Once upon a Time, Margaret
6
Hesitation
Look, I'm a bug guy. It's what I do. No bug matters. Nobody gives a damn about a dead bug. There are always other bugs. And nobody gives a damn about a bug guy. There are lots of other bug guys.
You, little girl, who sweeps up the glass and puts it in the wrong trash can, you don't matter, either. Like those little spotted bugs. When they land on your arm., they amount to a vague tickle to be swiped at and smashed without even realizing it. Margaret is a vague tickle to be swiped at ... and smashed
You had my life in your hands.
And you didn't kill me. You think that matters?
You're still a bug, and I'm still a bug guy. We can't change that.
But no more "getting to know you". I know you. And you know me. There's nothing more for it.
I just care where you're going to be an hour from now, Margaret, and then the next hour after that. I'm not interested any more in where you're ultimately headed, just where you'll be an hour from now. No more eager chasing down and making dumb mistakes ... like an untested recruit. If I see you from a distance, it's only to figure how it fits into where you'll be in an hour. No more hot pursuit. In fact, I want to see you from a distance, so I can study you. I'll lurk behind you, or far to the side. But no chasing down from the back, or heading you off from the side. And I want you to know I'm lurking. I want you to wonder. When I get the pattern - everybody has a pattern, don't they - when I get the pattern, I'll move way out front, where you aren't looking for me. And I'll be ready. And when I know that in two seconds you'll come around that corner thirty feet in front of me, I'll kill you. And it won't bother me any more than if I smashed a bug.
Or maybe you'll kill me. That's all right, too. And if you do, don't stew about it as if I'm a bloody towel in a neat bathroom. If you don't smash me, somebody else will. Then another bug guy will come after you. Bugs and bug guys are both the same. Today gives no fulfillment, so there is nothing in the future. We just do what we do. We live and we die, but mostly we die.
After leaving the deer stand, Martel went back to his SUV. He gathered his spare supplies and ammunition and crammed them in his backpack. He hitched the carrying strap of the rolled up sleeping bag over his shoulder. His valuable topo map and compass he kept handy in a jacket pocket. Then after a quick call to the sheriff to send somebody to take the SUV back to headquarters, he started off on foot to follow Margaret's trail.
And no more shuttling around with the SUV. Just Margaret and me. A hunt to the death isn't a luxury day job.
*****
Saturday afternoon
Since she patched the wound, she only limped a little. The Band-Aids were all gone now, but the bleeding had stopped.
Margaret didn't wade through the creek any more. She stayed with narrow trails. She didn't run, and made no attempt to hide or cover her tracks. Occasionally, she'd stop and look back into the forest where she'd passed. The dark shadow was always back there - in the distance - among the trees. Her legs were scratched from brambles and sharp sticks intruding on the path. Mostly the path was padded enough with debris for walking to be tolerable. Steeper hills were rougher to negotiate barefoot where downhill running water from years of rains had eroded the ground from around the rocks beneath. On level ground, where there wasn't the padding of forest debris, the ground was still rain softened. Her footprints were starkly clear. She didn't seem to care.
Now and then she'd stop by some old tree and check around the trunk for moss. Every time, she'd ceremoniously stand with her back to the trunk, make an exact ninety degree turn to the right and be on her way again.
Twice she did a rectangle, suddenly turning sharply to the left, walking perhaps fifty yards, then turning left again for another fifty yards, then turning left again back to the original path fifty yards behind where she'd turned off. When she'd do this, the shadow would retreat back a bit.
Every half hour or so she rested, sometimes lucky enough to find a well used old campsite clearing. She usually found a tree or log to lean back against. She never rested long before setting back on her steadfast course.
In this section of forest she could manage to stay within view of the nearby boundary and the farmlands.
Saturday night she left the forest and slept the night in the hayloft of a traditional old red barn. Sunday morning she watched as the farmer's family piled into their car and left for church. There was no need for Margaret to break into the house. They hadn't locked the doors. She just turned the knob and walked in. After showering she went downstairs to the kitchen and enjoyed cereal, milk, and orange juice; and she fixed herself a Pop-Tart in the toaster. She was long gone by the time the family returned.
