Leaving Epitaph (22 page)

Dan Shaye, Thomas Shaye, and James Shaye stood at Matthew’s gravesite. Matthew was being buried right next to his mother. Townsfolk were once again gathered around the men.

It was a week later and Ethan Langer was in custody. He had not yet been sentenced, but he would be, and he’d spend a lot of time—the rest of his life, probably—in Huntsville Prison. Before he died, the voice in his head would probably drive him crazy. This was a concept Thomas had been able to embrace, but he had not yet been able to convince his father. The older Shaye was still upset that Ethan Langer remained alive.

Thomas had not had time to leave Oklahoma City with his brother’s body before Shaye and James met him there. Shaye had decided, after killing Aaron Langer, the same thing Thomas had decided—that Ethan would go to his other brother, Father Vincent. He had retrieved James from the campsite he’d left him at and taken him
to the nearest town, where a doctor treated him. He then put him in a buckboard to transport him to Oklahoma City.

When they arrived, they went directly to the church, where they found Father Vincent. He told them what had happened and that they could find Thomas in a nearby hotel. Stunned into silence, Shaye drove the buckboard to the hotel and helped James down from the back of it. They went inside and asked for Thomas’s room number.

Shaye left James in the lobby, visibly shaken, seated on a sofa, while he went up to Thomas’s room. His oldest son opened the door to his knock and fell into his arms, sobbing.

“I’m sorry, Pa,” he said, “I’m s-so sorry….”

Shaye hugged his son tightly and said, “It’s not your fault, Thomas. If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine. I should never have brought you boys along.”

Thomas cried himself out, since he had not been able to do so until then. Shaye held his son with unrestrained relief that he, at least, was alive and unhurt.

“Come on,” Shaye said, patting Thomas on the back consolingly, “James is downstairs. He couldn’t come up because he got shot in the hip. You see? His getting shot was my fault too.”

“No, Pa,” Thomas said. “We all wanted to come with you. Ma’s dead, and Matthew’s dead, and the only one to blame is Ethan Langer.”

“Well…and he’s dead, right?” Shaye asked. “You killed him?” Father Vincent had not told Shaye the entire story.

“No, Pa.” Thomas drew away from his father’s embrace and set himself for Shaye’s anger. He hung his head and waited for it.

“What?”

“I-I didn’t kill him.”

“Why not?”

“I shot him in the legs….” He explained how Ethan Langer was hiding behind a little girl, and how he had taken the only shot he had. How he’d shot Ethan in both legs in order to leave him a cripple, and he explained about the voices in the man’s head.

“But after you shot him, and he let the little girl go, why didn’t you kill him?” Shaye asked, confused. “You know that was the whole point—to kill him. If you didn’t kill him, your brother died for nothing. Your mother’s death goes unavenged.”

“Pa, let me explain—” Thomas begged.

“Come downstairs,” Shaye said. “You can explain it to your brother at the same time. I’m sure he’ll want to hear it too.”

Shaye turned and walked stiffly away from Thomas. He was feeling many things—shock, dismay, anger, and confusion. Thomas closed the door of his room and followed his father to the lobby.

After he explained his decision to his brother and his father, Thomas took them to the undertaker’s, where Matthew was waiting. They went in to see him together, but after a few moments Shaye said, “Would you boys leave me alone with your brother, please?”

“Sure, Pa,” Thomas said.

He took James outside and allowed his younger brother to cry on his shoulder.

Inside the undertaker’s parlor, Shaye looked down at his middle son. The bullet holes were bloodless now, and that seemed to make them look more invasive. Matthew, the gentlest, kindest of men…even the way he died indicated that. Thomas told Shaye that Matthew’s hand was still wet from the holy water. Ethan had to have shot him while he was dipping his fingertips. Matthew never had a chance.

Shaye took his son’s cold hand in his and said, “I’m sorry, Matthew. I’m so sorry, boy. Go to your mother, now. She’ll take care of you better than I did.”

They brought Matthew’s body back to Epitaph in the buckboard, to be buried next to his mother. James was recovering well from his wound, walking with a cane, which he leaned on now by the gravesite.

There were no badges on the chests of any of
them now. Dan Shaye had gone to Mayor Garnett’s office upon their arrival and turned in all four badges.

“You don’t want to do this, Dan,” the mayor had said.

“Yeah, I do,” Shaye said, and that was all. He walked out of the office, no longer a lawman. He also sold the house, so they’d have some traveling money and might be able to settle somewhere else. He just didn’t want to stay in Epitaph any longer. The memories were too painful. He couldn’t spend his days protecting these people when they had done nothing to protect themselves, nothing to protect his wife. He gave them back the money for their bank and made the bank manager promise to send the rest of the money back to the bank in South Dakota that Aaron had robbed. He wanted nothing more to do with Epitaph.

“But, Pa,” James had complained, “this is where Ma and Matthew are.”

“Son, they’re buried here,” Shaye said, “but they’re in our hearts, and they’ll go wherever we go.”

“But, Pa—”

“James, you’re a grown man, and so is Thomas. Either of you can go or stay as you please. I’m leaving, and that’s all there is to it. The rest is up to you.”

James wanted Thomas’s support, but his older brother had not recovered from the responsibil
ity he felt for Matthew’s death. He had no opinion. He was willing to stay or go, whatever their father decided, so James figured to do the same thing.

This time, when Dan Shaye dropped a handful of dirt into the grave, he contrived to miss the coffin. He did not want to hear the sound of the dirt hitting it. It was still too loud from the last time.

Folks came to the funeral and the burial, but as they filed past Shaye and his two remaining sons, they received the same acknowledgment they’d received the first time—none. These people, once his neighbors, were nothing to Dan Shaye now. Looking at them only reminded him of how gutless and ungrateful they were.

They waited until everyone had left and the grave digger started shoveling dirt into the grave. The three of them had their horses waiting at the base of the hill, and two packhorses with supplies. Wherever they were going, they were not in a hurry to get there.

As they walked down the hill with their father leading the way, Thomas and James walked alongside each other right behind him.

“He hasn’t spoken to me since we got back,” Thomas said. “No more than three words, anyway.”

“You did the right thing, Thomas,” James said.

“Do you think so?”

“Yes,” James said. “The way you explain it, I would have done the same thing. That man will suffer the rest of his life now, and then he’ll burn in Hell afterward. It’s what he deserves.”

“Pa don’t see it that way,” Thomas said. “He still wants him dead.”

“Pa can’t get to him while he’s in prison,” James said. “Don’t worry, he’ll come around. Pa will forgive you, Thomas. You’ll see.”

“I don’t know, James,” Thomas said. “I don’t know if he ever will.”

They left Epitaph right after the burial, straight from the cemetery. None of them knew where they were going, all they knew was that they were leaving Epitaph.