31

I waited until midnight to call 911. I couldn’t fool myself any longer. I was deeply worried about Rufus. I’d spent the afternoon and early evening with Ronnie, driving around the county looking for him, but we soon realized we were going to need some help. He wasn’t at any of his old haunts, nor was he walking along any of the roads he would have taken to get home. I needed help. But I didn’t call 911 because I expected any help. No, I called because I knew it was the first step, something to cross off the list before deciding what to do next. I knew I’d be patched through to the sheriff’s dispatch, and at the moment my list of suspects who might have done something to Rufus was headed up by the actual sheriff. There was always a chance I’d get a friendly deputy instead, though I wasn’t sure how much faith I had in any deputy that hadn’t quit on general principles when Argent took over.

The dispatch operator took down my information and said a deputy or the sheriff would be in touch.

I put down the phone and walked over to the refrigerator for some whiskey, only to remember I didn’t have any. This realization hit me hard and fast, and all wrong.

The goddamn nerve of Ronnie and Rufus to take my whiskey.

What followed could best be described as a tantrum. I lost my shit. Not just because I was out of whiskey. That was part of it, but the main part was the realization of how much I actually needed it.

That realization caused me to pick up a plate in the sink and fling it across the kitchen. It crashed into the wall beside the door and shattered. That felt good, so I found another plate and did the same with it, grinning savagely as it exploded against the wall.

I went for the table next, knocking it sideways, but that wasn’t good enough. I got down low, palms against the flat underside, and flipped it. It slid across the linoleum, crashing into the side door of the kitchen.

The chairs came next. Then the microwave, the coffeemaker, more dishes, and the knives in the drawer. Soon I was in such a state of blind fury I couldn’t see straight. Even so, I didn’t stop. The outburst felt too good. It was the first time in weeks I felt the pressure in my head being released.

At some point, I made my way into the den. I was basically destroying the house on autopilot now. My mind had drifted away to some place of bliss where thoughts of Mary’s absence or Rufus’s disappearance couldn’t reach.

“Are you okay?”

Later, I’d wonder just how long she’d been standing in the doorway watching me. Long enough, I was pretty sure, for her to think I’d lost my mind.

I stopped, aware suddenly of the candlestick holder in my hand. I’d been using it to bludgeon a mirror Mary had set up for me when I’d first moved in. It was splintered all to shit now, but I saw my reflection clearly enough. A man I barely recognized stared at me. He clutched the candlestick holder with a bloody hand. His face was crooked in the splintered glass, his eyes red and filled with a shimmering madness.

Standing behind him was the woman who’d started all of this. Daphne. I seethed, staring at her. I wanted to throw the candlestick holder at her. I wanted to curse her for what she’d done.

No, I thought. It wasn’t her fault. It was no one’s fault but my own.

I dropped the candlestick holder onto the floor and turned around.

“I heard the commotion from my place …” She stepped into the room. “You know, I messed up before. And it’s caused you pain.”

“Nah,” I said, and surprised myself by smiling at my own joke. “What would make you think that?”

She smiled too, but it was a sad smile, and somehow, against all reason, I felt for her. Stupid, I know, but there it was. She had made a mistake, but how could she have known what it would unleash? That was the way life worked, it seemed. Every decision, no matter how inconsequential—or consequential—was filled with a dread potential, and you couldn’t know for sure how your life would be able to coexist with that potential once it was free and able to squirm around the world.

“I know it sounds crazy, but … well, you seem like you’re going through some shit, shit I caused, and I’m going through some shit maybe some other people caused too. Maybe we could be there for each other?”

For a moment, what she was saying didn’t register with me. I was still in a state of shock from the tantrum I’d just pitched. How in the hell had I managed to drag the refrigerator into the den?

“Hey,” she said. “Over here.”

I looked at her. The words she’d said previously registered somewhat dimly inside my head. I thought of whiskey and I thought of her, and they seemed pretty close to the same thing at that moment. Salves, both of them, but not salvation.

