Bits and Pieces

Ch. 4: Forgiveness for a Dead Man

A/n: We're changing scenes here; we're no longer at the prison. I repeat myself when I say I believe that Carl's got a sliver lining and we get to see more of that here. (Bangs head against computer monitor) I know Carl's out of character. And Grimsrud talks too much, I know! I've gotten several complaints on it, but just sit back. Carl returns to his regular bastard self later on (hugs bastardly Carl).

Carl Showalter sighed heavily as he stood in the driveway of his house in Fargo, North Dakota. The two-story house was covered in snow and a majority of the Christmas decorations had been taken down. A kiddy pool in the front yard had frozen over, encasing several bath toys in solid ice. Though he'd rarely ever stayed here, Carl felt a sense of security. Perhaps that was what Heaven felt like—the feeling of security and contentment one could only feel at home. He'd never know. Showalter walked through the front door, knowing that his presence went unnoticed. It was late and both Anna and little Jonathan were most likely asleep. Carl walked down the hall and turned into the doorway to the left—Jonathan's room.

The black-haired boy lay in bed, clutching a teddy bear as he slept. Carl smiled lightly at his son.

"Hey, Johnny," he whispered. "You remember me?"

Jonathan sighed in his sleep.

"Daddy," he muttered, clutching the bear all the more closer to him. Carl was surprised, could the boy hear him when he was asleep?

"Yeah, it's Daddy," he said. "I've missed you, son."

"Mommy sad," mumbled Jonathan, not waking up. "Daddy stay?"

Carl bit his lower lip, trying hard not to emote. Even dead, he was still afraid of emotion.

"No, I can't. I'd give anything to stay, but I can't. I'm sorry," he said, reaching out to ruffle the boy's hair. His hand went through Jonathan, who shivered visibly but did not wake. Carl sighed and began to walk to the doorway. When he got there he turned back. "Have good dreams, Johnny. I'll be gone when you wake up."

Walking out of Jonathan's room, Carl then went up stairs to the Anna's room. He found Anna lying in bed, the TV set playing with the sound turned off. It was their wedding video.

"A—Anna," said Carl, his voice breaking as he spoke. "I'm sorry—God, I am so sorry!"

"Carl?" Anna muttered in her sleep. Showalter swallowed and spoke.

"Yeah," Carl said. "I realize now how badly I treated you. Death really opened my eyes. How could you put up with me? I showed little kindness to you and had nothing but indifference for our son! I slept around like it was going out of fashion and you never even looked at another man! How could you be so strong to put up with all that?"

"I love you," Anna replied, pulling the covers over her shoulders without waking. Carl's heavily sutured face became twisted in grief. He was no longer able to hold back emotion now.

"Don't say that! I never deserved to hear those words, not from you!" he said. He sighed miserably and lay on the bed next to his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist and praying she'd know he was there. "There's a suitcase full of money buried in the outskirts of Brainerd. I never earned a dime of it, but I want you to take it. Take the money, take Jonathan and get outta here. Get outta Fargo, you deserve better than this. Find someone who'll love you better than I did." He leaned forward and lightly kissed his wife's cheek. Anna shivered, pulling the covers tightly around her body.

"Carl," she muttered sleepily, "close the window, it's cold."

Carl rose and ran a hand through his blood-soaked hair. He looked back at his wife.

"Anna, I—"

(Love you)

He didn't have the heart to say it. It didn't sound right coming from him. What had he ever done to deserve hearing those words from her? Carl looked at the television, watching the wedding video play across the screen. He was younger, alive and already eyeing the bridesmaids. Showalter felt disgusted with himself as he watched the video.

You flipping son of a bitch, he thought angrily to himself. You've got an angel in your arms and you're eyeing anyone but her! Flipping son of a bitch! Carl turned away, furious with himself as he walked out of the room and through the front door. He walked down the street a little before throwing his head back and letting out a howl. It was stronger than the yell he'd cried when he'd been shot in the face. This was different.

It was the grief of the damned.