The Caretaker of Lorne Field

Chapter 8

The Aukowies seemed aware of the schism that had occurred the previous day in their death struggles with Jack Durkin and all the Caretakers before him. It wasn’t anything Durkin could put his finger on, just a vague sense of dread. Maybe it was the way they stared at him, as though they were expecting something. They still mostly played possum, not putting up much more of a fight than usual when he ripped them from the ground. But all day he had trouble shaking an uneasiness deep in his gut that things had changed. He felt himself dragging, his bones feeling like they’d been filled with lead and his muscles with rubber.

When he got home that evening he realized for the first time that his car was gone. He tried to remember whether he had seen it that morning and decided he hadn’t. Lydia must’ve taken it when she left the other day. He didn’t bother pulling his work boots off at the door. Without Lydia there to harp on him, why bother?

There were still a couple of beers left from the six-pack Charlie Harper had brought over. He drank one of them while he searched through the refrigerator. There wasn’t much in there, and he didn’t feel like having cornflakes for a third straight meal. He hated the idea of imposing on Charlie after eating at his bar only a few nights earlier, but he rationalized that a cheeseburger, fries and a beer weren’t too much to ask for breaking his back all day to keep Charlie and his family alive. In any case, he needed to bring him back his broken camcorder, and that night was as good as any to do that.

With his car gone, Durkin checked the attached garage his pa had built forty years earlier and found Lester’s mountain bike stored inside. It was different than the kind of bike he was used to. He couldn’t sit straight up on it, instead had to lean forward and put tension on his already sore shoulders. It was also hard getting the thing going, especially since he had Charlie’s camcorder wrapped around his right wrist. He tipped over a few times, but after a half hour or so he got the hang of it. Not that he ever felt comfortable on the bike, but at least he was able to get the thing moving.

It was eight miles from his home to the center of town. When he got off the bike in front of the Rusty Nail, he could barely lift his arms, and his legs were so shaky he doubted whether he’d be able to walk more than a few feet. He lowered himself to the pavement and sat on the curb to rest. He heard cars passing him and could sense them staring at him as they drove by, but he kept his eyes cast down towards his feet. If they wanted to think he cut off Lester’s thumb, that was their business.

When his legs felt less shaky, he got to his feet and entered the Rusty Nail in a stumbling shuffle. Charlie was working the bar. He nodded to him with an odd sort of look on his face. Durkin nodded back. He grimaced painfully at the bar stools, decided he had little chance of getting himself up on one and instead made his way to one of the empty tables. Charlie came over a short time later with a pint of beer. He handed it to Jack and stood awkwardly by the table wiping his hands on his bar apron. A strained smile showed on his large broad face.

“Can we talk a minute?” he asked.

Durkin nodded. “Sure. I need to talk to you anyway about your camcorder. Lester dropped it the other day when he was recording one of the Aukowies in action. I think he might’ve broke it. If you can figure out how much it costs to fix I’ll pay you, otherwise I’ll buy you a new one.”

Charlie picked up the camcorder and examined it. “It doesn’t look like it’s turning on,” he said.

“No, it don’t.”

“Maybe it’s still covered by the warranty. I’ll check.” He sighed and waved the issue away. “Don’t worry about it. You said Lester was recording one of the Aukowies in action?”

“Yep. I let one of them grow to a foot high. It’s the reason he dropped the camcorder. When the thing shot out at me, it startled him.”

“You have this on videotape?” Charlie asked, anxiousness tightening his mouth.

Durkin took a sip of his beer and shook his head. “I would except Lydia took the tape out of it before I left to the field.”

“Why’d she do that?”

Durkin took another long drink of his beer. His eyes glazed over as he thought about his answer. “Because she thought I was going to make a fool out of myself and embarrass the family trying to prove that the Aukowies were nothing but weeds.”

Charlie’s face deflated. He nodded to the chair opposite Durkin. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Nope, not at all.”

Charlie pulled the chair out and perched uncomfortably on it. “That’s an awful shame Lydia did that,” he said.

“Yep.”

“I heard about your son. About his thumb…”

Durkin nodded. “One of the Aukowies bit it off.”

Charlie’s mouth fell open and he gawked at Durkin.

“Saw it with my own eyes,” Durkin said.

Charlie closed his mouth. He nodded dully and rubbed the knuckles on one of his large raw hands. “The story going around is he’s claiming you cut his thumb off,” he said.

