A Very Merry Will Baker Christmas To All!

Well it seems that I've finished college...again. 
The ever-crucial grade went up last night and now I have nothing to worry about except which tie I should wear to the ceremony, and even that one should be wrapped up in a few hours.  So it is time to focus on more important things.
Like finishing "Will Baker is Dead!" 
I know that many of you (okay, so like three to five of you tops) have been worrying about this since August when I went on a very nearly permanent publishing hiatus, but the time has come (the walrus said) to fix this little indiscrepancy.  I, Adam W. (Don't ask) Wynn, am going to make a promise to you, my faithful reader(s), that I will finish writing the serial "Will Baker is Dead" by Christmas!  Mind you, I am not going to make the same mistake this time around.  I am going to write each episode by Christmas, edit them, THEN post them.  So you probably won't see the first episode until after the start of the New Year (Aud Lang Syne, everyone!).  Not to mention, I'll be up in Memphis (Go Dawgs!) for the New Year, so you'll have to probably wait until about Jan. 3rd or some date around then to get the first posting.  BUT!  Rest assured that I am determined and committed to achieving this goal. 
In the mean time, I encourage you all to go back and re-read the first eight episodes ("But why is the last one number nine, then?") so you'll be primed and ready when episode number ten comes along (yeah, yeah, I know). 
Also, I would very much like to improve the blog and use it better, starting with more regular non-fiction updates.  Any suggestions?  Please let me know what y'all think and I'll get on it.  I really do look forward to finishing "Will Baker" for all of you (and myself...I can't wait to know who did it!) so you can breathe easy once more knowing that this "serial" killer has been caught (see what I did there?).  Thanks everyone for your patience, and I hope you will enjoy the conclusion just as much with freezing temperatures outside as you would have with changing leaves and a little football on tv.  But to be fair, you'll probably get the conclusion around Super Bowl Sunday if I'm right about the number of episodes it will take to get it right. 
But for now, I'm out!

Adam W. "All I Do Is" Wynn
Phil. 3:12-14

The Journey So Far That Has Been "Will Baker" and What Stands in the Future

Hey, y'all!  First of all, I just want to say what a pleasure it has been writing "Will Baker is Dead" for everyone out there.  I have immensely enjoyed this, and I really hope you have, too.  That is precisely why it is with great sadness that I must announce that the remainder of "Will Baker is Dead" has been cancelled and I will no longer be able to update you with new episodes.
No, I'm just kidding.  Wouldn't that be awful?
But seriously, I have hit a bit of a rough patch with my own personal time constraints.  So, for the rest of this publishing process, I am going to push back the goal publication time for each episode to 3pm on SUNDAY afternoon.  I am doing this for two reasons.  The first one is because I need the extra time.  I just can't write and edit an episode in the previous format anymore.  Although I am sure this will come as no surprise to most of you, I would sit up until late hours in the past, usually staying up until 3am or 4am (sometimes later) on a Thursday night just so I could be done come Friday afternoon.  With classes at 9am on MWF every week, I can no longer afford to do that.  That means I need more time to work on an episode.
Now I know my more astute readers will notice that there is the same amount of time between 4pm on Friday and the next Friday at 4pm as there is between Sundays at 3pm each week.  As true as that is, you also must recognize the difference in time that makes.  By having a weekend to work on my current episode, I allow myself more quality working time.  Before, I viewed my weekends as a time to rest from the writing process and think about the next episode.  I know that sounds stupid (and it is admittedly unwise), but that was how I worked this summer.  Now, I need those few days to really work on each episode.  Then again, starting next week I must also contend with Georgia Football Season, so we'll see what happens to my productivity.
My second reason is simply this.  Due to getting out of class at 3:20pm every Friday, I am physically incapable of publishing consistently at 4pm on Fridays.  I can't get from school to home where my computer is by 4pm, so I was going to have to make a change, anyway.  It's just that this change is a little bit more...change-y.  Yeah.
I also want to talk about two pretty cool things that are going on in my life right now.  First, I am now officially a published and (hopefully) paid writer.  Like, in print.  On paper.  I've had two Opinions columns posted in The University of Georgia's Official Independently Owned and Operated Student Run Newspaper, the Red and Black.  I was pretty proud of both of them, and I would encourage each and every one of you to check them out.
The last thing I want to talk about is my living at home right now.  There are two main reasons that this is relevant, and the first on is pretty obvious.  See, when I was living in Athens all by myself, there were so many fewer distractions to working on "Will Baker," so I was more easily able to pump out an episode a week.  Now, I have to really focus if I want to work on anything at all.  So there's that.  But there's also this, and I have no shame mentioning this because I doubt it was a real secret.  I didn't really want to move back.  I spent a summer with the illusion of independence thrust at me almost physically tangible, and I loved it.  I thrived in that environment, learning how to make meals out of whatever I had at the moment, and learning how to properly manage myself, my time, and my (limited) finances.  It was great!  But now, I'm back home, and it felt really rough at first.  But it got to a point where I really prayed about it and I asked God to help me.  It wasn't what I expected, but He was there for me.  I'm going to talk more about that story coming up real soon in a blog posting entitled, "When Life Gives you Lemons, God Gives you Spiders."  You'll get it, I promise.
I can't wait for everyone to read the latest installment in "Will Baker is Dead," this Sunday at 3pm!  For now, I've gotta get some sleep.  The alarm clock will start hollering for me in about six hours, and I really oughta be there to answer when it does.

Adam "Not W. Like the President" Wynn
Phil. 3:12-14

Will Baker is Dead, Episode 9 - "Safety and Serenity in Secret Isolation"

An ocean sunrise is always gray, just as the first light from the sun starts to blend with the dark blues of the passing night.  The Caribbean sunrise woke him up this morning as it had almost every morning for what seemed like a lifetime.  The soft oranges started pervading the gray sky, and the horizon line became more and more distinct as the distant ocean kept that same deep blue all day long, no matter what color the sky became.  The salty ocean breeze stuck in the old gentleman’s hair.  In his more advanced age, the prospect of sleeping with the windows and doors open became more and more appealing.  Even with the crash of the waves, the old seaman could hear shrimper’s voices down at the docks.  It was days like this that Lorenzo lived for, days out on the water where the sky and the sea were all that stood between him and that lost home out on the horizon. 

            True, Lorenzo’s home was back west towards Mexico, but it was all the same to him.  No matter which direction, whenever Lorenzo looked back towards the horizon, he was always looking back on home.  He still hated himself for leaving all those years ago.  His parents were dead, but his sisters and brother needed big Lorenzo to look after them.  Instead, he sold whatever possessions he could muster and took the family boat out towards deeper waters.  Lorenzo didn’t leave with a plan, but he left with the boat, and he left with the knowledge his father had blessed him with all those years as a tour guide for wealthy American visitors.  Lorenzo knew how to manage a boat in a storm and he knew how to catch fish that tasted good and sold well in the market. 

Though he could never catch enough fish to move back home, Lorenzo felt that this most recent job was all he needed to move back to old Mexico, the home that was almost as old as he felt.  A fisherman’s life is a difficult life, and it had surely taken some toll on the old man’s bones.  That was the only reason he took a job that kept him close up on land more often than not.  People had come around in the past looking for a farm hand or an extra seller in the market, but Lorenzo was never interested because he always had the sea.  Now, Lorenzo had a young woman to watch over and a second house to take care of. 

