In the Lone and Level Sands (9 page)

“I wanna thank you all for coming out here
tonight!” he said, his deep voice booming over the speaker system.
“Let’s see if Seattle can handle
this
!”

The music began to flow out of him. He jived
around the stage, really getting into the song. Fans cheered and
shouted. The place was alive with music and good vibes. People got
a bit rowdy, especially when “Blue Suede Shoes” was coming from
center stage, followed by “Hound Dog”.

Twisting, turning, and clapping, Martha was
having a blast. She looked up at Elvis, her mouth wide open as she
cheered at the top of her lungs. He looked down as he strummed the
strings and sang. A grin spread across his lips, and he winked with
a simple nod, directly at Martha. The curl of his greased black
hair bobbed.

“He winked at me!” Martha screamed in
delight, looking at Charlie.

“Wicked!” Charlie’s reply was loud and
energetic as he looked from the stage to Martha. “This is great,
isn’t it?”

“Sure is!”

The show was going great, and the last song
of the night was underway. Martha never understood how, but a fight
broke out near the front, just a few yards from where she and
Charlie were winding down. Martha looked over at the disturbance,
and shook her head.

“What the hell?”

“Assholes,” Charlie said. They looked up at
the stage and noticed Elvis had stopped playing and was observing
the growing tension. He grabbed the mic, was about to say
something, but didn’t. Instead, he shook his head and walked
offstage. The fighting was only growing, and the authorities were
sent in to handle the situation. Martha and Charlie were getting
ready to head out, but when the police got to where the brawl was,
most of the people involved (as well as many who weren’t) decided
to split. The whole floor erupted into panic.

“Don’t let go of my hand!” Charlie said,
people pushing him from all sides. Martha looked at him briefly,
worriedly.

“I won’t!”

Unfortunately, it was not easy to keep that
promise. Someone bumped Martha hard enough to make her lose her
grip, and another person knocked her to the ground. Yet another
trampled her, and then another followed, leaving their footprints
on Martha’s clothing.

The next thing Martha remembered was waking
up in the hospital, but Charlie had filled in the gaps many times
after that night. He had always gone into great detail, and the
story never changed, even after years of telling it to Martha,
their children, and their granddaughter.

“Martha!” Charlie screamed. He was sweating,
and his eyes were watery. The crowd thinned out around the two of
them. Most people ran out of the building. Charlie crouched near
Martha and checked her vitals. She was unconscious, but breathing.
She was bleeding from a few small cuts, and she had some bruising,
but other than what Charlie could see, Martha looked to be doing
all right. Someone with half a heart stopped by them; he appeared
to be a roadie.

“Is she okay?” the roadie asked.

“She’s alive, but we need an ambulance!”
Charlie said.

The man nodded. “I’m on it!” He made his way
backstage, shoving someone out of the way and shouting, “Outta my
way, someone’s been hurt out there!”

When the roadie headed back out toward
Martha and Charlie, the crowd had thinned considerably. He finally
noticed the man he’d shoved earlier was now following him, and was
none other than Elvis Presley. The two approached Charlie.

“Hey,” Elvis said. “I’m so sorry it went
down this way. I hope she’s okay.”

“She’ll be okay, I think, but—” Charlie
turned around. He was surprised to see
Elvis
was talking to
him
. “Oh my God.”

“You’ve got quite a catch there, don’t let
her go. Take this, I’d wager she’ll appreciate it.” Elvis smiled,
and handed an autographed photo to Charlie.

“H-how can I thank you?” Charlie asked, in
shock both from the accident and the gravity of meeting Elvis
Presley, in the flesh.

“Just take care of her.”

“I will,” Charlie said, looking down at
Martha as sirens came into earshot. They grew louder as Elvis
walked away, and soon, paramedics rushed in with a stretcher.
Charlie followed the ambulance in his car.

Martha was discovered to have suffered some
internal bleeding, but she would heal. The hospital was going to
call Martha’s parents, but Charlie felt responsible. Even if it
meant Martha’s father slaughtering him when they arrived, he had to
tell the truth. Charlie had planned on having her home long before
her parents, but with the trip to the hospital, there was no chance
of that happening anymore.

The phone rang. “Hello?” the frenzied,
female voice on the other end said “Martha?”