“It ain’t the truth, though. I know that’s the story Sheriff Wolcott was telling in court, but it ain’t what happened.”

Charlie stared back down at his hands as he continued rubbing his knuckles. “Why’d you think Lester would say that?”

“I don’t know. But it ain’t true.”

“I hear Lydia’s got a cast on her hand.”

Durkin took a sip of his beer and didn’t say anything.

“I also hear she moved out on you.”

“Did you hear where she moved to?”

“No.”

“Well, she wasn’t home last night, so I guess you heard right.”

“What’s with the cast?”

“I think she broke her hand.”

“How’d that happen?”

“She got mad and hit the table. I didn’t hurt my wife, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Charlie kept rubbing his large thick knuckles. He looked up at Durkin and met his stare. His eyes were pale blue glass. “Why’d she move out, Jack?”

“You’d have to ask her.”

Charlie let go of his knuckles and put his hand behind his neck as if he were feeling for bumps. “How about taking me to that field?” he asked.

“I can’t do it, Charlie. I’d like to, but I can’t.”

“I hear others have been up there.”

“They have, but not ’cause of me. I can’t violate the contract. Things just get harder when I do.”

“Five minutes, Jack. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Chrissakes, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Charlie’s face screwed up as if he were going to argue, but instead he pushed himself to his feet. “I understand,” he said. He didn’t look directly at Durkin. “I better get back to the bar.” He hesitated. “How about some food? You want anything?”

“A cheeseburger and fries?”

“Sure. No problem.”

When the food was ready, Charlie brought it over with another beer. This time he didn’t stop to talk. Just gave a polite nod.

Durkin tried watching the ballgame on TV, but his mind floated too much for him to follow it. One minute a batter would be up, the next he’d either be on base or heading back to the dugout, and Durkin would have no idea what had happened in between. It was as if slices of the game were disappearing on him. When he was done eating, he left the bar and pedaled home on Lester’s bike. Later, when he was on the sofa, it took almost ten minutes to pull his work boots off, and after he did, he soaked his feet and tried not to think of anything, especially the looks he caught out of the corner of his eye all night from Charlie.

That night he dreamt of his pa. He was back in high school, the night after his baseball team’s championship game. He almost won the game single-handedly, hitting two homeruns and a double and making several tough plays at third, but his team still lost 8-7. His pa missed the game like all his other games since he had to spend the day weeding Aukowies, but in the dream they had dinner together and afterwards he came up to the bedroom that Jack shared with his brother. His pa asked Joe to leave so him and Jack could talk alone.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there today.”

“I know, pa.”

“Your ma was telling me you almost carried your team on your back today.”

Jack was in the middle of oiling his glove. He wiped off some of the oil and rubbed what was left deep into the leather.

“My last at bat I was slow to the ball,” he said. “If I’d picked up on the spin faster I would’ve driven the ball over the fence instead of bouncing it off it. We would’ve won the game if I’d done that.”

“Sometimes it’s a matter of inches, son.”

“Yep.”

His pa sat silent for several minutes. Jack kept rubbing the oil deeper into his glove.

“Folks are saying you could be a big leaguer,” his pa finally said.

Jack shrugged.

“I’m sorry, son,” his pa said. “If it was up to me I’d make Joe the next Caretaker instead of you. But I can’t do it.”

“I know, pa.”

“Everything in the contract’s written for a reason. Any of us start messin’ with it and we’re all lost.”

Jack nodded and kept his eyes on his glove. He tried hard not to cry. He didn’t want his pa to see him crying.

“I know it ain’t fair,” his pa said. “I know it as well as anyone, son. But if I made Joe the next Caretaker, then what happens if he has two boys? Neither of them are going to want the job when the time comes. And they’ll have every reason to fight about it because I cheated with you. And then what? I can’t set that type of precedent, son, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“You don’t have to explain, pa.”

“But I want to. Nothin’ I’d want more than to see you have a chance playing professional ball. But if we start cheating on the contract, we got big problems. We have to follow the contract to the letter. This thing is bigger than you or me, Jack. Ain’t no job harder. You got the weight of the world on your shoulders. But you can do it, son. I got no doubt that you got it in you to be Caretaker. And as hard as the job is, people here will respect you for it. You’ll be saving their lives every day. It makes it easier knowing that. Most days it’s what keeps you going.”