It all happened about two months ago when this American showed up at Lorenzo’s door.  The man didn’t seem wealthy, but he obviously had enough money to pay for a caretaker and a house on a tropical island.  To be fair, Lorenzo knew he had some help paying those bills.  This man looked average on all accounts, seeing as he had that brown standard American haircut and was a little taller than Lorenzo.  Honestly, everyone was a little taller than Lorenzo.  He had never been gargantuan, but Lorenzo managed to lose at least a half a foot in the last ten years.  That made his already short stature seem even more pitiful to passersby, those tourists who probably thought he went without food and water most of the time.  In fact, Lorenzo’s fishing ability kept him well fed and stocked on supplies. 

But this man showed up and offered Lorenzo a simple task.  He was to first fly to America, land at Hartsfield-Jackson Int’l Airport, then rent a car.  He was then supposed to take that car to a small town about an hour or so out of the city called Horizon.  Once there, he was supposed to pick this man’s wife up and bring her back to the islands.  Once she was in the car, and this is the only part that bothered Lorenzo, he was supposed to trash the house and make it look like she’d been kidnapped.  The man who came to visit Lorenzo said that his wife was in great danger and that she had to be taken out of the country.  It seemed odd to Lorenzo that someone would trust him as a complete stranger if that were the case, but everything else seemed to fit.  The man never gave Lorenzo his name and told Lorenzo that he could never use the woman’s real name out loud, and especially not in public.  The people who were after him needed to believe that she was dead and gone, so once they were on the plane, Lorenzo was only supposed to refer to her as Tammy.  It seemed a little suspicious to Lorenzo, but he played along.  After all, the kind American was willing to put a lot of money on his success, so Lorenzo was more than happy to participate. 

Since then, Lorenzo had met the man a couple other times just to receive payments and share his status with the American.  The whole thing was well outside Lorenzo’s experiences, being nothing more than a talented fisherman, but it worked well enough.  He would meet the American in town somewhere, they would talk about Tammy over lunch or dinner, then he would usually leave right away to go back.  He would never go to meet Tammy because that could lead anyone following them back to her.  To Lorenzo, that seemed absurd.  After all, couldn’t they just follow Lorenzo back to the house?  Even still, Lorenzo followed orders and never spoke about his meetings with the American.  And he still didn’t have a name for the man.  He asked Lorenzo to call him Bill, but in all the secrecy, Lorenzo knew that wasn’t really his name.  And according to Tammy, her husband’s name was Ames.

Speaking of Tammy, Lorenzo had almost forgotten.  He had spoken to Bill, or Ames, or whoever just a few days before.  This time, he gave Lorenzo something he kept referring to as a drop phone.  Basically, he gave Lorenzo a prepaid international cell phone.  This phone would be the only line of communication the two men would have until the American arrived for good.  In their last meeting, he told Lorenzo that it wouldn’t be long now before he came down to stay with his wife.  Whatever it was that had to be finished back home would all be over soon.  And when that was over, Lorenzo’s time watching the young lady would also be soon over. 

With everything that Lorenzo had to get done, he figured it was about time to get out of bed.  The fisherman’s life often found Lorenzo out before the sun, but those were in younger years.  Now, he was perfectly content to rise when the sun started to peak over the sea.  Nothing earlier was necessary.  The fish would still be there when he got to them.  After his short morning ritual of cleaning up and saying good morning to the only picture of his family that existed, Lorenzo walked out on the dock and started untying the old boat, La Aislamiento.  This beauty, though much newer than the one that brought him over from Mexico, was named after the same boat that Lorenzo used to go out on with his father.  Those days alone with his father were all that Lorenzo lived for.  Perhaps that’s why he got up and left after Senor Velasquez died.  Even now as Lorenzo felt the warm sting of cold ropes slide through the grooves in his hand, it didn’t seem right to be going out without Papa.  If it was so hard to get on without him here in the Caribbean, how much harder would it have been back in Mexico?  How could he untie from his father’s dock, but not be taking his father with him? 

Lorenzo stayed back behind the wheel of his boat for the first forty-five minutes of the voyage.  He would sail around the tip of the island over towards the side where Tammy’s house was, but he would also press on into deeper waters where the bigger fish were.  Lorenzo never liked fishing too shallow, partially due to the fact that cruise ships at port would often scare the fish away.  He also just enjoyed getting away from the land sometimes, floating out where it was just him and the sky, and hopefully the fish. 

When Lorenzo reached the spot he wanted, it was time to set up a few rods.  He’d come across some solid deep-sea rods in the last few years, trading with one of the hated cruise ships.  They had promised their patrons some product they couldn’t deliver, but Lorenzo knew just where to catch the beautiful hammerhead.  A fisherman would be lucky to spot a single hammerhead in his lifetime here, but Lorenzo knew the animals better than most.  He knew just where to find them, and though it was certainly not encouraged merchandise, Lorenzo would occasionally trade one for the right price.  So, when he handed over “the only hammerhead they’d ever seen in these islands” to an over-zealous cruise chef, he managed to get a good haul of deep-sea fishing rods. 

For the first hour or so, nothing happened.  Fishing was a waiting game, and Lorenzo knew he had the time.  Mrs. Tammy wouldn’t be up for a few hours now, as she almost never got up before noon.  And why should she?  As far as she knew, it was a long-term vacation.  There were strict instructions not to let her know anything of what was going on.  She couldn’t know that she was in danger.  Lorenzo had been told never to mention the trouble her husband was in, and especially not the fact that he was probably going to kill someone close to the both of them.  So, as far as Tammy was concerned, there was nothing unusual about it.

After a while, Lorenzo drew up the lines and moved the boat.  It was getting clear that the fish weren’t in that area today, so he knew it was probably wise to move on out somewhere else.  He didn’t make too far of a trip, just maybe a mile or two different, but the difference was immediately noticeable.  Within five minutes, enough time for any disturbance the boat had made to settle down, Lorenzo already had hits on two of his lines.  He started pulling each one in, gently reeling just like Papa showed him.  Lorenzo knew all too well how easy it was to snap a line.

“Now careful, Lorenzo.  Pull it in real slow, just like I taught you.  There you go.  There you go.  There you-” his father was cut off abruptly by a sharp snap.  Whenever Mr. Velasquez caught a smaller one, he let Lorenzo try to pull it in.  He could tell by the resistance on the other end that it was a little fellow, but Lorenzo had tried to pull it in too fast.  You could never risk doing that if you really wanted to bring it in.

“I’m sorry, Papa.  I thought I was bringing it slow enough, I promise I did.”

“It’s okay, son, you did good.  You’ll get the next one, just like I showed you.”

“Excuse me, sir, but I didn’t pay you so I could observe a touching father-son moment.  If I’d wanted that, I could’ve stayed home with my own kid.  Now where can I bring in a sailfish?”  The Velasquez Fishing Expedition, known throughout the local villages as the best opportunity for tourist gulf fishing, had a wealthy gentleman from Chicago on board today. 

“Of course, senor.  My mistake.  But I tell you, the sailfish does not come around here this time of year.  They like to take to cooler, deeper waters when the weather gets like this.”  Lorenzo watched his father deal as patiently as possible with the man.  It wasn’t always easy dealing with the tourists, especially when they started thinking they knew the waters better than you.

“I knew I should’ve gone out with that company in Cozumel.  Their guide said he would get me a sailfish no problem.”

“Sir, I hate to disagree, but just because he says it doesn’t mean he can do it.  And if you get a sailfish right now, it is likely sick or too young to keep.  I tell you, sir, I can’t in good faith recommend fishing for sailfish right now.”