Schindemann called Martel on the cell phone with news of the break in. Martel's interview with the family found the girl's behavior in keeping with her break in at the Sexton house. Towels in the bathroom were folded on their bars, and in the kitchen the table had been wiped clear of crumbs. The family had found the dishes and glasses used for the intruder's breakfast washed and left in the drainer to dry.
Back in the forest Margaret continued her eastward march. Through the day she would do two rectangles in the area north of her trail and one to the south. On one of her rectangles she couldn't have helped seeing her pursuer not far behind stop to take a leak.
Sunday night she lucked out with a farm house whose inhabitants were apparently off on vacation. When it was obvious they weren't going to return during the night, Margaret left her roost in the barn, broke into the locked back door of the house, showered, ate (TV dinners she zapped in the micro-wave), and slept the remainder of the night in a real bed.
*****
Martel watched from the edge of the forest as the bedroom light went out.
I'm sorry, Margaret, but tomorrow you die.
*****
Monday, Margaret followed her usual routines. She didn't see the persistent shadow of the detective behind her all day, even when she lay in hiding waiting for him.
In the evening, she watched from the forest as a farmer and his wife finished their day's work and settled into their house for the night. It was still dusky light as she crept into the open, and in a cautious stoop made her way toward the barn.
When she was thirty feet away, Tris Martel stepped from the open barn door and stood before her.
Margaret paused only a second. Then she stood up straight, squared her shoulders, and waited as he raised the rifle to his shoulder and with somber deliberation aimed it at her naked chest.
But his finger did not squeeze itself around the trigger. Seconds elapsed.
Margaret turned suddenly and darted back to the forest.
*****
Martel lowered the gun. Shoulders sagging, he slowly made his own way back to the forest. He trudged ahead to his campsite a hundred yards into the forest directly east of where Margaret had just run.
He'd earlier piled some kindling together for a fire. Now he lit it, seemingly not concerned any more that he might be seen. He leaned back against his bedroll. There he stayed silent and unmoving. Then, as his fingers moved to the bridge of his nose to massage the tension between his eyes, he sensed someone sitting beside him.
"Margaret?" he said softly.
"Uh huh."
*****
She didn't ask why I didn't kill her. I don't think I knew. I don't think I wanted to know. I didn't do her a favor; that's for sure.
*****
"I'm Tris, " he said, offering his hand. She touched it in response.
He took a can from his backpack.
"All I have is beans - cold beans."
Margaret: "I like cold beans."
They shared the beans, using the same fork.
They sat as they were for several minutes. No words passed between them. Then Tris took the straps off the rolled up sleeping bag. He spread it out and turned over the flap. "I heard it's going to be cool tonight. Slip inside," he said.
Margaret hesitated.
Martel: "It's all right. You'll be safe."
She started to get in the bag, but paused to take off the shoulder holster and lay it on the ground. "I know," she said.
Martel zipped her securely within the softness of the sleeping bag. She closed her eyes. Then he laid his rifle at his left side, and drew the 357 magnum from the pack. He checked the cylinder, and then laid the revolver on his right. For the rest of the night his eyes remained alert for any slight movement in the dark forest surrounding them, and his ears remained alert for the slightest out of place sound. And Margaret slept peacefully.
*****
Once upon a Time, Margaret
7
Interlude
Tuesday
When Margaret crawled out of the sleeping bag, Tris was heading for the edge of the camp clearing. He glanced back. A mutual quick small smile of recognition. Then she followed suit, moving to perhaps fifteen or less feet from him. Both attended unselfconsciously to their bodily functions.
When they returned to the dying campfire, they shared Tris's cache of two Granola bars.
While Tris buried the embers with loose dirt, Margaret rolled up the sleeping bag and secured it with the carrying strap. She put the shoulder holster on, checking to make sure the gun was securely held in. Still, no words had been spoken.
As he secured the backpack to his shoulders, she hiked the bedroll strap over her shoulder. She turned eastward.
Martel: "Just curious. Why east? Where were you heading?"