The sixteen-year-old version of Jack Durkin in his dream nodded and wiped a finger across his eye, trying hard not to let his pa see that he was wiping away a tear.

Durkin woke up and realized he was crying in his sleep. He was ashamed of it, even though there was no one there to see it. He wiped a hand across his eyes, then lay in bed thinking about his dream. He tried to remember if he ever had had that talk with his pa and decided he hadn’t. He couldn’t even remember his pa ever eating dinner with them. It was just a dream, nothing more. His pa never talked to him about playing baseball. Never acknowledged that he was all-state or had set state records with both his twenty-two homeruns and.620 batting average. The only talk he could remember having with his pa about something other than his future as Caretaker was after his freshman year of high school. His pa suggested that he drop out of school since there was no point in continuing.

As he lay in bed thinking about his dream, he realized it was the first time in years that he had thought about his pa. It had been almost thirty years since the old man died. After he had retired as Caretaker, he moved to Florida and only five years later dropped dead from a stroke. The funeral took place in August, and because it was held where his pa had retired in Bradenton, Florida, Durkin couldn’t attend. It always bothered him that they couldn’t have held the funeral back home, but he understood why. After so many years of weeding Aukowies, his pa wanted to spend eternity as far away from Lorne Field as he could.

Jack Durkin peered at the clock until his eyes focused. It was only two thirty-seven in the morning. He closed his eyes again, hoping he’d be able to get some more sleep. It was the first dream he could remember having since he was maybe five or six years old, and he hoped it would be his last.

The next four days Jack Durkin didn’t know what else to do but to keep going back to the Rusty Nail for dinner. He had no other food left at home, he had no money and he didn’t even know what bank Lydia kept their money at-and even if he did, assuming there was still even any money in their account, he wouldn’t be able to get there during business hours. Each time he went back to the Rusty Nail, Charlie’s attitude seemed cooler. That fourth day Charlie asked him about Sheriff Wolcott sticking his hand into a clump of Aukowies.

“I heard he did that,” Charlie said, his voice strained. “How come they didn’t bite his fingers off like they did Lester’s thumb?”

“’Cause they didn’t.”

“That’s not a good enough answer, Jack.”

Durkin peered at Charlie and saw the hostility brewing over his old friend’s face. The muscles bunched up along the bartender’s neck and shoulders, the same as if he were about to throw a drunken troublemaker out of his bar.

“Because they knew they could cause me more trouble by not doing anything,” Durkin said.

“You’re kidding. That’s your explanation for it?”

“It’s the truth, Charlie. I could see it in their faces. Somehow they knew.”

Violence passed over Charlie’s face like a storm cloud. He stood clenching and unclenching his fists, but the violence mostly petered out.

“According to Sheriff Wolcott they’re nothing but weeds,” he said, his voice tight. “Unless you’ve got cash to pay for your food and drink, you better leave.”

Durkin left. When he got home he sat listening to his stomach rumble and tried to figure out what to do. He couldn’t think of anything else, so he called Hank Thompson.

“Jack, how are you holding up?” the attorney asked on hearing Durkin’s voice.

“Not so good.” Durkin hesitated, feeling sick to his stomach having to beg this way. “I don’t know if you heard, but Lydia left me.”

“No, Jack, I didn’t hear. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to do, Hank. She took the car. I have no money and no food in the house. I don’t even know what bank she uses. If I can just make it another seven weeks or so until first frost, I can straighten everything out then-”

“Jack, not another word. How about I drive over and pick you up. There’s an all-night supermarket out on Route 30.”

“I hate putting you out like this, Hank.”

“It’s no bother, Jack. Just hold tight and I’ll be over soon.”

Twenty-five minutes later Hank Thompson pulled his Cadillac into the dirt driveway. When Durkin got in the car, Hank offered him a handshake, then pulled the car onto the road leading away from the cabin.

“Must be quiet in there with Lydia and the boys gone,” Hank said.

“I’m used to quiet.”

“Still a shame for this to have to happen. Jack, I’ll be deposing Lester next week. I’m hoping to shake the truth out of him so we can get him and Bert back home. Maybe if that happens Lydia will follow.”

Durkin didn’t say anything.