“Look, amigo,” as the customer put an unnecessary emphasis on the only Spanish word he knew, “I paid for sailfish, so I want you to get me sailfish.  You comprende?” 

“If you insist, amigo.”

They eventually got the man his sailfish, and as promised, it was in no shape to eat or keep.  The Chicago man went home unhappy, and then Lorenzo and Papa took the La Aislamiento out just the two of them.  This is when Lorenzo was happiest, when it was just him and Papa out at sea.  They spent hours, late into the evening, going after fish.  When Senor Velasquez would get something too big for Lorenzo, he would get it himself then let it go.  They weren’t working tonight.  He had one goal and one goal only.  He wanted Lorenzo to pull in a fish all by himself. 

Eventually, Papa found something that felt just right for little Lorenzo.  As he handed the line over to his son, Senor Velasquez kept whispering in Lorenzo’s ear what he should do.  He kept telling him, “Watch your speed, Lorenzo, watch your speed.  Now ease back on it without reeling, there you go.  There you go, Lorenzo.  Now pull it in a little more, and pull it in.  You’re gonna get this one!  Pull!”  After a short battle, the young fish gave up.  He tired out from Lorenzo’s constant pulling and reeling, and figured there was no shame in going out like this.  When Senor Velasquez pulled the grouper up on the boat, he looked sadly at Lorenzo and told him the news.  “Now, nino.  We have to put him back.  This one, he is young like you.  And it wouldn’t be fair for us to take him from his world so little.  So, do you mind if I give him back?”

Lorenzo thought about it for a moment.  He wanted to keep the fish that he’d worked so hard to pull in, but he also understood his father’s wisdom.  If he said the little fish needed to go back, Lorenzo knew that the little fish needed to go back.  He waved bye-bye to the fish and then watched every move Papa made as he steered the boat back home, going and sitting at his hero’s feet. 

Lorenzo loved thinking back to the days alone with his father, and sometimes that was all he had to get through these times.  The thought of his father made him wish even harder for the day when he could go back home to Mexico, and it was soon approaching.  With the money from this last job, not only could he afford to leave this country, but he could afford to support and help any family he might find waiting when he got back.  But for now, he needed to worry about affording dinner, and he needed to bring in whatever fish was weighing down the end of his line.

The beast tugged and pulled, even tilting the boat down a little in that direction.  Lorenzo didn’t dare to unfasten that reel, knowing he would never stand a chance of pulling this thing as it was now.  He tried hard to turn the reel and shorten the distance between him and the catch of the day, still a little unsure of just what it was that Lorenzo was trying to bring in.  Just then, with a turn of the reel, Lorenzo managed to instigate the creature into shooting skyward.  There, before his face it seemed, was a great sailfish.  This majestic sight, maybe nine or ten long feet of muscle and fin, reflected the morning sun back to Lorenzo from its sea sleek body.  The beauty of the creature obsessed Lorenzo as he pulled and pulled as hard as he could, only releasing the reel from its holding place when it seemed he had tired the fish out enough to haul it in. 

For the last twenty feet of the fight, Lorenzo pulled with his own strength, not relying on the anchoring of the boat to tire out this beautiful fish.  He would lead and reel, lead and reel, giving the sailfish only a second to rest between attacks so he could ease the tension in the line and also play a solid game of give and take with him.  After about five minutes of wrestling and pulling, Lorenzo hauled in the most beautiful sailfish he’d ever seen.  This gorgeous animal fought him all along the boat, too, threatening to gouge Lorenzo with the business end of its sharp bill.  It is generally unadvised to bring aboard a fish of this size and strength when out on a solitary trip, but he didn’t care.  Lorenzo knew what he could get for this fish in the market, and he knew it would go a long way towards getting him home.  When he got him into the livewell, and that was a labor in and of itself given the incomparable sizes of the gargantuan fish and the miniscule nature of the tank, Lorenzo hauled in the grouper on his other line with an effortless tug.  By comparison, the grouper seemed to swim up to Lorenzo with a sign reading, “Eat me.”  Without hesitation, Lorenzo labeled the grouper his food fish and the sailfish his market fish.  “What do you think, Papa?  Did I pull that one in alright?”  Lorenzo smiled wide and proud thinking of what his father would say.  It was just too bad that Papa could never join him out in these rich waters. 

With two decent catches for the day, Lorenzo figured it was time to get his store back to shore.  The trip didn’t take long.  He was already on Tammy’s side of the island, and the market wasn’t far from there.  By boat, it took maybe fifteen minutes to get from one to the other.  He tied up to the dock out by the market and made the trip in.  The colorful market all around Lorenzo was one of those places that the locals built and the tourists invaded.  Most of the booths were geared specifically towards local needs like fruit and produce, occasionally featuring some local kids and the crafts they’d built while waiting with their parents at the market.  Each section had one or two folks sitting back and yelling at you to come buy something from their stocks, whether it was food or tobacco or whatever.  Lorenzo planned on coming back for produce once he’d hocked off this fish, but first things first.

It didn’t take long before he had some buyers interested in the sailfish.  He brought a few back to the boat where they would each try to outbid each other.  Eventually, this fishmonger that Lorenzo knew well, a guy named Paul from England, won out.  He would often trade with tourists, promising them mantelpiece game at exorbitant costs, but Lorenzo didn’t mind.  Paul was a good guy, and the fish was no longer his responsibility once Lorenzo sold it.  Even if what he did was occasionally illegal and always disliked by the locals, it paid well when Lorenzo had the product.  Besides, Paul would always beat him at poker when they got together and played, so Lorenzo deserved a nice, pricey catch. 

After Lorenzo escorted Paul’s muscle back off the boat, and after he’d gone and picked up some produce for the lady back at her cabin, Lorenzo figured it was time to head back and enjoy the afternoon.  Tammy probably wouldn’t be up yet.  In true vacationers style, Tammy slept past noon almost every day, only once or twice getting up for a late breakfast and a morning walk on the beach.  She didn’t understand what was at stake here, and so of course she treated it like a big vacation.  Even still, after a month or so, she began to question this idyllic existence and why it was only her. 

Lorenzo stayed busy keeping her entertained.  He’d been advised to keep her away from public places if at all possible, so she almost never went into town, and then only when the cruise ships were out of port.  This left at most one or two days a week open.  He would take her out on the boat so she could sun, then he would grill up dinner for her, usually fish that he’d caught, and he would keep the drink cabinet stocked.  At first, Tammy didn’t drink at all.  About three weeks in, though, she started to sample from the wine cabinet.  Before long, she was dipping in pretty heavily.  All Lorenzo could figure was that she was trying to hide her questions in the drink. 

Sure enough, there were no signs of life when he pulled up.  After Lorenzo tied the boat up at their dock, he went in to make sure she was still okay.  It was right at noon by now, so it came as no surprise to him that she slept soundly.  He found two empty bottles of American whiskey bought off one of the duty-free shops in town.  He bought both of them just the day before, so he figured Tammy would probably be sleeping pretty late today. 

The old fisherman sat out by the sea reading some travel brochures on Mexico.  As far as he could tell, Lorenzo would be back in country this time next month.  He wanted to read up on home as to not be surprised by anything.  And if nothing else, the brochures were just an appetizer to hold him over until Lorenzo could have the real thing.  Before too long, Lorenzo would be looking East over the ocean, not West. 

