Truths and Roses
Truths and roses have thorns about them. Henry David Thoreau. Picking up at the end of "Ashes to Ashes" Walt and Vic shipping.
Chapter 1
I stood there looking at nothing in particular. My mind was racing along the twisted highway of sights and sounds that assaulted me in the last 24 hours. Or had it been longer than that? It had to have been longer. Too much crazy transpired to fit into just one day. I reviewed the impressive list of events trying to make sense of it all. The Greatest Legal Mind of Our Time, with a little help from her Dad, exposed Detective Fales for what he was, a criminal. Relief and elation. Charges against Henry dropped meaning he was no longer in jeopardy of dying in prison for a murder he did not commit. Relief and relief. My spreading Martha's ashes as I chose to let go of the myth that keeping them protected me from myself. Relief with sorrow. And most recently, the reason for standing outside Room 33 at Durant Memorial, Barlow Connally, shot by his son, and my deputy Branch. Confusion. Shock.
Vic had been angry with Ruby for calling me to the scene. As I pulled up, I saw a line of official vehicles and pulled in behind Vic's unit. I wasn't sure if I was moving in slow motion or if it was everyone else, but time was definitely altered somehow. The paramedics hovered over someone sitting on the ground. Not six feet away, were two officers deep in conversation as they knelt beside a body. I recall as I stepped out of the Bullet, the images came into focus. The person sitting on the ground and the officers all looked up at me in unison. As if the scene hadn't been surreal enough, I now realize all three of my deputies are present. Was Branch injured? Ruby said someone was shot. Who was it that Vic and Ferg were examining?
I never got a step closer to see for myself. Suddenly Vic stood inches from me and was blocking my view. She must have flown or teleported, both seemed possible considering it all felt like a dream. Placing her hand on my cheek, Vic had turned my gaze away from the others and ordered me to watch only her lips. At first, I thought she was about to kiss me. Had it been any other time, a kiss from that foul but luscious mouth would have been appealing. A kiss hadn't been her aim. Instead, she fed me the story in tiny, manageable bites. The truth began to sink in later when I sat watching Branch retell the story. Barlow Connally orchestrated the murder of my wife. Barlow was the puppet master and David Ridges, Hector, and Jacob Nighthorse a mix of pawns and collateral damage. Barlow Connally killed my wife. I made a silent declaration. Barlow will die.
It was Doc Bloomfield's voice that brought me back to awareness. "Barlow will die.", "What?", "Walt, Barlow isn't going to make it." I waited for more before responding. "I thought doctors weren't supposed to say that. That someone will die. Aren't you supposed to say 'unlikely to recover'?", "When I'm talking to the family, yes, but I'm talking to the Sheriff.", "And the guy whose wife was killed by that bastard. ", I added. "All the more reason to tell you he isn't gonna make it. God will pass judgment before man." His ardent stare delivered the rest of his message to me; don't do anything stupid, Walt.