Hank cleared his throat and mentioned that the sheriff was spreading it around town that the only thing growing in Lorne Field were weeds. “He claims he stuck his hand in a bunch of them and nothing happened?”

Durkin felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach. He nodded miserably.

“Any idea why they left his fingers alone?”

“I don’t know. I wish they had bit them off.”

Hank laughed uneasily at that. “So do I,” he said. “At least his pinky finger. Not that I wish too much ill will on our good sheriff, but it would make things easier for us. I’ve got a confession to make, Jack, and I hope it doesn’t make you mad. When I was twelve I snuck down to Lorne Woods and watched your grandpa weeding them.”

“You saw what they were then.”

Hank nodded. “They weren’t weeds. I can’t say why, exactly. It’s nothing concrete I can put my finger on, but I knew watching them that they were something other than weeds. And when your grandpa pulled them out of the ground, I swear I could hear something. Kind of like this shrill noise, almost what you’d expect from a dog whistle, but I’m positive I heard it.”

“Their death cry,” Durkin said.

“That’s what you call it? I thought that sound was going to make my ears bleed. Anyway, it’s always bothered me that I violated the contract. I apologize for that, Jack.”

They drove in silence for the next ten minutes or so, then Durkin told the attorney why the Aukowies resisted biting off Wolcott’s fingers. “I don’t know how they knew they could cause more harm for me, but somehow they did.”

Durkin looked over and saw the belief in the older man’s face. He swallowed back a sob and bit down hard on his tongue to keep any more from coming up.

“If my grandpa had known he would’ve skinned you alive,” Durkin said. “But that was a long time ago. The statue of limitations must’ve run out years ago.”

Hank laughed good-naturedly. “That’s statute of limitations. But thanks for the absolution, Jack. It’s kept me up nights hoping none of you ever fell sick and couldn’t weed that field. I lost many a night’s sleep during my lifetime over that transgression.”

Hank pulled into the supermarket’s parking lot. Once inside he told Durkin to load up his cart with whatever he wanted. “Only a small payment for services rendered,” he said.

As they went up and down the aisles, Durkin chose frugally, adding to the cart only the cheapest cans of baked beans, sardines, tuna fish and hotdogs he could find. Hank shook his head watching him.

“Christ, Jack, that’s no way for a grown man to eat,” he said. He brought a reluctant Durkin over to the meat department and had the butcher select several pounds of sirloin steaks, lamb chops and pork loin. Then he did the same at the deli counter, loading the cart with roast beef, ham, salami and an assortment of cheeses. After that he added packages of baked goods. When they checked out the bill came to well over a hundred dollars.

“When I get my affairs straightened out I’ll pay you back,” Durkin told the attorney.

“Absolutely not,” Hank said.

They drove silently back to the Caretaker’s cabin, but it was a comfortable silence. Hank helped him bring the grocery bags inside, and at the door when he was leaving, told Durkin not to worry about a thing and that he would call him after his deposition with Lester. Later, when Durkin was unpacking the groceries, he found two hundred dollars tucked in one of the bags.

The next week Durkin’s spirits were as good as they’d been in years. Having a cupboard and refrigerator stocked full of food was a big reason for it, but an even bigger reason was not having to ride Lester’s mountain bike into town any longer. It was bad enough that a day of weeding Aukowies left his muscles aching and his feet killing him, but the last thing he wanted to do after that was get on a bike and pedal for an hour so he could beg for food at the Rusty Nail. He was grateful he no longer had to do it. Accepting Hank’s charity didn’t seem nearly as bad, mostly because the older attorney believed in what those Aukowies were. Hank Thompson didn’t have any doubts, unlike the rest of them. It was a relief not having to ride into town so he could see doubts-or in some cases outright disgust-creeping onto faces when the townspeople saw him. It was a blessing to simply be able to go home after his weeding, eat dinner and soak his feet. While it was quieter in the house than he’d like, he was comfortable by himself. Maybe at times he’d find himself missing Bert and, to a lesser degree, Lydia and Lester, but he found the emptiness of the house peaceful. At least he didn’t have to see his own family doubting him, or worse, acting as if he were a joke.

A week after Hank had taken him food shopping he got a call from Hank that Child Services was delaying the deposition. “It’s probably going to be pushed back another couple of weeks,” the attorney told him. “Nothing to worry about, Jack. Just red tape, that’s all. Child Services can be a real pain in the ass.”