*   *   *

Like the whiskey I craved so much, the sex with Daphne was good—no, great—until it wasn’t. The moment of change was almost indiscernible, hidden inside the ecstasy of our orgasms. She peeled herself off of me, and as soon as her body lost contact with mine, I felt more alone than I ever had in my entire life.

She shivered. “Got a chill. You running the air?”

I shook my head, looking at her nakedness, trying to make myself care about her again to stop the pain.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?”

“This is a bad idea.”

She grabbed her panties, balled them in her fist, and wiped her crotch with them. Then she shimmied into her blue jeans. “Nah. It’s a great idea. You’re just a man. Women don’t matter to you after it’s over. Give your body time to build up some of that love juice and I’ll be the best idea you ever thought of.”

“No,” I said, horrified at everything that statement revealed about her and most of all about me. Because she was right. And it hurt me to know how right she was, how wrong my behavior was.

“Don’t look so pitiful, okay? I owed you one for screwing up things with your girl. Besides, you didn’t take advantage of me. I liked what we just did. Hell, I could go again, but something tells me, at your age, I better check with you tomorrow.”

I rubbed my face. We were both adults. We both had our eyes wide open. At least now we did. I’d been a little late to the party, too blinded by my need for a little soothing to see she wanted the same thing. Yet I still felt bad. Sick, even. Maybe because it put what I’d had with Mary in such sharp relief. All of it was ecstasy with Mary. The dance before and after the act. Our lives commingled with the kind of rhythm that made every moment special. And now I was searching for even one moment of special. No, not special, just a moment of nothingness that sex could provide.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

“Don’t,” I said.

She put a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

*   *   *

I got the call a few minutes after she left. I picked up my phone, praying it would be Rufus. Instead the screen said Incoming Call Coulee County Sheriff.

“Hello?”

“Well, if it ain’t Mr. White Guilt. To what do I owe the pleasure?” It was Argent. Of course, it was Argent. Who else would it be?

“I explained it to the dispatch already,” I said.

“Well, explain it again. My eyes are bad. Reading those notes makes my head hurt.”

I thought about just hanging up. I might have, too, but then I realized if I was ever going to bring Argent down, I’d need ammunition. Reporting a missing person he wouldn’t even bother to look for could be that ammunition one day.

“My friend Rufus Gribble is missing.”

“Let’s see …” he said, speaking in a slow, exaggerated drawl. “Spell that.”

I spelled it through clenched teeth.

“Gribble. Now, that’s an unusual name.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me where he was last seen?”

“Huh?”

“Last known whereabouts. Ask me something.”

“I’m sorry, are you the sheriff?”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed. “Last time I checked, I’m the one with the badge. I’m the one who the good people of Coulee County have entrusted to do this job the right way.”

“This is a waste of time.”

“You might be right about that. I tell you what I’m going to do, Mr. White Guilt. I’m going to make a report on this call. I go by the book, you know? In that report, I’ll note that Mr. Gribble is a blind man and has been known to wander these hills alone. The report will show, in my personal opinion, that Mr. Gribble has become lost. I’ll explain, of course, that we sent some deputies and dogs out to his favorite haunts and turned up nothing. Then I’ll file this in the missing persons file. End of story.”

“I want to be there when the dogs go out.”

“Sure.”

“When will it be?”

“Now, take it easy, Snowflake. I’ve got to dot all my i’s and cross all my t’s. This job is about methodology, following procedure. Whew, it is a good thing you didn’t win. I can’t help but think you’d be cutting corners all over the place.”

“Just tell me.”

“Sure.”

I waited.

“Well?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you until I know.”

“When will that be?”

“Maybe the end of the week. Or early next week. Well, the fourth is next week, so maybe I better not promise what I can’t deliver. That’s policing 101, you know?”

“Go fuck yourself,” I said.

“Now, that’s no way to talk to a law enforcement officer.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a good thing I’m not talking to one then. I’ll find him myself.”

“Now, let me advise you not to do something rash, something that could get you hurt. I mean—”

I ended the call. I couldn’t take it anymore. There was no way I was going to get anything out of him, which meant I was on my own again. Seemed like that was a recurring theme in my life—being alone. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was a reason for it.