3. The News
Lou had this gold-coloured spring bell, which chimed with a sweet ching every time the front door was opened. Come to think of it, I'm sure he still has it. Lou is not a person to change things for mere change's sake. It took a year of persuasion and a threat from the pertinent insurance company to make him buy a new cash register. And even then the new machine was hidden behind the counter while the revered NCR with a brass box was left on top.
Adds to the ambiance of the place he claimed.
The White River Trading Company was founded on ambiance. There is no White River to be found in those parts of the province, but that was not an excuse when Lou bought the business and replaced the old "supplies" sign with a new one.
Folks did ask about the White River.
"It's good for the business," Lou had answered sounding proud of his enterprise. "Makes the tourists think about snow and winter," and it admittedly did. More people began to stop by on their holiday travels and Lou's little general shop expanded into a proper store with locally produced food and crafts. The obligatory maple leaf and beaver kitsch got its own section.
Despite all the cunning plans to draw more tourists in, the store kept its friendly, laid-back country atmosphere, though I suspect that too was a part of the well built plan for increased ambiance. Nevertheless it still was a general store with proper groceries and such. A combined grocer's, baker's, butcher's, ironmonger's, petrol station, clothier with mixed plants and things during the late spring and summer.
And it was the only store in the village, so there you go.
Lou noted me with a smiling nod when I came in. He was serving an out of town couple, introducing them to a selection of Granny Mary's homemade jams and pickles. I picked up two baskets and went for the groceries. Lou caught up with me when I was about to add the sixth bottle of beer into my basket.
"I thought you didn't drink beer, Grace."
"A correction, if you may," I said turning to meet him, "I don't drink North American beer."
"Ah, I forgot," Lou said and tapped his nose with his forefinger. "Only British. So a guest then?"
"Aye. A small army of snails is camping in my garden." I put the last bottle into my basket. "The wee buggers ate my lettuces and pestered my strawberries all summer last year but this time, " I winked my eye, "this time I'm prepared."
"I suppose it's a sweet way to go."
"They sure seem to appreciate it." We both laughed and Lou whipped off to the counter where a local customer waited with her shopping. I continued toward the meats.
x x x x x
I laid my two baskets on the counter. Lou was watching the news from a wee telly he had on a high shelve in the corner. Tom Hughes was leaning against the counter, eyes glued to the screen. I placed my palms on the edge on the counter, lifted my right heel to rest my leg and leaned on my hands. A red-haired reporter was talking in front of a dull gray concrete complex, eyes and voice serious.
"... and as the final appeal was dismissed by the Supreme Court the research center will now be closed down later this week. The center has been inactive since last summer when the provincial government issued an investigation after serious allegations concerning unnecessary testing and generally brutal treatment of the center's laboratory animals came into public. At first the management..."
"It's about goddamn time." Tom pushed his hat back with his fingers. He looked at me and nodded towards the reporter. "But I guess it's better late than never, right Grace?"
I nodded. "Is that that Alkali Lake institute they're talking about?"
"Yeah," said Tom and looked back at the telly. They where showing the old, grained images about the animals and some of the tests which they had been showing regularly for the last year. Lou shook his head.
"It's unbelievable, unbelievable. I'm not against testing medicines and such on animals, but that stuff is just sick."
We watched the black and white images in silence. The reporter returned into the view.
"Last week the government's spokesman announced that evidence of even more sadistic experiments have been found. No details of these experiments have been released, but our sources within the government confirm the findings. Earlier to day the police announced that they are investigating the rumours of experimentation on humans, but that so far..."
"Goddamn it!" Tom slammed his hand against the counter top. "If those goddamn bastards have -. Hell!"
"It's just rumours," I said. "You know how it is with media."
Lou leaned his elbow against the counter. "Let's hope you're right."
"At least they're closing it down," Tom said and straightened his back. "Even if it were just animals they were torturing it's still bad enough. But I'll be damned if we see those scientists in court. I bet they'll just hush this up."
"I don't see how they can," I said. "It's been all over the news for months now. Everybody knows."
