A Shadow Fell (8 page)

             
             
             
             
             
             
1
5

             
Con’s pickup not surprisingly
matched his home
.
Candy bar wrappers, empty pop cans, and enough sand and grit to fill a good sized pail littered the floor.
But he always managed to surprise me with his thoughtfulness. When he picked me up for our trip
I saw
he had made up a comfortable bed for Winston
in
the truck bed and had a thermos of coffee for us.

             
We had settled into a comfortable friendship that seemed to require little from either of us.
I liked that h
e was content with long stretches of time without conversation and I appreciated his habit of giving forthright
, hones
t
, and brief
responses when called
up
on for an opinion.

             
We had been on the road for an hour when he casually asked, “Ya ready to talk about things yet?”

             
“Listen, Con, I appreciate that you want to help – I mean that – but the truth is I don’t know what I could
possibly
say that would change any
thing
.”

             
“I think you’re missing the point,” Con replied. “It’s not that talking about it will change what happened. But verbalizing has a way of allowing us to find a way of living with the truth of our circumstances, no matter how bad they may be.”

             
“What about you
?
You’ve never talked about Nam.”

             
“I know. But I’m going to. When I’m ready.”

             
“And when do you know you’re ready?”

             
“That I
don’t
know,” he said. “But I think I
do know
why talking about it is so hard.”

             
“And?”

             
“It’s like … nobody is ever going to
really
understand what
I went through during the war. I’m not good enough with words that I can
explain it in a way that people will
truly
comprehend
.
I
guess
I’m afraid
people will say ‘Shit, man, what’s the big deal?  So you killed some gooks that needed killing. Get over it.’ But there was
a lot
more to it than that
.
A fuck of a lot
more
.
Y
a
know?”

             
“Yeah,” I said. “I think maybe I can understand that.”

             
“It’s different with you,” he continued. “
In your case y
ou lost people you love.
I’ll grant you it’s probably the hardest thing in the world to accept
b
ut, eventually, the pain will ease. Even though you think it’s impossible now, someday you’ll wake up and the pain you’re feeling won’t be as bad.
With me it’s
different. It’s
more like I lost
myself
in that fucking war
.
I don’t know exactly who I am
anymore.
All
I know
is
,
whoever I am,
I’m not the same person I was.
”

             
Whatever point Con was trying to make was lost on me. I wasn’t even sure there
was
a point. I knew that whatever it was he was going through I would gladly trade him for what life had served up to me.
“It’s not just that I lost people I love, Con. It’s that my stupidity allowed it to happen. If I had …”

             
That was as far as I could go.
The volcano of tears that sat near the surface of my consciousness was once again ready to erupt.

             
Con knew better than to push it.

             
We
were silent for a long time after that.

             
It was late afternoon when we arrived in Lumberton. It took a while  to get the RV released and by then it was close to suppertime. I suggested we grab some dinner.

             
I drove the motor home to an Italian specialty restaurant in
town and Con followed in the pickup. Once we had ordered and been provided with a couple of beers Con held his glass up for a toast. I obliged and he touched the rim of
his
glass
to mine
. “Here’s to a better future,” he said.

             
I nodded.
It would be damn hard to imagine a worse one, I thought to myself.

             
“You still feel the same way about things as you did the other night,” he asked.

             
“What do you mean?”

             
“
W
hat you said about Henderson. What you’d do if you ever got a hold of him.”
             

             
I took a
sip of
my beer.
Why would he think anything had changed? I ignored the question.

             
“You know,” Con said, “
in
my experience
somebody on the run
like that
almost always return
s
to familiar ground. I been doing some reading up on this Henderson. If I had to make a guess I’d say there’s a pretty good chance he’s
holed up in the same mountains
where that cabin of his was.”

             
“There’s a
million square miles of nothing but wilderness up there, Con.
Even if you’re right, t
hat’s a
hell of a lot of country to hide in.”

             
“Yeah, I know,” he said, then sat thinking about it.
“Don’t know whether I ever mentioned it or not
b
ut I had a pretty good re
p
as a tracker
in Nam
.”

             
I stared at him over the rim of my
beer glass
.
“What are you saying, Con?”

             
He ran his hand through his nest of a beard while he arched his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “What the fuck you think I’m saying, amigo?”

             
             
             
             
             
             
1
6

             
It was with some trepidation that I gave serious consideration to Con’s proposal of assistance. After all, I didn’t know him
very
well and, if
I was
actually able to meet with success in
my
endeavors, how was I to know I could count on his silence after the fact. His reluctance to talk about his own past, however, seemed like a reasonably good indication that he
was quite capable of
keep
ing whate
ver might happen locked away in that inscrutable mind of his.

             
Eventually I decided I had very little to lose by taking Con up on his offer.

