Tuesday - Chapter 2
In Pine Haven, news travels fast. After an eventful night, Joe Richards learns of the dead deputy before heading to the prison for his second session with Grady Perlson.
New to The Road Cain Walks? See the Table of Contents to start the first chapter.
Through the dreary morning rain, the old slave shack was no more than a lopsided building held up by tangled kudzu. Half-asleep from a restless night, Joe Richards stood at the edge of the porch with his third cup of coffee and stared. He told himself the shadow in its window last night had been a homeless man who’d found a drier place to sleep. Determined to catch him leaving, he put his shoulder to the porch column and waited.
The hum of a car engine drew his attention to the parking lot. A red convertible crested the Hovington’s steep driveway and pulled as close to the porch as possible. Suzanne emerged from the driver’s seat and trudged through the rain to the steps, her eyes unfocused and red from crying. At the front door, she stopped and stared at the handle.
“I woke up thinking it would be a good day. I don’t remember why. Everything seemed in its place, you know, like harmony. Then my phone rang. Did you hear they found the body of a sheriff’s deputy across town?”
Joe listened as with his patients, fading into the background to let Suzanne vent without interruption. When she glanced at him for a response, he shook his head. Her fingers lingered at the screen door’s handle before dropping to fidget with the hem of her shorts.
“He was like a second daddy to me for more years than I can remember.”
Suzanne sobbed and raised her hands to her mouth as if to scream. It took three long breaths to regain her composure. She wiped her eyes and inspected the mascara smeared across her palms.
“I’m a mess. I’m sorry. I just needed to talk to someone who wasn’t as upset as me. My friend Maribeth was the one who called, and I ended up having to calm her down. You know what I mean?”
With a soft smile, Joe nodded.
“Thanks for listening.”
“It’s what I do.”
Suzanne blew a sharp breath as she opened the door and stepped inside.
Joe listened to the rain and occasional sloshing of a car on the highway as he resumed his watch of the old shack. His peace lasted ten minutes before Dan’s booming Good morning! echoed inside. Abandoning his stakeout, Joe went in to join him.
In the dining room doorway, Dan stood with his arms crossed and eyes fixed across the room. He muttered under his breath as Joe approached. “Sounds like we picked a fine week to visit Small Town, USA.”
Squeezing past, Joe found Ms. Finch hugging Suzanne by the kitchen door. She stiffened and peered over Suzanne’s head. “According to my grandson, poor Mitch Hafferty makes the third body they’ve found in two days. Sheriff Arkin is calling in the state fellas and expects to announce a curfew. Pete said to tell our guests to be careful until they do.”
“I’m staying put until this rain stops,” Dan said.
Joe set his mug on the table. “I’m heading to the prison, but it should be safe enough there.”
Ms. Finch squinted with the same sharp glare she used to give when Joe was twelve. “That’s where they found the first body.”
After a short drive and thorough frisking, Joe set his voice recorder in the center of the Starks Prison conference room table, inching it closer to where Grady would sit to make sure it caught every word. Satisfied, he approached the large mirror at the other end of the table and squinted at his reflection, trying to see into the room beyond the glass. As footsteps echoed down the hallway, he returned to the chair where he sat yesterday.
The steps grew louder and closer until George Carmichael entered the room. Unlike the day before, he wore the easy smile of a full night’s sleep. Joe masked his exhaustion with an attempt at his own.
George dragged his fingers down the polished wood to the chair beside Joe. “How’s the Hovington?”
“I spent so much time in a rocking chair yesterday, it felt like time travel.”
The warden chuckled as he sat. “And how did you sleep?”
Joe’s eyelids drooped as his smile faded. “Fine.”
The subtle tilt of George’s head hinted skepticism, but before he could ask a follow-up question, chains jangled around a slow, rhythmic stomp. Grady didn’t linger in the doorway this time but marched to his seat with Sergeant Muñoz a step behind. As the sergeant chained Grady to the table, Joe started the recorder.
“Hello, Grady. How are you this morning?”
Grady resumed yesterday’s stare at the tabletop. “Wolgiss woke up last night, but I don’t think he hurt anyone. That’s good news, the way I see it. I just wish he didn’t bring the dreams.”
“Dreams?”
“They’re how I know he has control, but it’s more like sitting in a movie theater. Sometimes, he shows me what he sees—what he does. Other times, it’s memories. Last night, it was the one where he burned that village. He shot a woman and her little boy as they tried to get away. It was short, so it didn’t take him long to do whatever he did with my body. When he was done, I was back in Creek Hollow, standing at the bridge near Tracker’s shack, talking to Sagin like I used to. He told me not to be upset, that living forever meant dying one day and being born again the next.”
“I thought it meant not dying at all,” Joe said.
“I’ll take Sagin’s word on it. No offense or nothing.”
Joe met his eyes and smiled. “Fair enough. I’d like to try something. Do you know what word association means?”
“You’re gonna say something, and I’ll say whatever pops in my head.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“Dr. Jacobi used to play that game all the time. I thought it was fun, but Wolgiss must not have liked it. I think it’s why he killed him.”
Joe’s eyes flared with a glance at the warden, but George maintained his focus across the table. The murder of Grady’s former therapist was a critical detail to omit, but it was a conversation for later.
Returning his attention to Grady, Joe said, “Let’s begin. I’ll go first. Close your eyes, and try not to think about what you’ll say.”
Grady did, nodding when Joe asked, “Are you ready?”
Joe began. “Prison.”
“Mind.”
“Family.”
“Death.”
“Wolgiss.”
“Pain.”
“Sagin.”
“Friend.”
“Henry.”
“Lost.”
Joe tapped the table with his fingertips. “Let’s stop there.”
With a fluttering blink, Grady opened his eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all. I just want to dig a little into that last association. Do you know why you said ‘lost’ when I mentioned Henry? He murdered your younger brother in front of you. If you are dissociative, that was likely the moment it happened.”
Grady wrinkled his forehead. “That wasn’t Henry. Wolgiss killed Job and made that whirlwind in my head so I wouldn’t tell. But it won’t something I could just forget. The thing he wanted to hide was what he used to torture me. I woke up with Henry’s hand over my mouth. Over and over. Job fell and bashed his head on that limb a hundred times before the winds wound down like a sputtering engine. When they stopped, a month was gone. We were back at that tree, Henry sitting on that same twisted root I helped Job climb—whistling.”
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