Margaret, shrugging: "I wasn't headed anyplace. East was just going away from ..." She glanced back to the trail, "From, you know, back there." She started walking eastward onto the hunters' trail. Martel followed a few feet behind.
They followed Margaret's pattern of briefly resting every half hour or so. But nothing more was said during the first two hours, until on a downhill section of the trail, more heavily wooded than it had been so far, Margaret stopped as if to listen. She turned to Tris and put a hand to his chest. "Listen," she said. "That bird."
Tris turned his head to the sound. "Yeah, I hear it."
Margaret: "Do you know what it is?"
Tris: "No. I've never paid attention to birds."
Margaret: "I heard him a lot while I was walking before. It's nice, I think."
Tris shrugged: "Yeah, I guess it is." Then looking back at the girl's open face, he almost smiled. "Sure, it's nice all right."
They moved on.
At about noon, they found another clearing. As they leaned back against a tree stump, Tris opened a mini can of Spam, and they had cracker sandwiches.
Margaret laughed lightly as she brushed crumbs from her chest. "I'm a messy eater."
She noticed Tris's eyes tending to doze. "You were awake all night, weren't you? Why don't you put your head in my lap for a few minutes." She drew her 9mm automatic from its holster. "I'll guard."
Then he did smile. But he nodded and lay on his back with his head in her soft lap. He only pretended to sleep, but a contented sigh escaped his lips in appreciation for a moment's relief from mounting concerns.
Usually they walked the narrow trail in single file. But in mid afternoon when the trail led into an open meadow, they were able to go along side by side. Margaret slipped her child's hand in Tris's large calloused palm. They continued that way for about an hour before the trail wended its way back into the thick forest. Tris fell back to his position behind Margaret.
Then the oddest thing. Tris himself was the most surprised by the frivolity of his act. He reached his hands out and tickled Margaret's bare ribs. Her elbows snapped defensively to her side as she curled over in a spasm of childish giggles. Still laughing, she turned and hammered her fists against his strong chest.
The giggling subsided. But one more forceless punch before a last smile; then she turned and walked onward.
Late afternoon they were passing close to the forest boundary. Margaret crept up to study the solitary house and garage. Tris stooped close behind her. She dashed across the lawn to the garage for a closer look. Then she tip-toed onto the porch and looked in the window. "I think it's a second house," she said. In this area second houses came about when one farmer bought out the land of another. If the bought-out home was in decent shape it could be utilized as a guest house or for large family get-togethers and special occasions.
Margaret: "Let's go in."
Tris: "You go ahead in. There might be something to eat in the refrigerator. I'll scout the territory."
Margaret: "Okay." She smashed in the door window with the handle of a broom she found on the porch. She reached in the broken window, undid the lock, and pushed the door open. She started sweeping the broken glass. Tris was about to say something, but with a snort shook his head instead. He left Margaret to explore the inside as he explored the outside grounds.
He found a worn gravel lane with deep established ruts and a high center section, and followed it about a quarter mile to a main county road. He checked the identification marker against his map, noting also the surrounding land-forms and the sign giving the mileage to the next town. He took time to make a call from his cell phone.
"Hello, Doc? This is Martel."
Who am I trying to fool? Margaret? Myself?
Then he made his way back to second house, stopping first to look inside the unlocked and unoccupied one-car garage. Yes, by the door there was a switch, which controlled the bare single lightbulb that hung from the raftered ceiling. He wore a preoccupied disturbed expression on his face as he approached the house again. He could see Margaret in the kitchen looking through the cabinets.
Margaret!
*****
Once upon a Time, Margaret
8
The Plan
There was a refrigerator, but it only held a full compliment of beer six-packs. The two made camp on the living room carpet and enjoyed another can of Tris's beans.
Long silent periods were the norm for this couple. In another unexpected move Tris encouraged the girl to rest her head against his shoulder. He wrapped her bare little body within his steel-muscled arms. She smiled. But the shadow returned to Tris's brow.