It was ten days after that call-a Monday-that Jack arrived back at the cabin after a day of weeding Aukowies to find boxes and furniture stacked up on his front yard. A padlock had been put on the door. There was also a notice nailed to it. In the early dusk, it was hard to read. Durkin had to strain to make out the single word SEIZURE that was printed in larger letters than anything else. He gave up and searched through the boxes until he found a flashlight. Then he went back and read the notice, read how the town council had terminated the Caretaker position and that the cabin and all associated lands were being seized by the town. If Durkin or anyone else entered the house they’d be arrested for trespassing. He read the damn notice half a dozen times before his anger subsided enough for him to think over the situation.

How in the world can I keep weeding that field now? he thought. What am I supposed to do?

He sank to the ground, his mind and body numb.

It struck him then that he was no longer bound by the contract. Not if the town was going to cancel it. Which meant for the first time in his life he was free. But free for what? To live aimlessly for the next eight days while the Aukowies grew out of the field and matured? And then to watch the world end?

It wasn’t his concern anymore, he told himself.

He was no longer Caretaker.

Best of all, it would no longer be his fault when the world comes to an end.

That thought left him dizzy. It would no longer be his fault. He no longer had to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was absolved. Free. If the town could turn their back on him, why couldn’t he do the same?

But the world would still come to an end, regardless of whose fault it was.

Lydia would still be chewed up by the Aukowies, her small, hard-as-nails body turned into mincemeat. The same would happen to Bert and Lester. And every other living creature.

With a leaden heaviness weighing down his heart, Durkin realized it didn’t matter that they turned their backs on him. The field still needed to be weeded. The world still needed to be saved. And that responsibility fell on him.

He sat for a few minutes sorting out his thoughts. After making up his mind about what to do next, he unpacked the boxes looking for his contract and the Book of Aukowies. He went through all of the boxes without finding them, which didn’t surprise him since whoever packed up the house had no clue about his hiding place in the basement. He did find his wallet in one of the boxes. It had been packed away since he never took his wallet with him when he weeded Aukowies. There was no point in doing that. He wished he had when he opened the wallet and saw that the two hundred dollars Hank Thompson had given him was gone.

It would be so damn easy to just turn my back on them. So damn easy…

But as much as he wanted to, holding his empty wallet before all those boxes scattered on his front yard, he couldn’t just walk away.

The food from his refrigerator had been packed in a couple of the boxes and left in the sun to spoil. He sniffed the salami and sliced American cheese, decided they were still okay, and made a sandwich. He ate it slowly, then found the container of milk, sniffed it also, and poured out the spoiled contents. Fortunately, Hank had added a case of soda to his shopping cart. Jack Durkin found a can in one of the other boxes and drank it. When he was done with his dinner, he got to his feet and walked around to the back of the house.

When Durkin left that morning the back entranceway to the kitchen was covered by a screen door and an almost equally flimsy wooden door. The outer door’s paneled windows would’ve been easy to punch out so the door could be unlocked. Both doors had since been replaced with something solid, and a padlock and seizure notice were attached to it. Jack Durkin hit this newer door with his fist several times and saw that he had little chance of breaking through it. He walked around the house sizing up his windows and settled on one in the kitchen. He broke the glass, cleared it away and used several of the boxes as a makeshift stepladder. The phone and cord had been packed away in one of the boxes. He took them with him, along with the seizure notice that he ripped from the back door, and crawled through the window.

It was awkward getting his thick body turned around and onto the kitchen countertop, and worse to lower himself to the floor, but he did it without cutting himself on any of the glass he’d broken. He turned on the lights. With the kitchen emptied out and all of Lydia’s clutter removed from the countertops, the room looked small and foreign to him. He plugged the phone into the jack and heard a dial tone and was thankful they hadn’t cut off phone service yet.

He called Hank Thompson and told him that his house had been seized.

“Whoa, slow down, Jack, tell me again what’s going on.”

“I came home today from weeding and found everything I own on the front yard with a padlock and notice on the door. According to the notice, the town council cancelled my Caretaker’s contract and had my house seized.”

“Do you have the notice nearby?”

“Yep. I can read it to you.”

“Please do.”

Durkin read the attorney the seizure notice. When he was done, Hank’s voice sounded unnaturally tinny as he told him that the town had no right doing this. Durkin realized this was the first time he had heard Hank Thompson scared.

