“Yep.” He looked at me again, then at the view, eyes unseeing. “I think this last one was running from what he’d done, even when he got back here where he grew up. I’d barely started on him when he started begging me to forgive his brother and him for what they’d done. Shook me up some when he started calling me God. So I ended it pretty quick.”
After he finished his story, we quietly sat there a few minutes before he stirred. “Thanks for listening, Mister Baker. I needed to get that shit off my chest.”
I cleared my throat, wiping my eyes at the same time. “So now what? You going to turn yourself in?”
He hesitated, eyes finally noting the striking scenery around us. “Hadn’t really thought about it. Felt justified when I was doing it. Still feels like an eye for an eye kind of thing, but not sure if I’m the one to decide that. Not now, at least. Not after hearing Conrad beg like he did.”
I turned towards him, catching his eye. “I’m far from being the person to give you advice,” I said, a half smile playing on my lips. “I’ve been a strong believer in gaining my own revenge when I thought it was called for. But never felt good about it afterwards. Maybe a little bit relieved, but…” I cleared my throat and turned back to the front. “I, for one, would never find fault in what you achieved. Might cringe at how you did it, but never at the fact that you got it.”
He shrugged. “I got my revenge, and feel like there’s a big hole in the middle of me. I’d really appreciate some advice, Francis.”
Dammit, just what I didn’t…The glimmer of an idea raised its head. “You’re up here at Wildacres. You some kind of writer?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been writing history articles. Usually jazz ‘em up by using dialogue, as if the characters were talking to the reader to help pass on what happened in the past.”
I stood, waving him to his feet. “C’mon, let’s get back to the lodge.” My mind churned over the idea that was clawing its way to the surface. “You ever try writing any fiction?”
He gave me a doubtful glance. “Not really. Why?”
We began a slow stroll up the trail. “Because I’ve got an idea on how to get rid of the ghosts you got perched on your shoulders.” Man, it sounded like I was a character in a bad fairy tale the way I was starting this.
His eyes got large as he stared at me. “How’d you know…Um, of course. Anything.”
Now I was in for it. Hope this worked. “I want you to write a novel based on the story you told me. Don’t leave anything out. In fact, add a little. Change all the names to protect the guilty. Not only yours, but the sons of bitches who killed your family. The cops might get suspicious, but long’s you put enough additional stuff in the story, it’s just a work of fiction far as anyone’s concerned.”
“What’ll writing something like that do?”
“I think it’ll help if you see the reaction readers have to the story. Even though it was against the law what you did, let the public be your judge and jury.”
Dave stopped and held out his hand. “Agreed. But only if you edit the story, and help me get it published.”
“And so it begins,” I said, taking his hand. Whoa, where’d that weird statement come from? We started on, with Dave looking thoughtful. What the hell had I got myself into now?
* * *
The day before the rest of the crowd arrived for the second week’s classes drifted past in a haze. Most folks were concentrating on new material, new music, new creations I couldn’t even fathom. God, this was a perfect place to freshen up your creative juices.
Dave trotted towards me while I was perched on a chair sucking down another cup of coffee. “Here’s chapter one,” he announced, plunking a manila file in front of me. “Y’ready for our jaunt?”
Crap. Once Dave found out how I’d let my running schedule slip over the past year, he’d reveled in shaming me into a daily jog to regain my wind. I picked up the folder, hefting it. “At least ten pages. What are you, some kind of super writer?”
“No, just enjoy it. Seems to come easy to me. Now quit stalling.”
I groaned to my feet, looking around the canteen for sympathy, seeing only smiles and laughter at my plight. “You’re all gonna go to hell for enjoying my suffering so much,” I growled, trotting up the stairs to my room. For all the moaning and whimpering, I was beginning to look forward to our “trail loping,” as Dave called it.
An hour later I was cooling off with a shower when I heard a knock on the bathroom door. “Be out in a minute,” I called.
The door opened, and a nude red-head strolled in. “I thought I’d let myself in. Maybe we can finish yesterday’s discussion?”
I frantically searched my head for her name. It was–“Of course, Stacy. Sounds like a winner.” Luella had introduced us, and all I remember was some small talk. Damn, must’ve made more of an impression than I thought. I made room in the shower and she stepped in, eyes traveling up and down my body.
“Mm. Luella was right. You definitely need your back scrubbed. Front too, for that matter.”
I succumbed to the ocean of delicious sensations, my last coherent thought a mental note to sign up for next year’s workshop now.
Sometime later I was eased awake by a nibbling on my ear.
“Almost dinner time, and I’ve worked up an appetite.” I heard the rustle of clothes as she slipped on a robe. “It’s been fun.” Seconds later she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
I rolled over, blinking myself awake. Wow. What a woman! She’d given me a complete massage after our shower,