             
Before committing to what might be a lengthy absence from home
I spent several days after our return from Lumberton
at Callie’s bedside. I studied her face and hands for hours at a time, looking for the tiniest twitch that might signal a
speck
of deep-seated consciousness. I even tried playing a few of her favorite tunes on my acoustic guitar in the hope that something with personal meaning might break through the barrier of oblivion she was locked behind.

             
My efforts
, although
unquestionably
well-meaning,
earned me little more than glances of pity from the
hospital staff
who
came and went on a regular basis
.

             
             
             
             
             
*
             
*
             
*

             
Con, it turned out, was exceptionally well outfitted for forays into the wilderness. When we sat down to make a list of what we’d need for our expedition there was very little beyond hiking boots
and some waterproof gear
for me
, that he wasn’t able to provide. That and food, of course.

             
The
plan was a simple one
. It was
not one
, however,
I felt had any great potential for advancing my cause. Con wanted to visit the site of Henderson’s original cabin in the off chance that he m
ight
have visited there. If he had it was Con’s hope, and mine, too, of course, that we
’d
be able to track him to wherever he might now be h
iding
.
I felt the likelihood was slim to none that Henderson would
have
actually undertake
n
such a mission but Con was quietly insistent there was at least a possibility
he
may have. In any event, it made me feel like I was doing something and
that
was infinitely better than spending day after day moping around
the
house, becoming increasingly depressed.

             
I
was also harboring the
hope
that by being somewhere else, and in the company of another human being, the
n
ightmares
that continued to plague me
might
begin to
subside.

             
             
             
             
             
             
1
7

             
It had been a few years since I had made this trek.
The last
time I had
done
so I’d
been in the company of
Brad Crandall who had contacted me after I retired to help him run down some leads in his daughter
’
s disappearance.
She had been one of  Henderson’s victims although, at the time, we didn’t know it. It was the last
case I had worked on
while with the FBI
and
,
partly because I had been so dissatisfied with the lack of success, had resulted in my early retirement
.
We
had made
the excursion up here after
learning
of Reuben Henderson’s past and what had transpired here when he was a boy. Henderson’s life of sadistic murder and torture had started in that cabin. Brutal beatings by his father that were orchestrated by his sister had turned him into the monster he had become.
Profilers contended all the murders he committed over the decades were re-enactments of the on
e
murder he truly yearned to repeat. Brad
’s daughter had been missing for a long time but he was still hopeful we might find her. I knew the chances were non-existent that
she
remained alive but
he wanted closure, one way or the other
. As fate would have it, Brad
was H
enderson’s final victim
– shot point blank in the chest with a shotgun
as we had approached his cabin
.
And I had been headed for a similar fate
, s
aved only by the timely arrival of the woman who would become my wife.

             
The hike this time was easier. I knew the way. And we were blessed with much better weather than
during my previous trek which had been undertaken during almost constant rain.
There was also the fact that,
on this occasion,
I was with an experienced wilderness camper. We had a
light weight
two man tent
(that we shared with Winston)
, thermal sleeping blankets, a tiny cook stove, and enough provisions for
a couple of weeks
.

             
Late in the morning on the
third
day
of our hike we arrived at the spot where Henderson’s cabin had
once
stood. All that remained of the site
now
were
a few
charred timbers.

             
I
stood for a while, looking at the burnt rem
nants
, then
took a path that led to a clearing behind where the cabin used to be. When I had been here the first time it had been the sight of dozens of gravesites.
The graves had been emptied, of course, and the forensic people had done what they could to identify the bodies. Nature had
since
turned the clearing into a placid little meadow,
leaving
no sign of the grotesque events that had once occurred here.

             
“Bringing back some bad memories I’m guessing,” Con said from behind me.

             
I didn’t feel inclined to comment on that one. “Have you had a look around?”

             
“Just a superficial one – haven’t seen anything interesting.”

             
“
So w
hat’s the plan?”

             
“I don’t know about you but I could use some grub for a start.”

             
As he spoke I watched Con surveying the clearing we were standing in. Then he began to casually walk around the area, stopping occasionally to study the ground.
He stopped a
t the tree
line
.
The more I watched him the more it seemed he was captivated by something.

             
“
What’s up?” I called.

             
Without looking up he motioned with his hand, signaling that I should join him. When I stood beside him he pointed at
the
ground in front of us. “See those indentations?” he said. “Those were made by tent poles. And they were recent.”

             
If he hadn’t pointed them out to me I never
would
have noticed them, obscured as they were by long grass. But with the benefit of Con’s keen
powers of observation
I did, indeed, see them. “Could have been made by anybody,” I pointed out.