He wasn’t much of a swimmer, but Lorenzo took a few laps in the perfectly clear ocean water.  The current was smooth and easy, accepting him like the fish he was.  He floated out over the water, occasionally drifting further down the beach than he was interested in doing.  After a time of this fruitless exercise, Lorenzo figured he would just get back to fishing.  It was never the same for him, going from the boat to the shore, but fishing was fishing, and it made him relax.  To tell the truth, he’d grown steadily more and more tired of dealing with Tammy and he needed the relaxation.  She was pleasant at first and just glad to be on vacation, but now she was an angry drunk who never really wanted company.  Sometimes, he even questioned if the pay was worth it.  But it was.  And he stayed.  Lorenzo would put up with her just a little longer, then he would never need to deal with her again.

The simple motion of casting his lure soothed Lorenzo.  He felt at home on this stranger’s beach, and all because he was doing what he was born to do.  It didn’t much matter where Lorenzo was so long as he could throw his rod in the water and hope for the best.  It was that feeling of being home and that connection with his father that made it so worthwhile.  It was that feeling that he was doing exactly what he was meant to do that made fishing his escape.  He watched the bait float on top of the water, jiggling a little as it came back to him.  No, Lorenzo had never really had any success with top waters from the shore, or anything but live bait in general, but this wasn’t about catching fish.  This was just about being there.

About that time, he heard the doors to the little house on the beach open up.  Lorenzo turned around to see Tammy coming out on the beach in a lime-green spaghetti strap tank top and a sari, once again fully taking to the full beach culture that she lived in these days.  Of course, she was also wearing full sunglasses to protect her likely sensitive eyes.  The bright Caribbean sun is bad enough without adding a hangover. 

“Good morning, Lorenzo.  What are we doing today?”  He could sense a small amount of sarcasm and annoyance in her voice.  He was also a little miffed with her calling it morning still this late in the day, but he let it go in the name of having a smooth afternoon.  As much as she probably hated him being there, Lorenzo didn’t want to let on how much he hated being there with her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Tammy.  I think we’ll stay here and grill tonight.  I just got back from the market with some fresh fruits and corn.  Does that sound good?”

“Are we grilling the corn?”

“We could, Mrs. Tammy, but I hadn’t planned on it.”  She was being fussy with him, but he still tried his best not to care.

“Ugh.  What I meant was what are we grilling?  Do you have any steaks, or is it more fish?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tammy, all I have is fish.  I can go back to the market and get some steaks if you want.  I just didn’t think you were a steak person.”

“I didn’t used to be.  But, man, it’s been so long since I’ve had anything but fish, I would jump on a steak right now.”  The short brunette didn’t look like a steak person.  Lorenzo had never really met any American women who were big on steak.  They generally took chicken or fish, but Lorenzo had to admit that he’d never spent this much time with a Southern girl.  She was short, but still taller than Lorenzo, and was quite beautiful in how her features came together.  However, her light brown hair had grown lighter since coming to stay with Lorenzo, probably due to all the sun she was absorbing.  Lorenzo had also noticed that her once pale skin was growing considerably darker.  Though it was bright today, they had been without sun for almost three days prior, and her skin was still retaining some of its beach color.  Slowly but surely, Tammy was adapting to her Cayman lifestyle.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tammy.  How about I put this down and go get you some steaks?” 

“No, it’s fine.  Just get some next time, okay?  We need to have something that didn’t swim one of these days.”

For a while she just sat out there with him.  Lorenzo kept fishing and Tammy kept sitting there being a vacationer.  After a while of bothered silence, Tammy gave out an utterance of frustration.  “Ugh.  I’m so tired!  Why am I so tired, Lorenzo?”

“Sometimes, Mrs. Tammy, sleeping all day will do that to you.  If you don’t wake up, you won’t want to wake up.”

“Hey, I’m sorry I slept late, okay, but I had a terrible headache!  And I’m on vacation.”

“I would expect you to have a headache after you finished off all that whiskey last night.  To tell you the truth, Mrs. Tammy, I’m surprised you’re awake as early as you are,” Lorenzo added, uncharacteristically letting his temper show. 

“Well I’m sorry I don’t live by your standards, Mr. Lorenzo, and for that matter, why do you keep calling me Mrs. Tammy!  That’s not even my name, Lorenzo.  And even if it were, why wouldn’t you just call me Tammy?  Gawh, you make no sense.”

“I am sorry…Tammy.  I’m just doing as I was instructed.”

“Excuse me?  Who told you to get my name wrong every day for a month?”

Lorenzo was cornered.  He didn’t know how to manage getting out of this without a lie, and even that wouldn’t be convincing enough.  “Listen, Mrs. Tammy.”  He didn’t care about the first part anymore.  “Your husband told me to call you Tammy.  He said I should be careful about your real names.” 

“Ames made you do this?  Why?  When’s he getting here, Lorenzo, I need to talk to him.” 

“I don’t know, Mrs. Tammy, I don’t know, but he said it was for your best interest.  He said he’ll be here as soon as he can get away from business and everything.”  Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And you’re not supposed to use his real name, either.”

“Oh really?”  Her anger was getting visible as she stood up off the sand.  With crossed arms and cocked hips, Mrs. Tammy accosted poor Lorenzo.  “And what am I supposed to call my husband now?”

“He keeps telling me to call him Bill.”

“Bill?  You’ve got to be joking.  My husband is changing my name to Tammy and his name to Bill?  And he can’t get away from business?  What do you mean he can’t get away from business?  He runs a grocery store!”

Lorenzo highly doubted that.  The man he met was no grocer.  That may be what he tells people, and he may even spend some time working in one, but the man he met was all business of another kind, and it certainly didn’t involve the question “Paper or plastic?”  Besides.  What possible danger could a simple grocer be in?

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tammy, but that’s what I’ve been told.  Your husband didn’t tell me much, he just said that you were to avoid public places and you had to go by another name.”  Lorenzo could tell that her anger started shifting towards another feeling.  She was probably starting to wonder the same questions that frightened him. 

“Did he tell you why, Lorenzo?”

“Yes, Mrs. Tammy.”  Lorenzo paused, knowing he wasn’t supposed to say anything.  He thought hard about his next words, because they may well be the difference between going home and staying in this foreign town. 

“Well why?”  She thought for a minute, especially about the consequences of her husband’s actions.  “I’m not on vacation, am I?” 

“No, Mrs. Tammy, I don’t think so.” 

Her reactions were now on the edge of hysteria, becoming more feverish with every passing thought.  “Do people even know I’m alive, Lorenzo?  My friends, my family.  They all think I’m dead.  You kidnapped me!  You took me from my home, you made it look like I’d been killed, and you’re holding me here.  Why would you do that?  Who does that to a person!” 

“But, Mrs. Tammy, that’s not what this is,” he tried to say, using everything he had to calm her down.

“And for God’s sake, call me Melissa!”

“But I can’t, Mrs.” He paused again, deciding which name to use, “Tammy.  I can’t.  You’re in danger.”  She didn’t take this pause as an opportunity to interject again, so Lorenzo continued.  “Miss.  Your husband came down here and found me a few months ago.  He came down here and told me that some very dangerous people were asking him to do some very dangerous things.  He told me he had agreed to do it, but that he needed to protect you from them as long as he could, so he asked me to watch you.  He asked me to protect you from the outside world so that the people who were after him wouldn’t get to you, too.  He’s trying to protect you, and so am I.  So please, Mrs. Tammy, or Melissa, sorry.  Please let me protect you.”