"It's not over," he said. "I've thought about it from all angles. There's no way you can get away from him. To him you're a threat. You have to die. For him it's the only thing. If I quit or tried to run with you, he'd just send somebody else. If necessary, he'd keep sending other somebody else's until he was sure you were dead. He never gives up."
Margaret nodded her understanding.
Tris continued: "I could take you in, but it would have to be to the State Police. Even there, he has friends - he'd know where you were. Still, you'd probably be safe: they'd have you in custody ... because of killing DeKalb. A juvenile detention center, I suppose. I don't think he would try to get at you there."
Margaret interrupted, "I won't be a prisoner again ... ever, ever." She laid her hand to the butt of her 9mm.
Tris: "I understand. It's all right. I won't take you back or turn you in. I was just exploring the options." He hugged her tighter. "But our time's running out."
Margaret: "I know. I heard you tell him Friday."
Tris: "But he's a fretter and stewer. He might send somebody else just to make sure."
Margaret nodded.
Tris: "It has to be tomorrow."
"Okay."
"Morning would be best."
She nodded.
Tris: "He's smart. And powerful as hell. There's no way to trick him. He wants to see it happen. Even if I told him I already killed you, he wouldn't believe it until he saw for himself." A pause. "I'll have to hurt you. It's the only way."
Margaret softly: "Okay." She leaned into his shoulder even more.
Tris: "I'm the best gunman I know. I never miss what I aim at."
Margaret listened.
The only time in his whole life, Tris's voice broke. Very slightly. But he caught himself and continued. "I'll be close to you. Closer than ... the other time. And I'll use the magnum. He'd be suspicious if I used the rifle at close range. But the magnum has a long barrel, and I'm good at it. And the bullets will be full metal jacket - so they'll do less damage when they go through. He won't have time to think about it." Nervously, "But here's the thing. It'll have to hit so close to your heart that Schindemann will be convinced. He knows about shooting. He's been in the business a long time." He took a quick breath in. "I'm talking like a half an inch."
Margaret, not fully understanding: "Okay."
"A thousand to one." A tense pause. "I'm afraid ... I think I'll kill you."
Margaret softly: "It's okay."
"I'm the best gunman I know, but ... it's that I'm not perfect ..."
"It's okay."
"And I'll still have to go in close for a finishing shot. He'll expect that. He won't be comfortable with it, but he'll expect it." A beat. "But even if I miss your heart, I might, you know, clip a vessel ... or ... there'll be a lot of blood no matter what. I ... I think he'll get out fast, but time is so impor ..."
She had turned to look into his eyes now. She reached her hand to touch his cheek. "It's okay."
"I called a doctor I know. He does stuff for the kind of people who don't want their business known. He doesn't ask questions. He's good. But it's not a hospital." Several seconds. "But he's so far away ..."
Her hand still to his cheek: "It's okay."
*****
Once upon a Time, Margaret
9
The Execution
Margaret lay on the couch under Tris's jacket, still warm from his having it on only a few minutes earlier. Even so, she'd occasionally shiver within its security. Tris sat on a kitchen chair at her side, with a now and then glance to the window behind. The magnum was within easy arm's reach on the coffee table at his side.
Margaret reached out from under the jacket and put her hand on his leg. He took her hand in his and gently kissed her palm. More gently than could be imagined of this hard man, he moved her hand back under the jacket. She smiled, keeping her eyes on his face for several long minutes before slipping into soft sleep.
*****
In the morning she stayed near him. Even when she went upstairs to the bathroom she led him along by the hand. And when he was on the toilet, she sat inside the door watching. Few words had been exchanged since she was awakened by the predawn glow from the window behind her.
She did ask him to give her a bath. "Get in with me. Please, Tris" He took off his clothes and stepped in the tub with her. There was warm water and a bar of soap - no bubbles though. And no wash cloths or towels. He lathered her by hand, and then rinsed her by hand. And she encouraged him to explore. She leaned into and savored the light pressure of his massaging fingers.
"Wait. A few more minutes," he said when they'd obviously finished bathing. Saying nothing more, he nestled her softly against his chest, within his strong circling arms and legs. Afterwards, when they came downstairs, he was dressed, having used his jacket as a towel; she was still shiny wet. They sat at the table and ate the day's ration of Granola bars.
