“Who was it?” Cork finally asked.
“You’re going to love this,” Solemn said. “It was Jesus.”
Cork looked at Meloux, who seemed unperturbed at this startling declaration.
“Jesus?” Cork said.
“The Son of God,” Solemn said.
“He appeared to you?”
“We had a good, long talk.”
Cork peered hard at Solemn’s face. He saw no indication that it was a joke, a hoax, a diversion. In fact, what he saw in those dark eyes was utter calm.
Cork said, “What was he wearing?”
“Jeans. An old flannel shirt. Minnetonka moccasins, I think.”
“He was dressed like a Minnesota tourist?”
“Maybe in Mexico He wears a sombrero,” Solemn said.
Cork felt fire on his fingers, and he realized he’d forgotten about his cigarette. The ember had burned all the way down to the point where it was singeing his skin. He dropped the cigarette and jerked his hand to his mouth to suck away the pain.
“Did he give you a message to deliver?”
“We just talked.”
Cork blew on his fingers. “About what?”
“He told me He understood what it was like to be accused of a crime you didn’t commit. He told me it was okay to be afraid, but that all things occurred for a purpose, and to believe that all of this was happening for a reason.”
“Did he tell you the reason?”
“Just to believe.”
“What happened then?”
“He told me he knew I was tired and that I should lie down and sleep. So I did. When I woke up, he was gone.”
“When you woke up,” Cork said.
“You think it was just a dream,” Solemn said.
Cork looked toward Henry Meloux. “What do you think?”
Meloux finished his own cigarette, ground the ember against the side of the maple stump, and threw the butt into the ashes inside the stone ring.
“The concern on a vision quest is this: Has the vision guided the life? Solemn Winter Moon went into those woods lost. When he came out, he had found himself. Look at him, Corcoran. You can see the change for yourself.”
“Henry, do you really think Jesus visited Solemn?”
The old Mide gave it some consideration. “In a thing like this,” he finally said, “what one man thinks, or even what many men think, isn’t important. A life has been changed. A good man walks with us today. This is always a reason to be glad.”
Cork looked back at Solemn. “Just like that, it happened?”
“Just like that,” Solemn replied. He licked his fingers, pinched the ember of his cigarette to extinguish the glow, and tossed the butt into the ashes with Meloux’s. “I figure your coming here is a sign that it’s time to go back.”
Solemn stood up, then Henry and Cork. Walleye, when he saw the others rise, yawned and stretched, and slowly got to his feet.
“Migwech,” Solemn said to Henry. Thank you.
Henry, a man of few words, closed his eyes, and nodded once.
15
Cork and Solemn walked back toward the Bronco as night swept the light from the sky. Cork was careful because the way was growing dark. They came to Wine Creek. As they prepared to cross, Solemn spoke at his back.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you believe what you saw,” Cork said.
“But it wasn’t real, right? Just a dream. Or maybe a hallucination brought on by the fast.”
Cork turned back. “What did he look like? What was the color of his hair?”
“Black.”
“Long or short?”
“Long.”
“Eyes?”
“Dark brown, kind of like walnuts, but so soft you could lie down in them.”
“You’ve just described a Shinnob. Isn’t it possible that you did hallucinate? Or you know the Shinnob sense of humor. Maybe somebody played a joke on you that, in your weakened condition, you bought hook, line, and sinker.”
“What I saw was real. It’s important that you believe it.”
“What’s important is what the sheriff’s people are going to believe. Put yourself in their place. A guy with your background bolts in the middle of a murder investigation, and next thing they know, you claim to have talked with Jesus Christ. They’re going to think one of two things. Either you’re trying something you hope will give you a shot at an insanity plea. Or you really are crazy.”
“Because people don’t talk to Jesus?” Solemn said.
“Because Jesus doesn’t just step out of the woods wearing Minnetonka moccasins.”
“I’m here to tell you that sometimes He does.”
Solemn leaned very close to Cork so that his face was less than a foot away. For an uncomfortably long time, he looked into Cork’s face, something the Ojibwe did not normally do. To look into the eyes of another was a piercing of sorts. And Cork felt pierced.
“What did you see,” Solemn finally said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s in your eyes. You saw something, too, but don’t understand it. What?”
Was Solemn referring to the gray visage that had guided Cork to safety during the whiteout on Fisheye Lake? How could he know?
“You’re wrong.” Cork turned away, studied the creek in the dark, looking for the stones over the water.
“You told me before that if I turned myself in, you’d stand by me,” Solemn said. “Will you?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you didn’t kill Charlotte.”
“I appreciate that.” Then Solemn said something strange. “What’s ahead won’t be easy.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Cork said. “You’re in deep shit.”
“I mean for you. I’ve talked with Jesus. I have that to give me strength and comfort. But I know that you doubt God.”
“For me, God doesn’t matter. What matters is that I gave you my word.”
His foot found the first stone, and he crossed Wine Creek.
From the pay phone in the waiting area of the sheriff’s department, Cork called Jo at home. He called Dot Winter Moon but got her answering machine and left her a message. Finally, he called Sam’s Place to apologize to his daughters for having deserted. When they heard his reason, they didn’t give him a hard time, and they agreed to close.
Randy Gooding came out of the secured area and seated himself on the hard plastic bench where Cork sat