Despite the pain that she’d become, Lorenzo started to pity the woman.  For the first time, she was realizing what he already knew.  She was starting to realize that her life was over and it would never be the same.  She would probably never go home.  She would probably never see a Georgia sunrise again, and he could understand how she felt.  For so long now, he’d missed his home and his family.  He’d thought about the sisters he left behind, and that was why he tried so hard now to get back.  And as much as he was tired of having her around, Lorenzo knew he had to comfort her.  “It’s okay, Melissa.  You’ll get to go home one day.  I promise.  And, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but your husband will be here soon.  He has me waiting for him any minute now.  He’s going to call me and let me know when he’s on his way.  So you don’t need to worry.  Just sit back and let things work out, okay?”

“It’s not that, Lorenzo.  I mean, what is he doing?  What does he have to do that’s so bad?  How can we even be sure he’s going to make it back here before the police catch him or those people kill him?”

Lorenzo looked at the poor girl, her eyes barely keeping back the tears that sat waiting to come.  He had very few answers, but he did have one that would probably tell her all she needed to know.  Lorenzo knew that he could answer her question, but it wouldn’t make her feel better.  Even so, it was all he had.  It was all he could do to bring her back from this squabbling mess, and so he thought it okay to divulge.  Just this once.

“Mrs. Melissa,” he whispered, still trying to avoid her real name, even with no one else around, “your husband didn’t tell me much, but I did hear one thing.”  Her eyes, still wet and red, eased their focus up to him.  It was apparent that Melissa was interested in what he had to say.  “You may not want to hear this, but I figure you need answers now more than secrecy.  So, here’s what I know.  We were talking one day, about you, and he said how mad you would be if you really knew what was going on,” which Lorenzo now knew to be true.  “It was the day he told me not to tell you any of this, come to think of it.  But anyway, when I asked him what he meant, Bill said that he was going to have to kill someone very close to you.”

Melissa sat back down quietly.  Her eyes left their focus on Lorenzo and found a particularly interesting pebble on the beach, hoping that she was wrong.  “What is it, Melissa?  What is it?”

“It’s just that, I don’t know, I just.  I thin I know who he means.”

“I’m sure I heard him wrong, Mrs. Tammy, I mean Melissa, I’m sure I did,” Lorenzo corrected himself, trying to cover the mistake he had made in revealing this little secret.

“No, it really does make sense.  I just have this feeling, you know?  Oh God, if I hadn’t already ruined his life enough!”

“What is it?”

She sat silent for a few seconds, making Lorenzo fairly nervous.  He looked at her, waiting for an answer or a response or something.  She just sat there, not answering until she felt there was no way around it.

“Lorenzo.  Would you think I was a bad person if I told you I didn’t love my husband anymore?”

“What do you mean, Mrs. Melissa?”  Lorenzo had never been married, and he’d never really had any serious connections with other people, so this did come to him with some difficulty.

“I mean, I did.  Once.  You have to understand, there was this guy I was dating, then something happened, and he just became distant.  He left me alone, and I wasn’t going to wait on him forever.  It was stupid, but I couldn’t.  So I went off and dated some other guys, never anything serious, you know.  Eventually, I married Ames.  Excuse me, Bill.  I loved him for a while, but now, I don’t know if I can love Bill after doing this to me.  After stranding me here on this island, after sending me away from my home and my family.”

“He was trying to protect you, Mrs. Melissa.  He did all that because he loved you.”

“Please, Lorenzo, just Melissa.  No misses.” 

“I’m sorry, Melissa, but still.  He loves you very much, I know he does.”

“I know he does, but I can’t love him.  Not after all this.  Not anymore.  Especially now that I hear he’s going to kill someone else.”

“Excuse me?” Lorenzo asked her, wondering if he’d heard her correctly.

“I mean, I’m more afraid for who he’s going to kill than I am for him.  I know it, I just know it.  You know that boy I told you about?  The one I dated a long time ago?”

“Yes,” Lorenzo answered, starting to see where this was going.

“I think that’s who he has to kill.  I don’t know why, but I feel like that’s who he’s going to kill.  He’s going to kill…” Melissa kept talking, her voice trailing off at the sound of Lorenzo’s forgotten phone.  He had always carried it as instructed, but it never did anything other than sit in his pocket.  Now, it was ringing. 

            Lorenzo pulled the little thing out of his pocket.  It was an older phone with the old calculator style display on the front that read, “1 New Message.”  It was old, but Lorenzo couldn’t tell.  He just opened the phone and read his message from some number he didn’t recognize.  He read the message, but it didn’t mean much.  It just said, “I’m headed your way.  It’s done.” 

            As quick as Lorenzo had a chance to read the message, Melissa had stolen it out of his hands.  She read it with a certain vigor and excitement, hoping with all her heart that it was from Ames.  “It’s from his phone.  That’s Ames’ number, this is from him.”

            “What does it mean, Melissa?” 

            She looked at him, not wanting to speak.  He could tell that she knew, and instantly so did he.  It meant that whoever was going to die was dead.  She looked up at Lorenzo and knew it was useless to hide.  “It means that he’s dead.  It means that,” she paused, tears once more coming from the poor young woman whose world had already faced enough damage for one day, “Will Baker is dead.” 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am so sorry that, once again, I am late.  At least this time it's only a day or two late, not a whole week.  There is just so much more distraction now that I'm back home and it's getting harder to work consistently.  I'm trying, folks, I promise.  And, the exciting news is that we're always getting closer to the incredible finale of "Will Baker is Dead!"  I think you're all going to love where we go from here, and tonight was a big step forward in the mystery.  We now know that Melissa Laurence is not dead, but has been in a sort of unofficial protective custody in the Caribbean and under the care of the mysterious Lorenzo.  

One more update, I will most likely NOT be posting Episode 6 now.  This is essentially functioning in place of Episode 6 (except that 6 is centered around Melissa instead of Lorenzo), so there's not much need for it.  I'll eventually post it, but probably as a sort of "Bonus Feature" after the series is done.  There isn't much need for it now, though.  I hope y'all liked Episode 9, and just think, it should only be 6 more days until the next episode, not a full week.  I really can't wait to bring you this next installment in the saga, and especially get you to the finale.  Writing this one really had me thinking about it.

One last thing and I'm done.  This is the first week of classes at UGA, so I we'll see how hard it is for me to write with all that going on.  I really hope I can, but we'll see.  I'll see you guys soon.  And as always, feel free to Tweet me, Facebook me, or just leave comments on here.  And don't forget your :42: chat icons on Facebook and to trend #WillBaker on Twitter.  We can make this happen!

-Adam W.

Will Baker is Dead, Episode 8 - "Para la Consola, Spanish for To Console"

Every man’s eyes fell to the lovely young woman sitting before them now.  In a room full of cops, it’s never good to have that much attention at one time, but that is where Jules found herself now.  She remembered telling them that Robert Evans had killed her husband, but the rest was a blur, possibly because it had only been about thirty seconds.  Still, thirty silent seconds was just too much for her, especially given the present crowd.  It felt like she was back in the pool having a competition with that evil neighbor girl across the street to see who could hold their breath the longest.  It had been thirty seconds, and Jules was about to explode from the lungs out, but she wouldn’t give in first.  There was no way she would let them win. 

            Eventually, Sheriff Conway cut the silence while Jules gave a silent sigh, glad to see that she wouldn’t break first.  “Mrs. Baker, that’s a pretty serious accusation.  Do you understand what you’re saying?”

            Her silent stare was proof enough, even though it was more indicative of the fact that she still wasn’t entirely sure what she had done. 