“They have to notify you first, Jack. They can’t just storm into your house like Gestapo agents. This is America, for God sakes. It’s not right. I promise you I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Wait a minute… Jack, where are calling from?”

“My kitchen.”

“You’re inside the house?”

“Yep.”

“That’s not good, Jack. You don’t want to give them any excuses to arrest you.”

“They left the Caretaker’s contract in the basement. I’m getting it.”

“Okay, I understand,” Hank said, sounding almost panicked. “Get your contract as quickly as you can and leave the house. I’ll head over there now and meet you out front.”

Hank Thompson hung up.

Durkin took a step towards the basement steps and then wanted to kick himself for not bringing the flashlight in with him. He thought briefly about going back outside for it, but the thought of crawling out and then back in again through the window changed his mind. He left the basement door wide open hoping that enough light would filter down so he could see, then headed down the steps.

The light from upstairs didn’t help much. By the time he got a few feet into the basement it was too dark to see anything. When he reached the back wall he tried to find the loose stones by memory, but pulled on half a dozen wrong stones before he found the ones that slid out. He could feel the book and contract in their hiding place. He took both of them out and headed back upstairs.

Durkin did a quick walk through the house to make sure nothing else was left behind. After satisfying himself, he went back to the kitchen, turned off the lights, and maneuvered himself so he was kneeling on the countertop and could lower himself out the window. Facing the kitchen, he put one foot out through the window, felt for the stack of boxes outside and steadied himself before sticking his other foot out.

“You’re trespassing, Jack. I could arrest you for that.”

Wolcott’s voice startled him and he lost his balance and did an unintentional stutter-step off the box. He landed awkwardly, rolling over his left ankle and dropping the contract and Book of Aukowies. Wincing, he grabbed his injured ankle. He gritted his teeth and told the sheriff he had to go back into the house to get his belongings.

“We packed everything of yours up,” Wolcott said.

“You left my contract and book in the basement,” Durkin forced out through a clenched jaw. With horror, he saw that the binding for the Book of Aukowies had split open when it hit the ground and its pages were scattered around him. He fought back a sob. Hell if he’d let this son of a bitch see him cry. He gathered up the pages and placed them back in the book.

“You had no right doing what you did,” he said. “No right at all.”

“I had every right, Jack. I only did what the town council ordered me to do.”

“You had no right. Dumping everything I own on my front yard. Not even giving me a day’s notice.”

“Jack, a notice was placed in your mailbox over a week ago. It’s not my fault you’re too busy saving the world each day to read your mail.”

Durkin looked away from his injured ankle and into the placid face of the County Sheriff, who was staring him down as if he were nothing more than the town drunk. Durkin had never hated anyone more. He was overwhelmed with the thought of letting the Aukowies develop so that Wolcott and his family could experience their full horror.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said.

“No, I’m not, Jack. While I’m happy we’re no longer wasting taxpayer’s money on this nonsense, I’ve got to be honest and tell you that I find your situation sad. But, Jack, you’ve got no one to blame for this but yourself. You could’ve kept this gravy train going for years.”

“Gravy train?” A sour laugh escaped from his lips. “Eight thousand dollars a year for breaking my back every day from spring thaw to first frost is a gravy train, huh?”

“Eight thousand dollars plus a free house. You conveniently left that out, Jack. And besides, eight thousand dollars for doing absolutely nothing is a lot of money. If you wanted to play the part in this charade and break your back, that was your business. And you know, Jack, if you just quietly did your weeding, the town would’ve kept this charade going. But you couldn’t do that. You had to cut your son’s thumb off, and God knows what you did to your wife. We had one lone hold-out in the council, but the final straw was seeing your wife walk out on you with her hand in a cast. Of course, your own words from the court transcript didn’t help you.”

Confusion mixed with the hatred in Durkin’s stare.

“Don’t you remember, Jack? What you said in court a couple of weeks ago? Where you admitted you’re simply pulling out weeds everyday and that the town were saps for paying you to do that? I got a copy of that for the town council. It helped them make up their minds.”

Durkin pushed himself to his feet, hobbling gingerly on his injured ankle. His hands clenched to fists at his side. Wolcott noticed his hands and the slight smile on his lips tightened.

“You knew I was saying that only for the benefit of the judge.”