“Hi, I need to speak to Glenn Andrews. Will
you put him on, if he’s there?”

The sound of shuffling told Charlie that
Glenn had ripped the phone from his wife’s hands.

“Where is my daughter?”

“I’m not going to mince words with you, Mr.
Andrews,” Charlie said.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Charlie. Martha’s with me… at the
hospital. She got injured in a riot that went down at the Elvis
show tonight. She’s—”

“What? Oh my God! You stay there! We’re
headed right over!” The receiver clicked and Glenn’s side went
dead.

Charlie gulped and hung up. All he could do
was wait for Martha’s parents to arrive.

It wasn’t long before Glenn and Carolyn
rushed into the hospital. They were confronted outside Martha’s
room by a doctor, who bore a friendly, comforting smile.

“Is my daughter all right?” Carolyn
asked.

“She’s going to be just fine. She had some
internal bleeding, that’s the bad news.”

“Oh my…” Carolyn pressed a hand against her
forehead.

“What’s the good news?” Glenn asked. His
eyes diverted to Charlie. He looked furious.

“The good news is she’s going to be just
fine.”

Glenn turned to Charlie.

“You son of a bitch! It’s
your
fault
my daughter is in this!” He moved toward Charlie, looking like he
could kill. Charlie’s mouth was dry, and he couldn’t speak, though
he didn’t know what to say anyway.

“Mr. Andrews,” the doctor said.

“You’re a disgraceful piece of scum. You
could have gotten my daughter killed, taking her to that damn
concert!”

“Mr. Andrews!” Glenn turned back, breathing
heavily. “I just have to say that this man here is a real
gentleman. He was right by Martha’s side the entire time. I don’t
know the situation well, but I’d say that Charlie here really cares
for Martha.”

“If he cared so much, why’d he take her out
to begin with?” Glenn said. The question sounded like it was for
the doctor, but Glenn’s eyes never left Charlie.

“Mr. Andrews,” the doctor said, “it’s Elvis.
Elvis
.”

“I don’t care if it was Kennedy himself!”
Glenn said. He rifled a finger toward Charlie. “He put my girl in
harm’s way!”

“I’d never do such a thing,” Charlie said.
All eyes turned to him, so he continued. “With all due respect,
sir, my intention was the opposite. I wanted Martha to enjoy her
life.”

“She was enjoying it just fine before
you
came along!”

“Was she?” Charlie asked. When Glenn had to
pause to think of the answer, he immediately knew that Charlie was
right.

“Charlie, do you really care about my
daughter as much as she says you do?” Carolyn asked.

“More than anything in the world… I want to
respect your wishes,” Charlie said. “You have every right to want
to kill me. Hell, you have every right to press charges, but that
won’t change how I feel about Martha.”

Carolyn smiled. She looked at Glenn.

“Glenn, he’s really serious.”

“How old are you, exactly?” Glenn asked.

“I’m twenty-four.”

Glenn thought for a long while, and then
sighed. “Okay. But if you
ever
hurt my daughter, you’d best
be prepared to receive the pain tenfold.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Charlie said.
Although he was still worried about Martha, he was happier than
he’d ever been in his life.

****

“Charlie touched so many people in his life,
and he will be missed,” Reverend Patterson said, interrupting
Martha’s memories. She looked up at the reverend. In mid-sentence,
Reverend Patterson stopped speaking. His face went blank, his eyes
stared into space, and he dropped his hands. Family and friends
looked up patiently and curiously at the reverend.

“Reverend?” someone said. Patterson did not
respond. Martha stood up.

“Please, Reverend, finish the sermon!”

“It’s okay,” Francine said, putting a hand
on Martha’s arm. Francine was seventeen years old and sported the
hipster look. Her dark brown hair was not even long enough to hit
her shoulders.

“But I want to know what’s going on,” Martha
said. The rest of the front row was made up of Emily and Billy,
Martha’s daughter Angela Emerson and her husband Phil, and their
fifteen-year-old son, Jesse. Beverly Evans was also in the front
row with her husband, Tylor.

After several seconds of nothing more than
the reverend standing silent and staring off into space, Tylor
stood up and approached him to see if the reverend was all right.
Reverend Patterson didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge Tylor,
who stood in front of the dazed reverend, calling out to him.