            “Mrs. Baker, we don’t think Rob is to blame for what happened to your husband.”  Answering the doubt and fear in her eyes, “…but that doesn’t mean we won’t look into it if you insist.  The thing is,” he was about to say something important, when one of the suave gentlemen behind Sheriff Conway gave a low cough, so he changed his mind in the course of speaking, “Rob’s got a pretty solid alibi.  One of my own men, well you know Officer Rodriguez, one of my most trusted men is speaking on Mr. Evans’ behalf.  And, to be honest, Mrs. Baker, I tend to go with a man like Officer Rodriguez.  I’ve known Joe for years.” 

            She felt stupid.  Exposed.  Why had she been so quick to jump on Rob?  If the police weren’t going to look into him, if they were going to cover for him, why did she open herself up to their ridicule and their wondering eyes?  It was stupid of her.  It was stupid of her to think it, but it was even more stupid of her to admit thinking it.  Even if it was true, there was nothing she could do about it.  But she had to try.

            “But Sheriff, I know it.  He was jealous of my husband, and he hated him.  He said things, and he sounded so…crazed.  Are you sure it couldn’t be him?  Are you sure, Sheriff?”

            “Ma’am, it’s still pretty early in the investigation.  We can’t be sure of anything.  Why don’t you go get some sleep in the chaplain’s office, he never uses it.  I’ll send someone for you when your parents arrive, okay?”

            “No.  I’m not going anywhere.  You brought me in here to tell me something, and so far I’m the only one who’s said a thing.  You must know something, you brought these guys in pretty fast, and Will hasn’t even been dead for seven hours.  He’s probably still floating above our heads!”

            “Julia, these men are here on another case, something not related to your husband.  Don’t worry about them,” the Sheriff tossed out, obviously lying.  Jules could see the lie in his grin, trying to appease either himself, the men leering down on him, or the grieving widow who would just as soon slap a cop in his own office. 

            “Bull…”  Her tone and her diction shocking the men in the room.  Jules had never been a bold woman, but something about staring at death, yet still breathing, it made her feel stronger.  And something about this threat which intended to keep Jules from knowing what killed her husband made her mad.

            “She’s gonna find out eventually, boys, we need to tell her,” the Sheriff tossed over his shoulder to the nice men standing at the cork board. 

            “Sir, you have been ordered.  We don’t know if we can trust her, and we need to know what she knows independently before we say a word.”  The thought of being ordered in his own office, in his own town, threw Sheriff Conway off the edge, but he regained composure to save face in Mrs. Baker’s eyes.

            “You mean, like bringing me into the office where you are conducting a big investigation that probably got my husband killed?  Is that your idea of doing things discretely and good investigative techniques?”  Again, her boldness pushed the men back a step, and made Sheriff Conway widen his grin.  “I don’t know anything, and since my husband is dead because of you, I think I deserve to know something!  Don’t you?” 

Jules didn’t blame them, but it couldn’t hurt to act like she did.  The two men in suits, both somewhat tall with narrow builds and official looking stances, looked at each other, probably communicating telepathically through some government training they had.  They were obviously government of some kind, but how she didn’t know.  “Mrs. Baker.  What we are about to tell you should be guarded with extreme prejudice.  You can’t tell your friends, your family, neighbors, whoever.”  He paused before looking at the other agent, then back to Mrs. Baker, taking in a big breath, then letting his chest fall before saying a word, knowing well what he risked by speaking at all.  The other agent was noticeably against such a rash decision, but it was too late to stop his partner.  “We believe your husband was wrapped up in a money laundering racket that ran through the bank where he worked and has been running through Horizon, very covertly, for years.  It would seem that some elements of an organized crime family decided that such a small town would be the perfect venue for their operation.”  He could tell that Mrs. Baker was about to cry, fearing the worst, that her husband had been a mafia stooge for all these years, when he decided that the last detail may be somewhat important.  “But don’t worry, Mrs. Baker, we believe he was only cooperating out of fear, not as a willing benefactor of their indiscretions.”  Seeing that it wasn’t enough, he embellished a little more.  “Your husband was a good man, Mrs. Baker.”

            “Thank you.”  She spoke so softly it was barely audible. 

            The agent who rather not say anything figured it was his turn to be hospitable, and figured that the damage was done, so he knelt down in front of her chair and took up Jules’ hand in his.  “Mrs. Baker.  I’m Special Agent Walsh.  This is Agent Jones.  Please, I know this is difficult for you, but you must understand.  I’ve been working this case for some time now, and I couldn’t risk anything going wrong.  I couldn’t risk all of our work against the men who did this to your husband to go to waste.  Please understand that we couldn’t trust you, not yet.  We had to be sure you weren’t a knowledgeable partner in all of this.  Please, do you understand that we never meant to insult you or vilify your husband or your memory of him?”

            She was in fact starting to warm up to Special Agent Walsh, the middle-aged white gentleman who stood before her now.  He seemed kind enough, probably was in his 40s or early 50s at the most.  He seemed nice enough to Mrs. Baker, but she wasn’t ready to ease up yet.  Not after opening herself to some very interesting questions about Rob.  It seemed, though, that she would get away without calling forth too much suspicion. 

            “Then, do you have any leads in the case?  Do you have any idea who killed my husband?”

            Sheriff Conway, trying to stay tactful, “Are you sure you want to hear this, Julia?  These are some pretty gruesome details.”

            “I need to know.  I…I saw the blood stains on the carpet.  I saw you carry his body out of our house.  I need to know who did this if it really wasn’t Rob.”  And, that was probably stupid of her, too, to bring him up again.

            Special Agent Walsh was the one to offer an answer, knowing now that his silence would be a foolish waste.  “These groups, they tend to have different assassins at their disposal.  They could hire any number of people to do a job like this.  After all, one bank manager is hardly a primary target for them.”

            “But,” Sheriff Conway added, “we are looking at someone.”  It was apparent that the two agents were against this theory and didn’t want to hear it from the fat man, but it seemed he was destined to say it one way or another, especially now that he’d piqued Mrs. Baker’s interest.  “We found something in the basement of your house, Mrs. Baker.  We aren’t too sure what to make of it, but we found an apron.”

            “And it was probably planted by the real killer to make us think it was someone else,” suggested Agent Jones.

            “Or it was left by the killer because he was wearing it,” Jules said, obviously leaning more towards the Sheriff’s suggestion.  “Isn’t that possible?  Was there anything else?”

            “It’s nothing Mrs. Baker, it’s nothing.  And we’re not ready to say more because we need to be sure we have enough to bring a suspect in.”  Special Agent Walsh came in now, offering a little bit of a stern warning to the Sheriff.  “We need to play this pretty close to the chest.”

            She was still uncertain about trusting these men, but it needed to be done.  For now, at least.  Jules may have been an obsessive woman, but she wasn’t prepared to begin some crazy, vigilante investigation into her husband’s death.  She had to let these men do their job.  After all, she would need to be back at the school within a month’s time, and then there would be no time for this panicky worry she held on to.  Before too long, Mrs. Baker would have to start thinking about lesson plans and children, lunches and assignments and homework.  There was too much coming, so she would just have to let the officials be official and find out who killed her husband. 

            She didn’t want to trust them.  She wanted to question the crap out of them, but what good would it do?  Jules felt like there was a suspect.  She felt like there was someone out there right now, someone who had killed her husband, and they knew about him.  She felt like Will’s murderer was out there and near her, and she wanted to know what they were doing to find him before he got away.  And if it really was some big time murder, how long would it take a trained killer like that to get away where they would never find him again?  Why were they standing here now arguing about protocol and about who was the bigger man, because really, isn’t that what it all boiled down to?  Who held the power in the room?  She wanted to question them, but it wasn’t wise.  It was time for her to listen and go along with it, not show doubt in these men she plainly had no choice but to trust.