“You were sworn to the truth, Jack. Under threat of perjury.”

“What if the truth is that there are creatures growing in that field? What then?”

“It’s not the truth, Jack. If you really think that, then it’s nothing more than a psychotic delusion on your part.”

“What if it ain’t? What if everything I’ve been saying is the truth?”

Wolcott took a step back, his hand resting on his service revolver. “A lot of what-ifs. What if Santa Claus were real?”

“If he was, the world wouldn’t come to an end ’cause of it.”

The sound of tires on the dirt road out front stopped them. A car door opened and shut, followed by Hank Thompson’s voice bellowing about what an outrage this was.

“We’re back here, Hank,” Wolcott called out.

Hank Thompson was seething as he joined them. He pointed a long quivering finger at the sheriff. “You had no right doing this,” he accused, his voice loud and booming.

“Calm down, Hank. I had every right. Besides, I was only following the directives of the town council.”

“To sneak into my client’s house and dump all of his belongings out in the street?”

“They were put out on his front yard.”

“You know damn well what I meant. And don’t you dare smirk at me!”

Wolcott held out a hand to stop the attorney.

“Calm down,” he ordered. “I wasn’t smirking at you. And as I was telling your client, a notice was sent over a week ago. There’s nothing I can do if he chose to ignore it.”

Hank’s eyes slid momentarily towards Durkin, then back on Wolcott with renewed intensity. “I’ll calm down when I damn well want to. What if it was raining?”

“It’s not.”

“But if it was you would’ve still dumped everything he owned on the front yard?”

“Look, Hank-”

“This was wrong. Legally and morally you had an obligation to make sure my client was aware of the seizure notice and eviction plans.”

“Which is exactly what I did!”

“By serendipitously placing a notice in the mail so it can be lost and never delivered?”

“By hand delivering it myself. I put it in your client’s mailbox a week ago!”

“You had to sneak here and hide it in his mailbox? You didn’t have the common decency to deliver it by hand?”

Wolcott shook his head. “I did what I was required to.”

“Hank,” Jack said, interrupting his attorney in the middle of shaking his finger again. “I found my wallet packed away in one of the boxes. It was empty. The two hundred dollars you gave me was taken from it.”

The attorney shot a withering look at Wolcott.

“Hank, you know as well as I do that I only supervise packing up the house. Besides, it’s your client’s responsibility to pay attention to the seizure notice and make sure the house is vacated. If he fails to do so, then any lost property is his fault.”

“I demand that you investigate this!”

“Come on, Hank-”

“You failed to properly notify my client, and assuming you didn’t take the money yourself, two hundred dollars was stolen out from under your nose-”

“Be careful what you’re saying, Hank.”

“Not only that,” Durkin interjected, his voice not much more than a croak, “they packed up the food from the refrigerator and left it out in the sun. Half of it’s spoiled.”

“Alright, alright,” Wolcott said, flashing Durkin a look before staring angrily at the older attorney. “I’ll look into this. But you know, Hank, your client broke a window and trespassed into the house. I could arrest him right now.”

“He was retrieving personal property that you didn’t bother to pack up.”

“I made sure that nothing was left behind!”

“He had several items of great sentimental value that were hidden in the basement. If you’d like, I’m sure Jack will show you where they were.”

Wolcott looked slowly from Hank to Jack Durkin. “No, that won’t be necessary,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. Your client criminally trespassed, regardless of what might’ve been left in the house.” He removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt and stepped forward. “I am placing him under arrest. You can accompany us down to the station house if you’d like.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Hank Thompson said, his voice shaking with indignation. “If you do this I will sue you for abuse of power. Trust me, Sheriff, making your life hell will be my life’s work. Maybe at the end of the day, you’ll also get to find out what it’s like to have your home seized.”

Wolcott hesitated, then reluctantly slipped the handcuffs back on his belt. “I want your client off this property now,” he said. “And all his junk too. Anything still here by tomorrow morning will be carted off to the town dump.”

Hank sniffed dismissively. “Jack will be given a reasonable amount of time to remove his property. If you touch any of it he will sue you. Make no mistake about that, Dan. Now why don’t you get the hell away from here and let me talk to my client in private.”

Wolcott nodded. “Just make sure your client doesn’t enter the house again.”

“What about the garage?” Durkin asked.

“What?”

“My pa built that garage.”

