beer and
then stared down at the empty glass on the counter. “She was
murdered.”
He glanced up at Simmons and saw the
unmistakable look of shock that had become all too common over the
last sixteen years.
“Murdered?”
Charlie came by and refilled Isaac’s empty
mug with a second round of brew. The detectives waited until the
bartender left before continuing the conversation.
“A man named Jacob Walsh broke into my house
one night while I was sleeping. At first, I thought he was just a
burglar, but he had something entirely different on his mind. Jacob
did time in prison for shooting and nearly killing a liquor store
clerk. I was the arresting officer. I testified in court against
him and I guess you could say he didn’t like me too much. The state
released him three years early. Good behavior.”
“He had been planning to kill your wife the
entire time he was behind bars?”
“I guess,” Isaac said. “He tried to take me
out, too. I think he wanted the whole family.” Isaac opened his
coat and pulled down the left side of his shirt revealing the
bullet wound in his chest. “A few centimeters to the left and we
wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Simmons looked closely at the round pink and
white scar tissue that formed a hairless spot on Isaac’s chest. “He
shot you?”
“Then he went upstairs and shot Linda. Four
times in the chest and stomach.”
“That’s awful.”
“And he had one bullet left. Thankfully, I
stopped him before he had a chance to use it.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Yep. After that, an ambulance rushed me to
the hospital. I almost bled to death before I even arrived in the
emergency room.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t.”
“Sometimes I wish I had.”
Isaac finished off the last warm inch of
beer at the bottom of the glass then went to leave a piss. After he
was done, he sat back down at the bar and ordered another beer.
“Do you want to play pool or something?”
Simmons shrugged. “Sure, if you want.”
Isaac walked over to the only empty table,
racked the balls, and grabbed a pool stick off the wall rack. Two
couples laughed, fondled, and played beside them on the only other
pool table.
“You wanna break?”
“No, I think you’d better,” said Simmons.
“I’m not very good at pool.”
“Neither am I.” Isaac chalked up the end of
his stick then slammed it into the white cue ball, pocketing two
stripes before the last ball stopped rolling.
“I thought you weren’t any good.”
Isaac smiled and buried another stripe. “I’m
not. Beginners luck.”
After Isaac finished beating Simmons for the
third time, the detectives left the bar and stood silent in the
parking lot admiring the fresh, cool air, and then said their
goodnights.
When Isaac got back home, he opened the
bottom drawer of the stereo cabinet next to the television and
searched through his old records. Once he found the record he
sought out, he removed it from the sleeve, carefully placed it on
to the dusty player, and plopped down on the couch. Then he dimmed
the light and rested his head against the back cushion.
Seconds later, Chicago's Will you still
love me? echoed sweet melodies throughout the still house, and
evoked distant dreams of a time when life seemed so simple—perfect,
sitting at a concert, falling in love.
Just falling in love.
Chapter Four
1
The tall trees hung thick branches over the
dirt road, raining down dead leaves that fluttered about in the
morning breeze. A few of the leaves landed on the blue Escort as it
hiked down the narrow trail kicking dirt out the back of its tires.
James Ackerman stopped the car suddenly as he arrived at a fork in
the road. He looked both ways trying to remember which path he had
taken hours ago. According to the clock radio, it was almost seven
in the morning. He had survived the night hiding out by Catfish
Creek, but there wasn't much time left now. Resources were running
low. This body was getting weaker
then stared down at the empty glass on the counter. “She was
murdered.”
He glanced up at Simmons and saw the
unmistakable look of shock that had become all too common over the
last sixteen years.
“Murdered?”
Charlie came by and refilled Isaac’s empty
mug with a second round of brew. The detectives waited until the
bartender left before continuing the conversation.
“A man named Jacob Walsh broke into my house
one night while I was sleeping. At first, I thought he was just a
burglar, but he had something entirely different on his mind. Jacob
did time in prison for shooting and nearly killing a liquor store
clerk. I was the arresting officer. I testified in court against
him and I guess you could say he didn’t like me too much. The state
released him three years early. Good behavior.”
“He had been planning to kill your wife the
entire time he was behind bars?”
“I guess,” Isaac said. “He tried to take me
out, too. I think he wanted the whole family.” Isaac opened his
coat and pulled down the left side of his shirt revealing the
bullet wound in his chest. “A few centimeters to the left and we
wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Simmons looked closely at the round pink and
white scar tissue that formed a hairless spot on Isaac’s chest. “He
shot you?”
“Then he went upstairs and shot Linda. Four
times in the chest and stomach.”
“That’s awful.”
“And he had one bullet left. Thankfully, I
stopped him before he had a chance to use it.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Yep. After that, an ambulance rushed me to
the hospital. I almost bled to death before I even arrived in the
emergency room.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t.”
“Sometimes I wish I had.”
Isaac finished off the last warm inch of
beer at the bottom of the glass then went to leave a piss. After he
was done, he sat back down at the bar and ordered another beer.
“Do you want to play pool or something?”
Simmons shrugged. “Sure, if you want.”
Isaac walked over to the only empty table,
racked the balls, and grabbed a pool stick off the wall rack. Two
couples laughed, fondled, and played beside them on the only other
pool table.
“You wanna break?”
“No, I think you’d better,” said Simmons.
“I’m not very good at pool.”
“Neither am I.” Isaac chalked up the end of
his stick then slammed it into the white cue ball, pocketing two
stripes before the last ball stopped rolling.
“I thought you weren’t any good.”
Isaac smiled and buried another stripe. “I’m
not. Beginners luck.”
After Isaac finished beating Simmons for the
third time, the detectives left the bar and stood silent in the
parking lot admiring the fresh, cool air, and then said their
goodnights.
When Isaac got back home, he opened the
bottom drawer of the stereo cabinet next to the television and
searched through his old records. Once he found the record he
sought out, he removed it from the sleeve, carefully placed it on
to the dusty player, and plopped down on the couch. Then he dimmed
the light and rested his head against the back cushion.
Seconds later, Chicago's Will you still
love me? echoed sweet melodies throughout the still house, and
evoked distant dreams of a time when life seemed so simple—perfect,
sitting at a concert, falling in love.
Just falling in love.
Chapter Four
1
The tall trees hung thick branches over the
dirt road, raining down dead leaves that fluttered about in the
morning breeze. A few of the leaves landed on the blue Escort as it
hiked down the narrow trail kicking dirt out the back of its tires.
James Ackerman stopped the car suddenly as he arrived at a fork in
the road. He looked both ways trying to remember which path he had
taken hours ago. According to the clock radio, it was almost seven
in the morning. He had survived the night hiding out by Catfish
Creek, but there wasn't much time left now. Resources were running
low. This body was getting weaker
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