            “Why don’t you wait outside, Julia, and I’ll go down with you to, uh, identify the body.  Okay?  Let me talk with the agents while we wait on your family to arrive.  We don’t want you facing this alone.  And if you’d like, I can call your friend Rob,” Sheriff Conway asked, before he realized just how dumb he made himself sound, “that is, if you’ve changed your mind about him.” 

            “That’s a great idea, Sheriff.  Mrs. Baker, why don’t we step outside, let you get some fresh air.  It’s been a long day for you, and it’s pretty cool out now.  That Georgia heat’s gone down a good deal in the last few hours.  How’s that sound?”  Special Agent Walsh insisted it was a good idea, probably deciding it was a good time to take up the Sheriff on his one smart move all night. 

            She didn’t protest much, either, wanting to leave the stuffed environment that smelled of old paper and male ego.  The summer heat, as bad as it was, seemed to penetrate the offices and leave a dusty smell like hay that’s been dried up in a slow burn.  And she didn’t make too much protestation about the Sheriff’s fool comment on Rob, sensing that one of the two agents had a second thought now about why she suspected Rob.  She didn’t want to look up and make eye contact, so she wasn’t really sure which one stared her down at the present moment.  As far as Jules could figure, those men had the ability to stir her soul with a simple glare.  Probably more of that government training.

            Once outside, Jules looked up at the stars.  It was cooler, and it was clear.  No sense of the storms that had melted the sky the night before.  There was no sense that the sky was about to fall on her, either, like it had just a few hours ago.  “How could you let this happen to me, Will?  How could you let this happen to me?  We were gonna start a family.  We were gonna…we were gonna go to Europe.  We were gonna, I don’t know, buy a cat.”  She laughed for once, in the midst of the tears.  They’d talked about buying a cat, but Jules never wanted to.  She never wanted a cat, but would give in to Will now.  It felt silly to her, talking to a dead man.  She felt strange sitting outside talking to a man she would never see again, but somehow, in a way that felt strange and discomforting, she felt like he could hear her. 

            And if he could hear her, could he see her?  And could he know what she had been doing behind his back?  Jules worried, afraid that her husband’s first moment in Heaven would be like a “This was your life, and your life sucked,” moment.  And wouldn’t that just be the worst, get to Heaven and find out your wife had been sneaking around with another guy the day you died?  Somehow, it felt even worse than thinking he’d died because of her. 

            Which reminded her.  Jules felt she needed to call Rob and give him an apology.  True, she wasn’t completely sure he was innocent, but that didn’t matter.  It was especially important to call him and apologize if he was guilty.  Should her last words to a murderer really be telling him that she was going to tell the cops he was guilty?  Jules figured it may be prudent to tell him that she realized how wrong she was and she wanted his forgiveness and whatnot. 

            The phone rang for a few seconds.  Jules could see him laying in bed, no shirt, trying to sleep and forget the day.  She could see him thinking about her, wondering if the love of his life would ever come to realize that he was innocent.  Oddly enough, she could also see him cleaning off a knife from his most recent kill and bathing in the blood of his now defeated nemesis.  It got to where she wasn’t sure who would answer the phone when it finally came time to talk to him.

            “Hello?  Hello?” His second hello came out with that drawn out vowel at the end, indicating both his annoyance and desire to be asleep. 

            “Hey, baby.  It’s me.”  It took Jules a minute to say it.  She half expected some kind of comeback or lashing out, but all she got was another worried interrogation from her former favorite farmer.

            “Are you okay, baby?  Have you talked to the police yet?”  And then he remembered what she was about to tell the police.  “What did you tell them?”

            Honesty is always the best policy, but it can sometimes get you killed.  “I told them you killed Will.”  She let that sink in with the both of them before he spoke. 

            “Should I be expecting the blue lights outside my window?  Are you calling to give me a fair head start?”

            “No, they don’t believe me.  Apparently you’ve got a solid alibi in the department.  You know Joe Rodriguez?”

            “Yeah, he’s a good guy.  Joe’s the one I called when I found his body,” Rob trying to avoid using Will’s name around the wife, not sure how sensitive she was to hearing it.  “So he stuck up for me, eh?  Glad to see someone did.”

            “Please, Rob, you know how hard it is for me to think clearly tonight.  And you said some pretty scary things today.  And you lied to me!  But that doesn’t matter.  There are these FBI guys up here who say it was some big cover up or whatever.  They think Will was in some pretty bad stuff.”

            “I’m so sorry, baby, are you gonna be okay?  Do you need a place to stay for a few days to make sure you’re safe?”

            Honestly, she hadn’t considered herself a target yet, but Rob was right.  They may be coming for her next.  Maybe staying with Rob wasn’t such a bad idea.  “No, baby, I’ll be okay.  My parents are headed up here and I can stay with them for a little while.  I just…I can’t go back in that house, Rob.  I just know I’ll see his face laying there on the floor, surrounded in blood.  I can’t do that, Rob.  I can’t.” 

            For the next few minutes, most of their conversation was Jules crying in Rob’s ear with his conciliatory remarks coming out to hers.  Jules let out all the anger, and all of the frustration.  She let out her pain, and she let out her doubt that the stupid men in stupid suits could do anything to help her.  She let out her doubt that anything would ever get better.   

            When she stopped crying long enough to talk with Rob, she asked him, “Are you coming in tonight?”

            “I can if you want me to.  Would you like that?”

            “No, no, you go back to sleep.  You’ve gotta be up in a few hours for work, and I don’t want to throw you off.”

            “Jules, I’m coming up there.  I already put in for tomorrow off, and they completely understood.  One of the guys from the Myrtle City station is gonna fill in for me.  Okay?” 

            “Okay.  I’ll see you in a little bit, okay?  Sheriff Conway said we’re going to go identify the body as soon as my parents arrive, so I may be down there doing that when you get here.”  She paused for a minute.  Jules had almost forgiven Rob, feeling sure now that he could never be this nice and that monstrous all in the same night, but she still felt that something else was to be said.  “Rob.  I don’t think you need to go see Will with me.  It wouldn’t seem right.”

            “I understand.  You need to do that with your family.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

            “Okay.  Bye, baby.  I, uh,” Jules stopped, “I love you.”

            “I love you, too, Jules.  I’ll see you soon.”

            She hung up with Rob in a less passionate manner this time, not throwing the phone or cursing her luck for loving a killer.  About then, Jules smelled smoke.  It wasn’t like a forest fire, or like car exhaust, or any of the other expected smoke smells.  It was cigarette smoke.  It was then that Jules realized someone was standing out back with her.  How much had they heard?  She didn’t want to turn around and see Special Agent Walsh puffing on a stick, but she half knew that’s who it was.  It was time to explain herself.

            What Jules found when she turned around was none other than Officer Rodriguez.  She let herself relax a little, but not completely.  In order to not look suspicious at all, she asked perhaps the most suspicious question she could think to.  “How, uh, how much did you hear?”

            “It’s okay, Mrs. Baker.  I know about you and Rob.  I talked to him right before he went to see Will.” 

            “What do you mean?  Why was he going to see Will?”

            “Mrs. Baker, I came up on Will and Rob talking in a gas station this morning.  They tried hard to keep it civil, but I could tell there was something off between them.  Rob was scared, and I’ve never known him to be scared of anyone.  Honestly, I would’ve expected it to be him in that box downstairs, not your husband.”

            “You thought Will was going to kill Rob?”

