Hellbound/ L.M.Lewis

Epilogue

Frank drove, Hardcastle navigated, and Mark sat in the back seat, making only the occasional smart remark.

It had only taken four days to finish the most pressing of the reports. Harper related, with some satisfaction, how much of the paperwork he'd shoveled off on Parks, who seemed eager to tackle it, being so pleased that his ongoing opinion of 'Noman' had been vindicated.

But four days was about the soonest that Mark thought he could have gotten a decent grip on a rod and reel anyway. He leaned back, flexing and straightening his fingers. They were looking less sausage-like this morning and were definitely more functional.

Then there was the matter of sleeping. He hoped a change of scenery would decrease the number of headless corpses and incinerations cluttering the nocturnal landscape, though past experience had shown that this was more a matter of time, and four days, in this case, might not be enough.

Harper's remarks on delegation had been as far as they'd gone, this morning, into a discussion of what the press was still calling 'The 'Inferno' Killings'. War stories, Mark decided, are rarely recounted by those who have actually been through the war. The guys in the front seat were mostly discussing fish—ardently discussing fish—the only topic Mark had ever heard Frank address with anything even remotely approaching ardor.

And then there was a brief and awkward silence and a quick, concerned look over the shoulder from Frank, with a longer one from Hardcastle. Mark blinked blankly and became aware that he'd been away for a bit—dozed off most likely, maybe a little deeper than a doze. They'd left bright and early this morning and last night's sleep had been particularly disjointed.

"Okay?" Hardcastle asked very simply.

Mark wondered what he'd done, or maybe said, to provoke the stares. Then he decided he didn't want to know. Instead he asked, "How much further?"

"Not too far. We take the next right, just up here a mile or so."

The judge had turned back to Frank to give the directions. He looked glad for the distraction. Mark sat up a little straighter, scrubbing his face once, quickly, with a solemn vow not to fall back asleep.

00000

It was a pretty okay day, by fishing standards, especially since he was excused from the cleaning and filleting chores, still being under strict instructions from Charlie Friedman to not get his hands cold and wet for a while. This also kept him off all but the lightest fishing duties. He hauled in a token brown trout—to show he was enjoying himself—then retreated to fire-tending.

He ignored Hardcastle's occasional glances of assessment, snatched a quick nap while the other two were up to their hip waders in mid-stream, and cheered on the rivalry that was shaping up to a dead heat by mid afternoon. It was a good day for basking, with just enough of the mountain coolness to be pleasant.

And no one commented when he threw an extra log or two on the fire that evening. They just moved back a little ways and let him poke at it to encourage the light. Some more talk about fish, and Frank was off to bed—he'd had a long couple of days and an early morning.

Then more fire poking and less talk, as the stars rotated slowly and the crescent moon set. The fire was down to embers—more heat than light. Hardcastle finally yawned pointedly and looked at his watch.

"Almost eleven," he said quietly.

"Go on," Mark replied very evenly. "I'll probably stay up a little while. I fell asleep this afternoon. The excitement was too much," he added with a half-grin.

Hardcastle wasn't buying. He was giving him a close study. He finally said, "It's okay."

"What is?"

"To be upset, out-of-sorts, after something like that."

There was another long silence.

"To be afraid?" McCormick finally asked doubtfully.

"Yeah." The judge nodded. "That too. The day you stop being afraid of stuff like that—then I'm gonna start worrying."

Mark's look of doubt deepened. "But you aren't. You weren't."

"The hell I wasn't. Well, maybe I wasn't as quick on the uptake as you were this time, but I was damn afraid when we pulled in the drive and I saw Noman's car—the Coyote still there, too—and that guy comes running 'round the side of the garage popping off with the Glock." Hardcastle shook his head slowly once, then stared into what was left of the fire. "And me having told you to stay put and not worry." One more shake of the head. "Talk about your Evil Counselors. Hah."

"Well, it seemed like pretty good advice," Mark smiled. "I mean, even I was only worried about snakes. I didn't think I was gonna rate my own special circle." Then the smile faded, replaced by something with more resolve. "But when it's over, it's over . . . or it oughta be."

"Maybe," Hardcastle shrugged, "but that doesn't mean you can put it out of your head just like that." He was still staring at the embers. He finally added quietly, "You think about what might have happened—us five minutes later, him five minutes quicker—"

"Or if he'd just stayed put, and you and Frank had gone to the house first," Mark muttered.

The judge looked over at him sharply, with an expression that initially held a certain amount of puzzlement, maybe even a hint of surprise. But that quickly retreated.

"Yup," he said, adding a quick nod. "mighta been messy. But none of that happened and it's over and done"

"And that's the end of it." Mark poked the fire again. "Except for restocking the freezer."

"Right." Hardcastle leaned forward and got to his feet. "And that means we gotta be up and at 'em tomorrow, bright and early." He scuffed a little dirt onto the fire. "Better put this out and hit the sack, okay?"

Mark gave it one last poke, and briefly considered the merits of another log. But, no, he finally decided, it was over and done and time to call it a night.

Then he reached for the shovel and began to carefully bury it all.