KYLE DROVE THE TRUCK into Coldwater with the same reckless abandon as he did in leaving the woods. The silence he and James shared on the way out to the grave site was repeated on the way back to town as he thought through the ramifications of their discovery. In his mind he traced the level of his own complicity in the actions from the night before, his conscience ebbing and flowing between responsibility and absolution.
“We have to tell Haywood,” James said with a low growl. His eyes were fixed forward in deep concentration. On good days, his voice was like a bag of gravel. Now it sounded like a rock tumbler.
“Of course we do,” Kyle said. “I mean, it’s his show after all.”
“Sure is.”
“He’s the one who dragged us all out there, right? I mean, it was all him!”
“Now just hold on. Don’t get that idea in your head. And definitely don’t say that in front of Haywood. He’d move to bury you out there next.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have gone out there last night. Should have just stayed home.”
“What do you mean?”
“Too late. You are part of this. Me too.” James looked out the window onto the quiet main street of Coldwater. “We’re all part of it.”
Kyle turned east at the sole stoplight, drove one block, which was the width of the town, and pulled up to Haywood’s residence.
It was a two-story Victorian with a wraparound porch, better suited for a country house than one just off Main Street, but the house had stood well before the single stoplight was installed and a handful of people decided to stay put and set down roots. As the truck came in the driveway and parked, Haywood stepped out of the front door and stood on the porch, the screen door flapping behind him. Kyle and James approached the house, anxiety dripping off them like sweat.
“What’s going on, boys?”
“We got a problem,” Kyle said.
“What kind of problem?”
“Well, you see, me and James went up to the . . . I mean . . . we drove up where we all, you know—”
“We drove up to Springer’s Grove,” James interjected, “because Kyle here was driving me nuts with his paranoid delusions. I drove up with him so he could see that Michael was still buried. Bad news . . .”
“Go on.”
“He got out,” James said.
“What do you mean, he got out?”
Kyle found his words again. “Just that. I walked up the trail and the . . . the . . . grave . . . was dug up.”
“Dug up?”
“Well, not so much dug up, but dug out. He dug himself out. I don’t know how.”
“You see him?”
“No.”
Haywood wiped his forehead and looked at Kyle and James. The man’s penetrating stare piercing through them, his mind someplace else, processing the news and creating a game plan.
“Alright,” Haywood said. “It’s better than not knowing he’s loose.”
Kyle could feel the tension release from his neck, like the times when he was a child and his father’s punishment for a stupid deed was unexpectedly lenient.
“I want you two to go and gather up the others,” Haywood said. “Let’s meet up at Springer’s in an hour. I’ll get Murphy and his dog. Michael couldn’t have got very far.”
“Sure thing,” James said.
“I-I think I’ve d-done . . . ,” Kyle stammered. “I mean, I have some things I have to do with Tami today . . .”
“Get in the truck, Kyle.” James grabbed his companion’s arm and spun him back to the vehicle.
The two of them got in the cab and Kyle drove out of Haywood’s driveway much slower than when he had arrived. He pulled away reluctantly, becoming less eager to be a part of this situation with each passing minute.
In the rearview mirror he could see Haywood staring after them until he made the turn at the stoplight. This was not the morning he had planned, but he had known—deep down inside he had known—that the events of the night before would haunt him. He just wasn’t expecting the ghosts to come calling so soon.