            “Men do crazy things for the women they love, Mrs. Baker.”  He could tell she knew this, and he could tell that she was upset by it.  “You’ve been blaming yourself for all of this, haven’t you?”

            “Of course I have!  Until about thirty seconds ago, I just knew that Will was dead because of me.  I just knew that someone had killed my husband because of something I did.  And now they tell me it was mobsters and they probably killed Will because he tried to protect me!”  She was about to cry, but then she thought more about what Officer Rodriguez had been saying.  “Did Will know about me and Rob?”

            “Looks like it, Mrs. Baker.  I went to talk to your husband at the bank this morning, and it sure seemed like he knew something was going on.”  As much as Officer Rodriguez wanted to lie, he couldn’t see how it would benefit her.  The truth has a way of coming out, and he knew that Jules needed someone to trust right now. 

            “I can’t believe it.  Will died knowing how dirty I am.  Does it make me a bad person to wish that he’d died without knowing?”

            “Not at all, Mrs. Baker.  I think we all like to think that our loved ones will leave with the best impressions of us.”  Officer Rodriguez took himself a moment to speak philosophically with Mrs. Baker, hoping to get her mind off of the death and damage of the day and maybe on something beyond these few short hours.  “Sometimes,” he started, thinking back to his own experiences with loss, “we just want to keep this picture in our minds of people as they were, not as they are.  And so we imagine that the people we love should have that same image of us as we were and not who we’ve become.  And sometimes, Mrs. Baker, just sometimes, it’s easier to live with the good memories of a passed loved one than it is to live with the real person, flaws and failures included.  You know what I’m saying?” 

            “Yeah.  Thanks, Joe.”

            “You’re very welcome, Mrs. Baker.”  The two sat on a bench out behind the station, each one trying their best to feel better.  Joe smoked, Jules leaned on Joe’s shoulder, and neither one talked about why.  “Besides, if anyone is to blame, it’s me.  I tried to follow your husband home this afternoon.  You know, I was worried what he was going to do.  But I lost him when he pulled over to talk to Jonah Davis by the bridge down town.  I wonder if I might have followed him all the way home if I could’ve scared off whoever did this.  I wonder if I could’ve caught the guy and kept your husband alive.” 

            “I don’t blame you, Joe.  And I don’t blame myself.”

            “You don’t?”

            “No.  I can’t.  I wasn’t there when he came home, and that’s all there is to it.  And I may have been off with someone else, but I didn’t kill him.  I didn’t kill him, and that’s all there is to it.  But you know what?  I want to remember him like he was.  Because he was perfect.  Once.”

            “You know how I recognized your husband this morning at the gas station?”  Joe Rodriguez could tell that she wanted to talk about Will now, and he figured the best thing he could do to oblige was to talk about him with her.  “It wasn’t the banker’s clothes, and it wasn’t his voice.  I’d only seen him a couple times before.  It was the eyes.”

            Jules looked up at him, a little confused, but ultimately interested.

            “Yes, ma’am.  He had his sister’s eyes.  Those deep blue eyes that just caught you on a glance.  I had somehow forgotten them from her.  You know I was there the night she was killed.  I had forgotten them.  But today is the second time I saw those eyes on the dying.  Sure he wasn’t hurt, yet.  But it was still coming all the same.  I imagine that whatever force killed Will Baker was already in motion long before that morning, and I saw into the eyes of a man as he was dying.  Just like I saw into the eyes of his sister while she was on the asphalt dying.  I guess this is my punishment for not being there to save her life and to keep Ames from running her over.” 

            The forlorn pair sat out under the stars, each working through their own grieving process in their own way.  As she looked up, Jules could see those eyes that Joe was talking about.  She could see those eyes, and it amazed her how she never had before.  How she had taken the greatest part of her husband for granted.  Jules sat back and thought hard about those eyes, still leaning in to Joe’s shoulder.  And Jules thought about his song, that sad old Waylon Jennings song he would always hum.  And Jules knew that she wasn’t there to forget, and that she never wanted to forget him.  She wanted to remember the man she loved, even if he was dead and gone.  She wanted to remember him as he was, not as he…

            “Mrs. Baker?  Mrs. Baker, are you out here?”  It was Special Agent Walsh, probably come to collect her for the viewing. 

            “Yes, I’m here.  What is it?”

            “Your parents are here, Mrs. Baker.  Are you ready to see the body?”

            “Yes, sir.  I’m ready.”  Jules got up to go face her husband for the last time.  In doing so, she thought about the poor man facing himself and his own ghosts right next to her, the one who helped her forget and remember all at once in a borderline mystical way.  She laid a soft hand on his shoulder, just like his wife used to do.  He could feel Mrs. Rodriguez in that hand, and grabbed for hers in his way.  “Thank you, Joe.  You don’t know what you’ve done for me tonight, and it means a lot.”  And, to avoid the ears of the agent, she leaned down and whispered to him, “Rob will be here soon.  Help him understand.”

            She looked down at the man who was in need of his own understanding.  In a look, though, he learned what she meant and what she wanted.  He gave a nod, and Jules walked on back through the doors with Special Agent Walsh where Sheriff Conway was waiting with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Robin.  Mrs. Robin ran to hold her daughter with tear soaked eyes.  They cried, remembering the young man now gone.  It would be another day or so, probably, until she would have to have this moment with the Bakers, but for now this was what she really needed.  Her dad held on to Jules tight, hating to see his little girl feel a pain like this so young.  Her mom cried softly with Jules, comforting her daughter with a mother’s love.  The three came together well, just like a family, until Sheriff Conway had to break them up. 

            “Julia, Mr. and Mrs. Robin, it’s time to go see the body.  We need you to identify Will for us, okay?”

            Horizon’s newest widow walked first in line, followed closely by her parents with the three officials behind them.  The stark hallway ran for about thirty feet with no doors on either side, the entire hallway dedicated to a lover’s last walk.  Long off at the far-reaching end, the coroner stood at the door waiting for this caravan to arrive, holding the door open and his head down in respect of Mrs. Baker.  She walked over to a drawer marked, “Case No. 462; Baker, Will.”  The coroner came over once the Sheriff and the two other men said it was okay.  He opened the cold metal door and reached his hand inside to pull on the steel slab where this husked out body lay. 

As soon as the wheels started rolling underneath him, Jules closed her eyes.  She kept saying to herself, silently through the echoes of her mind, wanting to prepare herself for whatever bruised and broken sight was about to be revealed to her, “As he was, not as he is.  As he was, not as he is.  As he was, not as he is.”  Even while Jules focused on that face she knew from the morning light, the face she loved with the eyes that saw her in love, Jules knew she had to see it.  Jules knew that she had to see it for herself, and so she decided it was time to open her eyes and look, once more, into his.  She knew it was time to finally accept the last proof that it was in fact true.  She had to look into the eyes that finally and decidedly proved to her the inimitable truth that Will Baker is dead. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am so sorry that this is coming to y'all a week late.  I had a fun week, let me tell you.  In the last week, I have moved out of my apartment and back home, I have taken two finals (that is, if you take "the last week" up until last Wednesday), I have helped clean and rearrange the basement at home, and all sorts of craziness.  I am hoping to get back on the consistent track, seeing as how this is my second time being a week late on a post.  Ugh.  Thanks for your patience, and I look forward to your thoughts about this episode.  As always, don't be afraid to Tweet me (@42Cobras) or talk to me on Facebook (Adam Wynn).  You can also leave comments straight on here, but that's not as much fun, now, is it?  Thanks for reading, y'all, and let me know what you think.  Tell your friends!