"But the officials were embarrassed by it. It was a governmental project, so they paid for it and all and they knew about it all the time, mark my words. I'll bet my ass on it." Tom waved his index finger at us. "Just wait and see."
"I just can't wrap my head around it," said Lou and scratched his brow. "What the hell did they think they were doing? Just look at that," he pointed at the telly where a white coated lab technician tied an ape to a table and injected it with something. The animal trashed against the restrains, but the sedative in its veins began to have an effect on it and it slowly relaxed. The technician shaved its arm, picked up a scalpel and cut its arm open. The ape was still conscious: its eyes were open. The voice on the reporter was explaining something but none of us heard what he was saying.
"Now there's a pretty picture for the daytime TV," Tom said looking pale under his tan.
I didn't feel like saying anything but I said it anyway: "That makes no sense to me."
"What?"
"The poor bugger's still awake and he's just cutting it. See, he's not doing anything specific. He's just opening the arm up, layer by layer."
"Well thank you very much for pointing that out, Grace." The image changed and Lou took a good swallow from an old, cold coffee. He grimaced and spit it back into the mug.
Tom seemed to be cultivating an interest in the matter.
"Maybe there's a reason why the monkey is awake."
"You got a point there, Tom," I said. "They might be brutal, but they ain't stupid. They wouldn't waste money like this, not this scale. They're on to something alright."
"We don't have all the relevant information here," Lou pointed out. "They're not showing us everything."
"No they're not, but they're showing us something."
"Aye and there's something in it."
The news moved on to the next subject. Lou began to sort out my shopping. Tom was lost in his thoughts and I kept on watching the telly. The newsman was going through the provincial topics.
A familiar face showed up in the background.
"The Alberta Royal Mounted Police has issued a Canada-wide warrant for the arrest of the man seen here in the background. He is wanted by the police for the violent rape of a 20 year old student and the murders of two police officers nearly two moths ago near Fox Creek."
"Aw, shite!"
"What?"
"Nothing. I just remembered something."
They zoomed into the picture of a man with black, short-cut hair and a dark jaw-line. It was him, I knew the look in his eyes.
"The police has not named the culprit as there is some mixed information on his identity and would ask for the public's assistance in identifying and apprehending the suspect. The police reminds that the wanted person is extremely dangerous and that under no circumstances should he be approached, though I'm certain that those of us who remember the crimes in question here don't need to be reminded of his violence. The police contact numbers can be seen at the bottom of the screen."
x x x x x
I stopped at the library on my way back home. It took me a while to find the relevant articles from old newspapers, but I did and I took photocopies of them.
I parked my pick-up on a wee side-road several miles from home and read the articles thoroughly. The suspect had picked up the sweet-looking blond student from a bar in Fox Creek, had driven some ten miles away from town and had raped her under a willow tree by the river.
But not before beating the shit out of her. Not before cutting her face and thighs. And according to a tabloid he had used an undescribed tool on her before actually raping her.
She had barely survived and had been in coma for a week. As far as could tell from the old articles she was still hospitalized.
Had it really been him? They didn't give any description of the assailant in the papers. I moved on to the murders.
The two police men had been investigating the rape when they had been killed. A trucker had found them and their car on a lay-by. The older of the two had been lying on the ground next to the car with his chest ripped open. The younger one had been found in the woods near by stabbed, six times.
That might well have been him. Six times. Two times three. I brushed my hand against my side just below the ribcage. Those wounds didn't hurt anymore.
I collected the papers into a pile on my lap and looked out through the side window. It started to rain. The raindrops ran down the glass and I watched as the wee rivers joined together, parted company and joined again drawing an ever changing web against the dusk.
Despite all the news I wasn't convinced. I laughed silently. He was a killer. I of all people had no reason to doubt that - even if he hadn't stabbed me.
I turned the key in the ignition to get the wipers going.
But I wasn't entirely sure what to do. All I had was a dream and a gut feeling. And an obligation: he had asked me to kill him.
I twisted the key further and the hum of the engine joined the drumming of the rain. Maybe I should have chosen the other sword. Then he would have been dead.
