifle from the vise-like grip of her fingers and held her tightly, soothing her as he rocked her like a baby.
Tom motioned for Fudge and Sarah to come over and take his place. He rose, placed the blanket over Luther's body, and walked over to Brenda. " My brother is laying on the trail about a quarter of a mile down the mountain. I'm going to go see what I can do to help him. Stay here, and do what you can for Fudge and Sarah. I'll be back in the morning with the Sheriff."
Brenda nodded and the trace of a smile on her face spoke the only words Tom needed to hear. He shut the door quietly as he departed, and Brenda closed a door, too, on the only life she had known for the past twenty years.
EPILOGUE
First day of November. Somber and forbidding, the rain and wind apropos for the occasion. Tom looked across the friends and family gathered at the cemetery. Fudge sitting next to Brenda, holding on tight, but the look on her face was anything but sympathetic. It was more one of defiance and grit. What else would be expected from a New Englander, especially after the events she had just experienced?
As the priest made the Sign of The Cross, the color guard commander's voice sounded, "Pre-sent...arms!", and the crack of seven riflemen's weapons resounded three times. Tom looked at the ground as he once again considered the irony of this setting. The same weapon that had destroyed so many lives was now honoring the passing of a war hero, but who would honor the real hero?
Sarah Michaud stood on the periphery of the mourners, the same blank expression on her face she'd worn for the past three days. Today’s ceremonies were as close as she'd ever get to a funeral for her beloved Ray.
As the community began to file away from the hallowed grounds, Tom watched as folks stopped and talked to Brenda, offering condolences of one form or another. Soon, she would go back to the home that she and Luther had shared, pack a small valise or two, and put them in a green Subaru. Then, she would drive to Fudge's diner, share a meal with her mother, and meet a quiet man for a short conversation. Afterward, the pair would get back in the car and drive to Walter Reed Hospital, in Washington, D.C.
Zulu Meyer was asking for his little brother.
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