While they were still at the table, Tris called Schindemann. A typical Tris Martel report - brief, clipped, and missing no essential element. He asked the sheriff to have a deputy bring the SUV along, but, of course, not to accompany Schindemann when he joined Martel. The SUV was necessary for Martel to dispose of the body ... unless the sheriff would rather Martel use his car for the job. Schindemann was quick to veto that unpleasant thought.
After Tris pushed the "End" button, he said to Margaret, "He'll probably be here in twenty minutes or so."
"I'm ready," she said.
She put her hand in his and let him lead her to the garage. There was light coming in windows on both sides of the garage; even so, Tris flicked on the overhead bulb. It wasn't much, but he'd need every bit of light he could squeeze. He walked her over to the large door and handcuffed her ankle to the bottom of the door's lift track.
"He has to think I caught you and you're my prisoner," he said nervously.
"I know."
"When we come in, stand as straight up as you can and face squarely in my direction, the way you did the other time. And try not to move a muscle. I'm not going to give Schindemann time to think about the situation. Or ask questions. The shock treatment. As soon as we're both inside ..." He swallowed hard "... I'll do it."
A Tear leaked down her cheek. "Don't stop like you did the other day."
He looked away from her ... to the ladder hanging on one wall of the garage.
"I won't."
An hour later Schindemann and the deputy pulled up in front of the house. A seething Schindemann slammed the door behind him. "Jack Rogers pulled a hell of a time to have his heart attack. Sorry I'm late."
Tris shrugged. "She wasn't going anyplace."
Schindemann wiped a hand across his lips. "Right."
Tris: "You sure you can handle this?"
Schindemann: "Yeah. I'm as sure as I guess I can be."
Tris: "Let's get to it, then."
Schindemann looked like he wanted to run. But he inhaled deeply, and followed Tris into the garage.
The naked girl looked pitifully small standing there with her ankle cuffed to the lift track. As soon as Tris and Schindemann stepped inside the garage Margaret straightened up, threw her shoulders back, and stared stoically at the man with the gun.
A second, as Tris brought the sights to bear on the center of her bare chest. And another second. Then, a quick sigh. Margaret's eyes relaxed, as Schindemann's official bug man pulled the trigger on his 357 magnum revolver, sending a bullet slamming through the child's chest. Blood was already showing at the entrance hole by the time she fell face down to the concrete floor. The garage door behind where she had stood was splattered with her blood; and there was a splintered hole where the bullet had hit after passing through Margaret. When she fell, a loud snap was heard - her ankle breaking as her fall went against the hold of the cuff. The sheriff's face was drained of all color.
Tris immediately walked over and with the gun six inches above her body pointed at the upper center of her back, near the gaping hole left by the first bullet's exit, pulled the trigger again. Another hole appeared immediately. More blood. And the puddle on the floor expanded.
"Jesus Christ, Martel." Schindemann shouted. "You're an animal."
Tris: "You said you wanted her dead. Well, she's dead. What did you think it would be, an amusement park ride?"
Schindemann: "I'm out of here." He threw up as soon as he stepped out the door. But before he moved away, he turned back to the door and said, "You'll take care of the body, won't you."
Tris: "I said I would."
Before Schindemann even reached his car, before he could shout to the deputy, "Let's move it," Tris was kneeling at Margaret's side, pressing his shirt against her chest and his jacket against her back, trying desperately somehow to touch a finger to the pulse in her neck. It was fluttering, but there was life. He stifled the sobs that wanted to take over his being, automatically shifting into his desensitized bug man mode to do what had to be done to hold onto a child's waning grip on existence. She was still alive when his SUV turned onto the county road and tore for the hopefully lifesaving hands of a hoodlum doctor.
*****
Episode Guide
Part One
1. Escape; 2. Introductions; 3. Contract; 4. The Hunt Begins
Part Two
5. Pursuit - and The View from a Deer Stand
Part Three
6. Hesitation; 7. Interlude; 8. The Plan; 9. The Execution
Part Four
10. Beginning