I needed to play this one by the ear. I switched the headlights on, turned the car around and returned to the road back home.
x x x x x
He was standing at the door, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, when I drove into the yard. I waved my hand and he nodded his head slightly to return the greeting, but then suddenly flinched pulling his hands abruptly free from his pockets and disappeared into the house. I parked the pick-up, collected the groceries from the back of the car and went in after him.
"Got you something," I said as I laid the cardboard box on the dining table. "Here, catch." I cast the bundle of clothes to him. "Hope they fit." I took the box to the kitchen.
He was standing by the table when I came back. He was bare-chested, one hand holding the T-shirt and the other on the table where he had spread the copies of the articles, reading. I went over, put the tray down on the table across from him, sat down and began to eat my portion of the soup. He kept reading for a while, shuffling through the papers, halting occasionally to read something more thoroughly. He pushed the papers into a makeshift pile, put the T-shirt on and sat down. He shredded some of the bread into wee pieces with his fingers and mixed them into his soup.
The soup tasted better than I had expected. A night in the cellar had worked wonders and I got myself a second bowl-full. He followed suit and did his thing with with the bread again.
"Eat the rest if you want to," I said when I was done.
"What?"
"The soup. You can have what's left of it." I got up and collected my bowl and cutlery. "There isn't that much left."
He ate a spoon full and leaned back. "Yeah, sure. I guess I could."
I left the bowl in the sink, took my coat and went out to check on the horses.
x x x x x
He was sitting by the fire when she came back in. She hung her coat and went to the kitchen. He heard her open a cabinet twice, then the fridge and a familiar sound of a bottle being opened. She came back carrying a shot of whisky in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other.
"You strike me as a beer drinking man," she said. He accepted the bottle and she put her glass down on the mantel. She moved the second armchair closer to the fireplace, took the glass and sat down next to him.
He drank from the bottle, let the beer linger in his mouth before swallowing it and grunted contently. She smiled at him.
"Good, eh?"
He mumbled an affirmative. She took a sip from her glass.
"Did you know that you're wanted for that rape and the murders by the mounties?" she said without a warning. The bottle froze halfway to his lips. He gave a quick sideways glance at her, but she was looking at the fire sitting comfortably in her chair, legs stretched towards the flames. He finished the bottle before saying anything.
"I wondered about those newspaper scraps you left there," he said laying the empty bottle on the floor besides the armchair.
"I got them from the library," she said and drank what was left of her whisky. "They showed your face in the telly while I was at Lou's and I wanted to refresh my memory."
He leaned his elbows on his knees and his forehead on his hands.
"So now you know me for what I am," he said with an edge of scorn in his voice. He ran his fingers through his hair.
"I know very little about you," she said softly. He got up and walked to the the fireplace.
"You know nothin'," he said, "nothin' at all."
She didn't reply; he clenched his hands.
"How long do I have?"
"How long to what?"
"Before they're here."
"Who?" She stood up and came closer, but stopped just out of his reach.
"I don' t know, now do I?" He turned to face her. "But it won't be the mounties, that's for sure."
"No-one knows that you are here."
"Somebody knows, darlin', somebody always knows."
"Alright, I do, but I haven't told anyone."
He took a step closer looming over her. "They know. They always know."
"Don't be paranoid."
He forced her back by coming closer, underlining his words with his finger at her face.
"I'm not bein' paranoid. You know nothin' so assume nothin'."
"Who would be after you if it's not the mounties?"
"You wanna know who?" He shoved her backwards across the room. She hit the couch and stumbled. He followed her and closed the distance between them with a few angry steps. "You really want to know?"
She stood up. "Who?"
He let the claws in his hands out.
"They do," he said raising his hands at her. He scowled, furious. "The bastards who gave me these, who made me what I am." His hands trembled.
She looked at the claws. "I see."
"No you don't!" he yelled cutting the air as he slashed his arms open. "You don't know shit about me!"
"I didn't -." She lifted her hands defensibly and stepped away from him. He followed.
"You know what," he said, his voice low. "Maybe I am a fuckin' rapist." He grabbed her by her shoulders and threw her down straddling her under him. "Maybe I am. Who knows? I sure as hell don't!"
"I don't think -."
