Road to Nowhere (51 page)

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Authors: Paul Robertson

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The eyes gazed in to her and she shuddered. Through all the years, it had only been the voice speaking, commanding, working its purpose. But now she saw the eyes. If only she had seen them long ago.

“It was your purpose,” Eliza said to him, “and I was deceived by it.”

It had been a lie. Always a lie! The Warrior had been her protector, the power over her, the balance and circle of life, greater than any man. Lies! It was hate, greater than any man’s, that she saw now.

And death was not an end? Only part of the circle? That was the lie over all the others. She saw into the eyes and saw what death really was—not a beginning but a blackness and slavery and terror. These were eyes that knew death. They were the eyes of murder.

“I thought I was wise,” she said. “That you had taught me. It was always lies.”

“What do you mean? Did you know any of this?” Steve Carter asked.

Joe Esterhouse answered for her. “She knew. Just not the way you think.”

Joe knew what she meant. She knew it was evil they were looking at. She knew it was where lies were from, and destruction, and murder.

“Luke,” he said. “Did you try to kill me?”

“Why should I?” Luke said. Almost a wail. “You should be dead anyway! Why should you even still be alive? Just die, Joe Esterhouse, and get it over with for all of us! You had a chance, but you ducked. You let your wife take the bullet for you. Why would you even want to stay alive after you did that?”

The words hardly meant anything. They were just the twitching after the death blow. It was sad.

He wouldn’t feel pity for a snake, but a man was worth pity.

“The road passed anyway,” Joe said. “You killed two men to no purpose.”

“Why?!”

It came out like steam from a teapot. Louise was hanging on to Byron’s hand for dear life. “Why did you do it?” It didn’t seem there was any doubt that he had. It was just Luke Goddard in front of them, who she’d known for twenty years, but he’d killed Mort and Wade both. “Oh, Luke! Why?”

“For the land,” he said.

“What land? The Trinkles’ farm?”

“It’s not theirs!”

Byron moved around to her side, close to being between her and Luke. She wanted to hide behind him.

“It never was!” Luke said. “That was Goddard land from two hundred years ago. The Trinkles took it and we couldn’t stop them, and it’s cursed since, and it’s cursed forever.”

But that was why she’d voted for the road, because she didn’t want curses. She’d decided she wanted things to be new. For the salon, for the town, for the factory. But most for Byron, because he was most important to her.

And it did scare her to death, what changes there might be. But looking at Luke, it was like she knew there were curses they were living under, and this might break them.

It was like a movie. Steve was watching a man exposed as a murderer, except it was real. He could step right into the screen and be part of it. The audience, all watching, too, made it even more surreal.

“So you knew what would happen if the road was built,” he said. “That farm would be worth five times as much. It wouldn’t make any difference to you—you just hated the Trinkle family that much? It was worth killing people to stop it?”

It had been to Luke. They all knew it. Everyone in the room. It was hard to believe he could be that crazed over a land fight six generations ago, but they could all see he was.

“And where’s Jeremy Coates?” Steve said. “You must know. You must be sure he’s not going to show up and blow your story. You’re hiding him, aren’t you? Or did you kill him, too?”

“No,” Luke said. “He’s alive.”

Steve turned to Joe. “So, now what?”

“Come in, Marty,” Joe said.

It was finally at an end. A black, evil time since that night in the kitchen, worse than any time he’d ever had. But he’d come through it.

This one evil was finally at an end.

The side door opened and Marty Brannin came in, with a State Police detective and two troopers, and pushing a wheelchair. Joe hadn’t wanted her to come, but she’d had her way. They’d all been listening in the hallway.

It was the end. But Luke was worth pity, and worth giving a last chance.

“Luke,” Joe said. “In front of everyone here. In front of this board that you’ve been deadly enemy of, and in front of these people who know you, and in front of me and my wife. In front of God. Say the truth.”

He waited.

“Say it, Luke.”

He waited.

“I killed them,” Luke said. He looked to the policemen. “I killed them both. That’s the truth.”

Joe closed his eyes. Then he looked over to Rose.

He stood up.

Louise was beside him, and he let her hug him and cry over him. Randy waited and shook his hand, talking. Then Eliza was in front of him and hugged him, too.

“Joe,” Steve said, but nothing else.

“Why don’t you take this,” Joe said, and he handed his gavel to Steve. Then he looked back to Rose.

“Let’s go home, Joe,” she said.

He went to her.

Marty took hold of the chair to turn it. “I’ll walk,” she said. She held up a hand, and Joe took it and helped her to stand.

Now all the room was filled in an uproar, but it was behind them. They didn’t look back.

In pain and age, but together, they left.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My thanks to the honorable elected officials of the Town of Blacksburg, and Montgomery County, Virginia, who informally answered questions and gave suggestions and advice.

After writing much of
Road to Nowhere,
I searched a map of North Carolina to find my fictional Jefferson County. Just north of Asheville, up the interstate, is the real and strikingly similar Madison County. It was interesting to visit and see the places I’d written about, not knowing they actually existed. But Jefferson came first and is my own invention.

Also, my special thanks to Paula Bolte for the use of her real Annie Kay’s Mainstreet Market. As soon as Jefferson County is done with it, I’ll give it right back.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PAUL ROBERTSON is a computer programming consultant, part-time high school math and science teacher, and the author of
The Heir.
He is also a former Christian bookstore owner (for 15 years), and lives with his family in Blacksburg, Virginia.

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