Evergreen by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 25

It was the day before Thanksgiving and the entire town turned out for the funeral. It had been decided that both caskets would be displayed at the same service and that the parents would split the cost. The funeral director had successfully repaired Katie’s torn body and laid it out on display in an open casket. However, Bobby’s remains lay contained in a sealed casket. His death was listed with the town as ‘unnatural’ and no explanation or description was given. Christine sat next to Tom. She had left her badge and revolver at home, replaced by a dark business suit. Sitting close to the casket, Tom had reached a hand over and gently stroked Katie’s hair. Meanwhile, Bobby’s mother, accompanied by her husband, stood at the side of his casket - one hand flat on its wooden lid, the other clutching the lapel of her husband’s jacket. Everyone who passed through the door of the funeral home quickly became inconsolable. Some were more stoic than others, but everyone felt the loss as two of Evergreens youth had been stolen from them. But while no one felt more agony than the parents, Christine held herself personally responsible. It was her job to keep the people of Evergreen safe - to serve and to protect. She had dedicated her life to this single cause and now, she felt as though she had failed everyone in the worse possible way.

The eulogy was given by Father Roberts. Like Christine, he acted on his own calling to serve God by serving the living. His words were kind, almost sweet to the ear. But as reassuring as they were, they were far from consoling. All the compassion and Godliness the priest could muster would not give life back to two of Evergreens children, now lying in cold repose. For the town of Evergreen, the holiday season would always be stained, permanently contaminated with a dark spot of green and emptiness.

After the service, Christine took time back to her house. He was in an extremely delicate state, and she thought it best that he not return to an apartment devoid of his daughter’s presence. Chuck agreed to handle the office for the next few days as Christine planned on spending a considerable amount of time with Tom - talking to him, listening to him, holding him. Unsurprisingly, nothing she did seemed to be enough. He was in desperate need of comforting and all Christine could really do was to let him cry out his pain. This became intermingled with periods of deep, yet disturbed sleep as his mind tried to heal itself. It was also during these periods that Christine would retreat to her bedroom. Closing the door, she’d sit on the edge of the bed and weep. Everything had changed.

That night, as Christine sat up keeping watch over Tom, someone else is making their way toward the Redfield house. Their boots scuffled through the snow beneath the full brightness of the November moon. In one hand, a flashlight illuminated the snow, casting shadows of the pine trees, rendered still by the madness each had recently witnessed. In the other, a gas can filled nearly to its lid. The lock that had previously held the front door securely closed had not yet been replaced. A gloved hand turned the doorknob and pushing the door open, a thin figure stood in the doorway, scanning the house’s interior with their flashlight.

Walking through the first floor, the dark figure made its way to the kitchen and unscrewing the lid of the gas can, began splashing its contents across the floor. This continued through the hallway as well as the dining and living rooms and having emptied its last ounces on the front porch, the plastic container was tossed aside. The façade of the house was examined one last time. It had taken so many innocent lives. Now, it was about to forfeit its own and as a lit book of matches landed on the gasoline saturated porch, and orange-yellow glow erupted across its aged planks. As the flames rose up from the ignited gas fumes, the fire quickly rippled through the house and along a predetermined petroleum trail. From the woods, the growing fire up a dark silhouette, standing only a few yards from what would shortly be a raging, fiery tomb for the evil that had, for so many years, taking possession of the house. Now, its life would also be taken by the cleansing effect of the devil’s own tool of destruction and as the purifying flames grew more brilliant, the face of their deliverer became illuminated from within the cold darkness of Evergreen’s nocturnal forest.

She had joined the town in its grief, attending the funeral service, sharing in the outpouring of pain that now plagued the entire community. In the morning, everyone would give their best effort to celebrate a holiday where people were expected to give thanks for what they had been given. But on that night, the festering monster that had taken residence in the Redfield house had to die. To be swept away by the hand of vengeance, anger, and anguish. Ten years had passed as she sat in a cell, dumbstruck by a decision of correct jurisprudence, yet at the same time morally reprehensible. She had taken one life in order to save two - herself and her son. She would walk away from the blazing scene incarcerated in a different kind of prison. One for which there was no key. No guards. No parole. Joan backed away toward the woods as the fire rose up, consuming the house in its own insatiable hunger. A tear rolled down her face as her chin began quivering. Joan had met a couple who had taken such good care of him for so long. But her secret had never been revealed. That she was, in fact, Bobby’s mother. She had stood helplessly as he had been walked away from her by police and social workers, his head turning back to see her face one last time. But upon her release, Joan had become consumed by her goal of reaching Bobby - of getting to Evergreen.

She had spent only a few years watching over him, trying to discover the person he had become and although everything that is created ultimately dies, the curtain had fallen on these young lives far too soon. Her vicarious role as a mother had come to a painful end and bursting into tears. Joan dropped to her knees while covering her face with open hands. The roaring fire muffled her screams of grief and rage. She had been robbed of the one thing she lived for. To see what would have been. To stand in the shadows, silently looking on as Bobby transformed from a nervous teenager into a strong, capable man - perhaps a pillar of the community. She had imagined great things for him, all of which were now consigned to his life of their own, archived in her memories and wishful thoughts.