"Shut up!" He took ahold of her hair and pulled her head back revealing her throat. "You keep your mouth shut or I will rip your tongue out!" She felt warm under him and the mixed scent of whisky and horses and moist earth filled his lungs. There was a strange familiarity to it.
She said nothing, but glared at him.
"You should me afraid of me," he growled. He moved backwards to sit on her hips, never letting go of her hair. He pulled her shirts free from her trousers and slid his right hand claws under the shirts cutting them in half. "You should have called the mounties. You should have stayed in town." He retracted his claws to unbuckle his belt and began to unbutton his jeans. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist.
"Listen to me. You're -."
He jerked his hand free and let claws out with a sharp snikt.
"I told you to shut up!" He pulled his hand back to threaten her with her claws. "So shut the fuck up!" He yanked her head by the hair. "You know nothin', nothin' at all. So shut the fuck up!"
The look in her eyes turned cold. "If you want to kill me then kill me. Run me through and be done with it," she said, voice filled with cold anger.
He let go of her hair and sat up straight. He lifted his left hand up to let her see his claws. He snarled at her as he remembered the scent of her blood and how it had felt when his claws had cut into her. And he remembered the heart beat under his groin.
"This time I won't miss," he promised.
"I should hope so."
His eyes narrowed. He launched himself at her, screamed at the top of his lungs with anger, frustration and bloodlust. He rammed his hands against the floor, one at each side of her head, pushing the claws all the way down until his knuckles hit the floorboards. He screamed, howled at her face until as his whole body shuddered as he forced the air from his lungs, pressing his hands against the wood.
He ran out of air and he panted while crouching over her, his eyes locked with hers.
Suddenly he jerked his head back breaking the eye contact, leaped up and bolted out forcing the door open with his shoulder.
She closed her eyes and lay on the floor for a long while. Eventually she got up slowly, brushed imaginary dust off her clothes and studied her slit shirts with a quiet sigh. She turned towards the frontdoor, considered something looking thoughtfully after him before going out herself.
x x x x x
He was standing in the thin moonlight, supporting himself against the porch rail with both of his hands; the claws were gone. She went to stand at his side, looking at the moon and the distant mountains pale and eerie in their snowy glow.
"You are not afraid of me," he said after a lengthy silence. "Why?"
"How can you tell?"
"I don't smell fear on you."
She smiled. "Fair enough."
He lifted his eyes from the ground to stare in the distance.
"So how come?"
"To fear you I should first fear death."
"Death is easy, you know. There are more horrible things that I could do to you than just kill you."
"Aye, there are. There's no denying that, but the thing is," she said, "that when faced with pain and torture people want to survive, to not to die." She was lost in a distant memory for a moment. "The wish for death comes later. Much later."
"And then you're not afraid anymore."
"No, you're not."
The mutual silence lasted until she shivered from the cold. He glanced at her shyly, bent his head and turned to her. He touched hesitantly her shirts where his claws had cut them open.
"I'm - I didn't mean to -."
She looked at his hand.
"Don't worry about it," she said. He could see the scarred skin of her abdomen through the slit. He turned away to look at the mountains again.
"Can I ask you something," she said facing him.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"What did you mean when you said that you didn't know wether you raped her or not?"
He moved uncomfortably and crossed his arms. "I meant what I said. I don't know."
She waited patiently. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. She turned back to the mountains taking pressure off of him, and he buried his face in his hands and leaned his elbows on the rail.
"I honestly don't know." He let his head sink between his shoulders. "I don't remember rapin' her. I don't remember not rapin' her. I think I remember killin' those cops but I'm not sure." He sunk to his knees, hands still on the rail. "If they say I did it, then I must have, right? 'Cause I don't remember. I don't remember anythin'."
She squatted down.
"What do you remember?" she said with a voice barely more that a whisper.
He sighed and sat down drawing his hands down to his lap.
"Not much," he said with resignation. "I remember wakin' up in a forest, naked, blood smeared all over me and with these," he let the claws out, "stickin' out from my hands. I don't remember how I got them. I don't remember how I got there. I don't remember who I am or who I was before these." He shook his clawed hands angrily as though disgusted by their presence.
