KYLE WATCHED AS JAMES got out of the truck and walked inside his trailer. His own thoughts came to keep him company.
How did it get to this point?
He wasn’t a policeman, a vigilante, a hired thug. He was just Kyle, nothing more and nothing less.
Kyle’s whole life had been spent in the area of Coldwater. He had never thought of leaving, and no one in the town ever gave the idea of him leaving much consideration either. Kyle was the epitome of a Coldwater native: born, raised, and more than likely going to die within the village limit, the wider world none the wiser that he had ever graced it with his presence.
He was several years younger than Michael, had heard the stories of him through his years in school, but never knew him. Michael was a myth and a boogeyman, a tale spun up from truth and folklore. When Michael had moved back to Coldwater, Kyle had responded like the rest of the town, with a morbid curiosity and the firm resolve to keep his distance.
Now here he was waiting in his truck while James grabbed his guns to go in search of the guy.
Why had he left his house last night? Why had he gone with everyone out into the woods and buried Michael in the ground?
The guilt of the deed mixed with Kyle’s own self-awareness that he was a sucker when it came to James and Haywood telling him what to do. When Haywood had hatched his plan, James was gung ho to execute it as quickly as possible. Kyle knew he didn’t stand a chance of persuading them to leave Michael alone. He also knew that he didn’t stand a chance of not getting sucked up into the mess either. He was part of the group, even though he always felt like a weaker member.
And Frank and Earl were in on it, so that had helped his conscience at the time.
But now, sitting alone in the truck with his thoughts, the enormity of what he had participated in came crashing in and crushing his mind like molten lead. His fingers ached, and he realized he was clutching the steering wheel so tight, his hands had turned to vices. His palms sweating against the vinyl.
He hadn’t been able to sleep last night, not after he got home. All that ran through his head was the thought of a live body trapped under earth, of his complicity in the act. That sooner or later someone would pick him up on the street and put him behind bars for the rest of his life.
He was no killer, he was no judge. What business had he had out there in the woods?
When James had arrived at his house last night and told him to get in the truck, he did so. He always did. But most of the time it was to go check bait piles, run up to Gilly’s for a beer, or head to the city for some car parts. He hadn’t thought at all about climbing in. But when they arrived at Gilly’s and he realized that this was the night Haywood was going to set it all in motion, he had said nothing. When he heard Haywood talk about the danger the town was facing due to Michael, he had said nothing. When he watched from the back room as Michael took his poisoned drink and slumped to the floor of the bar, he had said nothing.
The only thing he could tell himself to soothe his soul was that at least he didn’t join in with James and the others in roughing up the limp body of their victim. His hands were at least clean in that regard.
But when that pine box was lowered into the ground and the dirt began to pile up, he had kept his mouth shut.
Now he wanted to scream.
He wanted to go back to that very moment when he had heard James honking the horn and he got off his couch. That mindless moment, that moment of action that was spurred by no conscious thought. That would always be the moment in time that all others would now be defined against.
James came out of his trailer, a rifle in each hand and a backpack full of random supplies. He placed them in the bed of the truck and opened the driver’s door.
“Move over,” James said.
“What?”
“I’m driving.”
Kyle scooted over to the passenger side of the bench and put his seatbelt on. He said nothing.
They pulled out and headed north.
“What’s spooking you?” James asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You look like you’re going to puke or something.”
“I’m fine.”
Kyle could see the glint of bloodlust in James’s eyes. He had seen it before, back in high school days before a football game, or before James would fight someone outside of Gilly’s, which happened more often than it should have. He had that look now as he pressed the pedal down. But for Kyle, his mind was not on the road ahead.
He was thinking of that one moment.
If he had just stayed on the couch, he could have gone on living in blind ignorance, forever content to be a nobody in a no-name town till the end of his days.
How many more bookmarks in time were in store for him in the hours ahead?