             
“Mm hmm,” he mumbled distractedly. “Wait here. I wanna
walk the
perimeter.” He then started at the far left of the clearing, a few yards into the trees, and proceeded to
circumnavigate the area, always in view, but barely.
When he had completed his walk he returned to a spot approximately half way from his starting position. Once again, he signaled me to join him. When I did he pointed down. “Th
is area was used as
a latrine,” he said.

             
“What do you make of it?”

             
“All I can say is whoever camped here was an experienced woodsman. Somebody very familiar with
,
and at home in
,
the woods.”

             
“Okay,” I said, not sure how this was meaningful.

             
“Let’s have another look at the burn site,” Con said.

             
When we were back among the charred timbers Con slowly groused around in the ashes,
then knelt down,
studying with intensity.

             
“
Very
interesting,”
he finally
commented.

             
“What do you see?”

             
“
There was recent cooking went on here. This site was used
to hide the fact.”

             
“Why do you suppose anyone would do that?” I asked.

             
“Exactly,” Con said
as he stood up. “Let’s have something ta eat. Then I wanna have a
good
look around.”

             
Despite the more intense scrutiny Con later gave to the area, n
othing of any consequence was revealed. But
what we had already uncovered was
worth some thought: some
one
had camped here within the previous couple of weeks but had pitched a tent
in a hidden
location, and
then
had gone to some effort to hide the fact.
Whoever it was had used the charred remains of the original cabin as a cooking site, once again, it appeared, to hide the fact of his presence.

             
W
hy, we wondered, would anyone do that?

             
The only
conclusion that made any sense to
me
was that it was
Henderson
. H
e wanted the fact that he had been here to remain unknown so that he could return when
ever
the mood struck him.

             
“Whoever it is,” Con reported, “he’s been damned methodical about covering his tracks. I don’t see anybody doing this unless they’re on the run.”

             
“No hope of tracking him f
rom
here?” I asked.

             
Con ruminated for awhile before responding. “Not very likely,” he finally said. “There’s been a fair bit
a
rain up here in the past few days. Makes it harder. And this guy definitely don’t wanna be tailed.
Dogs might be able ta track him. That’d be the best hope.”

             
I looked at Winston. “Too bad he’s not a tracker.”

             
Con smiled wistfully. “He’s got the nose for it, just not the training to use it I’m afraid.”

             
“I guess we
might as well
head back
tomorrow
then,” I said.

             
Con nodded in agreement. “Don’t think there’s anything more we’re gonna learn
here
,” he said quietly. He seemed disappointed he had not been able to decipher more meaningful information from the site.

             
As we retraced our way back down the mountain Con asked: “You gonna tell the Feds what we found?”

             
“No,” I answered.

             
“You still thinking you wanna deal with this guy yourself?”

             
“
Yeah,” I answered. In fact this
trip
had magnified my desire for vengeance.
I could almost smell
Henderson’s
foul
presence
in the air.
Although Con had steered clear of attaching a
n identity
to the
visitor we had discovered I harbored no doubts at all.
I kn
e
w it
was
him
.

             
“You mind telling me exactly what it is you’
re gonna
do if you get
your hands on
him.”

             
“I’m not sure I should be telling you this, Con. It makes you an accessory after the fact you know.”

             
“You don’t have to worry about that, Jack. I’m cool with it.”

             
I had no reason to doubt the veracity of his statement.
“
I’m going to kill him
,” I said. “
And he’s
going to die
as hard as I can make it
.
”

             
Con looked a little sad at
my
intensity and determination. “I hope it ends up being what you really want,” he said.

             
“You think I’m too personally involved – I should just leave it to the law.”

             
“Not for me to say,” he responded.

             
We spent the next
couple of
hours dealing with some rugged terrain
that required all of our attention
.
Jagged rocks with deep crevices
below
made the descent dangerous.
When we stopped to rest
I handed Con a tin of water
from my canteen
. “You know quite a bit about me and my plans. But you’ve still never talked about Nam.”

             
He looked at me like he was assessing my worthiness. “I will, man,” he said. “I’m just not quite ready yet.”

             
We fell into our usual quiet mode of c
ompanionship. T
wo days later we were home
.

             
             
             
             
             
*
             
*
             
*
             
             

             
I called the hospital
the moment I walked into the house
.
I asked the  nurse
who answered
if there had
been any change
in Callie’s condition
.

             
“I’ve just come
on duty and I’ve been off for
a few days
,” she said. “Let me check.”

             
I was put on hold for
a lot
longer than I thought it should take
to check on such a routine matter
. I started to worry that something dire had happened. When the nurse finally got back to me she was a little winded. “Mr. Parmenter,” she said, “
I’m sorry to have kept you waiting but I wanted to get confirmation before telling you. Y
our wife is awake. She’s awake!”