"I remember waking up, disoriented and cold and hungry. My body ached and I was frightened, scared, but furiously mad at the same time too. I wanted to get rid of these, but they didn't come off, not even when I tried to cut them from my hands." He drew the blades in. "That's when I found out that I heal fast. Almost as fast as I cut myself.
"It took me awhile to figure out how to draw them in and it hurts." He rubbed his knuckles. "It hurts so much. Even more than it hurts to release them." He laughed morbidly. "Those fuckin' sons of bitches knew their trade."
He was quiet for awhile and she waited in the darkness.
"I washed myself with snow. I knew I had escaped from somewhere, that they were, are, after me, but I had no idea who they were." He sneered slightly. "But I have their scent now." He closed his eyes.
"I hunted down an elk. I killed it, skinned it, ate its meat raw and wrapped its bloody skin around me for warmth. It too me days to find a house, to steal some clothes that actually fit, and a car and some money." He sighed and ran his hand across his face.
"They almost caught me twice before I got their scent and after that I've been able to smell them in time." He opened his eyes and stared into the night.
"The first eight months are blurry, a real mess. I don't remember much about them, just some moments, feelings and images. A few days at the best. Nothin' solid." He sighed again.
"But the thing is that I still have these - blackouts that I don't remember. Sometimes nothin' at all, sometimes I remember some of it," he said hoarsely. "So I don't know if I raped her. You have seen what I am, how I sometimes get. You know me for what I am." He turned his head down. "So I guess I must have done it. Look what I almost did to you and I wasn't even completely gone then. So if they say that I did it, then I must have." He closed his right hand and the claws slid out.
"I tried to kill myself, I did, but I couldn't. I can't die even if I deserve to. I tried but I can't." He drove the blades through his left wrist. He left them there, watching the dark blood before pulling them out and back in. The wounds healed and he shuddered.
She watched him in silence.
x x x x x
I touched him gently on his shoulder, but he shied under my hand.
"I don't think you raped her."
He snapped his head up to look at me in disbelief.
"That rape was deliberate, planned in advance. Think about it." He frowned at the thought. "Who ever did it, cut her up and used a tool before actually doing it himself."
He turned fully towards me.
"You, instead, seem to act violently when aggravated by someone or something. You would have done it in the heat of the moment, but not in cold blood."
"But you think I could have done somethin' like it?" he said quietly, pain colouring his voice.
"No," I said and lifted my hand to hold his shoulder. He didn't try to avoid the contact this time. "I don't think that it's in your nature to rape."
He snatched my hand by the wrist before I had the chance to draw it back. He pulled me to him surprising me with a desperate hug, embracing me with his hands, face buried in my hair; shivering, swinging us slightly as he clung to me.
I hugged him back, smoothing his hair with my hand. I delved briefly in to check upon the wound, but it was completely healed; he had recovered his lost strength. The taste of steel filled my mouth and I moved away from it, keeping my distance.
He pulled away, faltered and left his hands on my knees. He turned his head towards the open door and the light from the living room fell on his face. He had the auburn eyes of the old hound and the same look in them. His eyes moved across the floor and he twitched, yanked his hands back to himself and glanced at me shyly as he turned his head towards the darkness.
"What's that?" I said and touched a chain around his neck. He pulled a lonesome dog tag from under his T-shirt.
"I don't know. I had it when I woke up."
He let me touch it and I turned it so I could read it in the light.
"Wolverine. Is that your name?"
He smiled half smirking. "No, darlin', it ain't." He slipped the metal plate back under his shirt. "Now that would be plain stupid.
"I'm Logan."
"You're sure? 'Cause with that memory of yours -," I said pretending a mocking concern.
"I don't remember much, but give me some credit here," he claimed lifting an eyebrow.
"So is it the first or the last name?"
"I don't care. Do you?"
"Fair enough. It's good to meet you, Logan." I got up and offered my hand to him. "I'm Grace."
He took my hand and pulled himself up.
"Good to meet you too, Grainne."
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Author's Notes: I had this written about two months ago, but I've been too busy with my work lately. Actually I have all the chapters (3 more to go) for the first part of "All Partial Evil" ready. It only needs to be "betaed".