“Reverend, are you okay?”

No answer. Tylor waved a hand in front of
the reverend’s face, but Patterson’s eyes remained unfocused. Tylor
turned around and shrugged. “I don’t know what to do. Maybe he
needs medical help.”

Reverend Patterson leaned forward, grabbed
Tylor, and bit into his neck. Tylor cried out and fell, and the
Reverend came down with him. He began digging into Tylor’s arm.
Everyone was screaming, some children in the crowd were crying.
More people began to attack others. Someone called an ambulance,
but most of the guests fled.

Beverly sat still, her eyes wide. Tears
started to form. She wanted to rush up there and help her husband,
but fear had stricken her like rigor mortis; she was unable to take
orders from her racing mind. She began to weep, terrified
utterances rising up from her throat as Tylor’s screams entered her
ears.

Phil, Angela, and Jesse gathered around
Martha to make sure she was okay. Billy pulled on Patterson’s
torso, trying to pry him off of a very bloody Tylor. Beverly’s
husband screamed in agony; he had large wounds on his neck, torso,
and arm. Billy was able to get the reverend off and throw him down.
Reverend Patterson scrambled a little on the grass near Charlie’s
casket.

“Oh my God,” Jesse said, looking away. He
nearly gagged, seeing all of Tylor’s blood.

“What the hell is going on?” Angela asked.
Phil put an arm around her to comfort her.

“I don’t know!” Billy said. “But I don’t
think he’s just gonna stay on the ground for long!”

Billy went for a nearby fold-up chair and
picked it up. He closed it and walked back over to Patterson.

“No, don’t kill him!” Emily said. “I’m sure
there’s something they can do for him!”

“I’m just gonna knock him out!”

Beverly was on her knees, pulling Tylor
close to her, hugging him, his blood and her tears soaking her
dress.

“Tylor! Oh my God, what the hell is
happening?” She cried after that, looking down at Tylor, who was
having trouble staying conscious.

“It’s okay, Bev. Don’t cry.” Tylor coughed,
blood spilled over his lips. “I love you, and help’s coming,
right?”

“Yes, soon.” Beverly nodded.

“Then everything will be good. That’s
enough.” He smiled. Beverly tried to smile through the tears, but
it was hard.

“Come on. Smile, Bev.” She did, and then
hugged him tightly. She froze for a moment when she felt his arms
loosen. They fell to the side, and she felt the life leave him. She
hugged him tighter and sobbed deeply, as Martha and the others
tried to hold together.

Billy hit Patterson once over the head. It
didn’t help much, so he went for another blow. Nothing. Once again,
harder, and Patterson collapsed. Blood poured over the freshly cut
grass, and Patterson stopped moving.

“You killed him!” Emily said.

Billy was panicking. “Wh-what else was I
supposed to do? Let him hurt someone else?”

People farther off screamed, and a few
wandered aimlessly, moaning, acting much like the reverend had.
When a gunshot rang out, Billy suddenly felt a lot less guilty,
though it was little comfort compared to the fear and confusion
that quickly set in.

“What the fuck,” Billy said. “What is
this?”

No one responded, as no one knew.

Emily noticed her mother standing before the
casket, ignoring the nearby lifeless body of the reverend. “Mother,
are you all right?” She hugged Martha, who was looking at Charlie
in his casket.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Martha said.

“I know this isn’t going to sound easy, but
I think we need to leave.”

“We have to take him with us.” Emily didn’t
know what to say to that. She knew that they couldn’t carry a
casket with them, let alone load it into the car. She searched for
a way to tell her mother they’d have to leave Charlie behind.

A man jogged down the grassy hill, avoiding
gravestones, carrying his gun carefully. He wore a swamp-green
button-up shirt. The sleeves were rolled up and it was buttoned up
to the collar, the fabric revealing a white shirt underneath. A
patch on the breast pocket read “Alan’s Armory”. The shirt was
tucked into a worn pair of blue jeans.

He wanted to help, and settled on Martha’s
group, as they were the only ones not fleeing.

“Are you all—?” the man said. He was cut
short upon seeing Martha. She held Charlie’s hand, slowly drew it
to her face. She kissed it as tears ran down her cheeks. She
reminded him of his own mother. He hid his feelings well; he
blinked away the tears, then spoke.