THE REST OF THE POSSE had gathered at Gilly’s that Saturday afternoon. The daylight snaked down the long hallway from the glass door facing Main Street. They sat around the table in the back room, nursing their beers and occasionally glancing at each other. This was the first day back into the routine that they had perfected over many years. In just two days their mundane lives had been forfeited for ones none of them could have described the week before. Several seats around the large circular table were empty.
James wouldn’t be coming back.
Kyle, if he ever made it back, would arrive in his own chair, and leave in it as well.
They sat waiting for someone to start the conversation. Clinton, after taking a calculated sip, broke the silence.
“Anyone seen Haywood?” His voice was deep and solid. If their group had a member made out of granite, it was Clinton.
The others shook their heads.
“Heard he was going down to South Falls to check on Kyle,” Davis replied.
“Probably making sure he keeps his mouth shut,” Earl said.
“What does that mean?” Frank said.
“Haywood wouldn’t do anything to Kyle,” Clinton said.
“You sure about that?” Earl said. “You don’t think he would do to us what he made us do with Michael? Shoot, man. I mean, he was the mastermind behind all this, am I right?”
“Now Earl, we all went up there of our own free will,” Clinton said.
“Did we?” Frank shot back. “Do you think if it wasn’t for Haywood that we would have buried . . .” The volume of his own voice caused Frank to check himself. He leaned closer to the others. “. . . you know . . . done what we done?”
“He’s right,” Earl said. “This is all Haywood’s doing. We should go to the cops and tell them what happened. What happened to James and Kyle. What happened to Old Man Jackson.”
“And what did happen to them, Earl?” asked Haywood, who now stood by the open doorway that separated the back room from the bar. They hadn’t noticed his arrival. He slowly walked over and sat down in James’s forever-unoccupied seat. He looked around at the boys who now tried to bury their eyes in their own beers.
“You boys think this is my fault, what happened to James and Kyle?”
The men said nothing.
Haywood reached over to the pitcher, raised it to his mouth, and took a sip. He then looked each man in the face, slowly making his way around the table.
“I miss James just as much as anybody. Kyle, now I’m just crushed about Kyle, but he’s going to make it. And he’s going to need us once he gets out of the hospital.
“Now you all are sitting here wondering about what we did. You’re probably wondering how this mess came down on us, what we could have done differently that would have changed our current situation. Believe me, I’ve been thinking about it the whole time. What we should have done. But what we should have done is something that none of us were willing and capable of doing. That’s the problem.”
“What we should have done is left the man alone,” Clinton said. “He was minding his own business—”
“Now you know that ain’t true,” Haywood responded. “You think Morrison just drove out into the woods, sat next to a tree, and blew his face off?”
“No,” Earl said, “the problem is that we let you convince us it was Michael who did all that. James and Kyle would be sitting here right now drinking with us if you hadn’t forced us to drug Michael and drag him up . . .”
“I didn’t force anyone, and don’t you all forget it. You’re grown men. You did what you wanted. So you should ask yourself why you all chose to go along. I’ll tell you why: because deep down inside you know I’m right. You knew that Michael was dangerous. You’ve known it all along. When they found Morse out in the woods and people asked how that could have happened, whose face popped up into your mind? I’ll tell you. Michael’s. And do you know why that is? Because somewhere in those thick heads of yours you know what evil looks like. You’ve seen it.”
“What happened to Morrison was an accident,” Earl said.
“It was no accident. When Michael moved back to town, while you all went on with your lives, I’ve been waiting . . . waiting for that maniac to start killing at random. And then it happened and I knew we had to do something about it.”
“So why didn’t you just call the cops, man?” Davis said, his exasperation at the long speech evident. He was a man of few words, the countersilence to Clinton’s deep baritone. The conversation was obviously annoying him.
“Why do you think? It took all I had to convince you guys that something had to be done, and you’ve known me all your lives. What do you think the cops would have done?”
“Put you in a straitjacket, I reckon,” Frank said with a nervous laugh.
“You’re probably right,” Haywood said, a thin smirk on his face in an attempt to ease the tension out of the group. “So, rather than harping on each other, we need to start thinking about what we are going to do now. He may be gone, but he’s not gone forever. I bet he’ll be back. And I bet when he comes back, he ain’t going to come back quietly.”