Wolcott stared at Durkin as if he sprouted horns.

“You’ll have to bring that up with the town council,” he said, his voice strained. “Maybe they’ll let you move it to somewhere else. That’s up to them. But I’m coming back here at midnight and if you’re camped out anywhere on this property, I’m arresting you.”

“Dan, let me ask you something,” Hank said, his tone softer and more congenial. “You used to be a good kid, and were for the most part a nice guy as sheriff. When did you become such an asshole?”

Wolcott flinched as if he’d been slapped. “I’m only doing my job, Hank.”

“A little too zealously, if you ask me. What do you have against Jack?”

“Other than cutting off his son’s thumb? How about the way he’s treated his wife.” Wolcott pushed his hand over his scalp. “Mrs. Durkin looks twenty years older than a woman her age has any right to look. And now I see her walking around town with a cast on her hand. How’d that happen, Hank? I’ll give your client until six tomorrow night to remove his property. Just make sure he does.”

Wolcott nodded dully at them as he walked away. Hank Thompson stood stone-faced watching him. After the sheriff was out of sight, he sighed and turned to Durkin.

“Why the hell is Dan so fixated with Lydia?” he asked.

“She used to be babysit him.”

“It looks like he’s still carrying an adolescent crush on your wife. If I remember right, Lydia used to be quite pretty when she was younger. Jack, you didn’t ever abuse her, did you?” Hank asked, his eyebrows arching slightly.

“Never once laid a hand on her. And as far as yelling goes, she always gave worse than she got.”

Hank chuckled sympathetically. “Pretty much how I’d imagine it with her. I don’t want to rub salt in the wound, Jack, but I doubt our good sheriff would be so gung-ho right now carrying out this eviction if Lydia hadn’t walked out on you. Any chance of you two reconciling?”

Durkin frowned as he considered it. He stumbled, and when he tried to regain his footing, ended up putting weight on his injured ankle. Wincing, he sat down quickly.

“Are you okay, Jack?”

“I hurt my ankle coming out of the window. I hope it ain’t broke.”

“Jesus.”

“I think I’ll be okay. I just need to sit here for now. About what you asked, unless Lester changes his story she ain’t moving back with me.”

Hank lowered himself to the ground and joined Durkin.

“What a mess,” he said.

“Yep.”

“It explains why Child Services has been putting me off. Must be someone on the town council having them do that. They probably didn’t want to risk Lester recanting his statement until after your eviction. Well, Jack, I’m just going to have to push harder for that deposition.”

Durkin didn’t say anything. He was too choked up at that moment to say anything. He dusted dirt off the Caretakers contract and handed it to Hank.

“This is the contract?” Hank asked. The attorney held it at arm’s length to take a look at it but it was too dark to read it.

Durkin nodded.

“I’ll go over this carefully tonight,” Hank said. “With your family occupying this house for several hundred years this contract could amount to a land grant. It amazes me they thought they could get away with this. But then again, with some of the newer town residents on the council they probably didn’t believe that this contract even existed. Don’t worry, Jack, I’m going to get you back in that house.”

Durkin nodded dully as he examined the Book of Aukowies. Tears welled in his eyes.

Hank put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s the book?” he asked.

“Yep. It’s been in my family over three hundred years. The binding split open when I fell.”

Hank took the book from Durkin and looked through the pages. In the dusk he could still make out the drawings of the Aukowies.

“This is what they look like fully grown?”

“Yep.”

Hank’s face grew even more gaunt as he stared at the pictures. He closed the book.

“Jack, the binding can be replaced. Leave the book with me and I’ll get it fixed.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”

“Least I can do, Jack. I’ll get it done right away.”

The attorney picked himself off the ground and gave Durkin a hand to help him to his feet. He looked at Durkin with concern.

“I should take you to the emergency room,” he said.

“Nope. It’s probably just a sprain. Anyway, I got too much to do.”

The two men started towards the front of the house, Durkin in a badly hobbled gait and Hank walking slowly to keep pace with him. The concern on the attorney’s face deepened as he watched the way Durkin moved.

“You need to get that ankle looked at.”

“Not tonight,” Durkin grunted.

Hank offered to put Durkin up at his home when they reached his car. “You can stay with me until we get this mess resolved, or if you’d like, tomorrow I can find you an apartment.”

“How far away is your new home?”

“It’s only the next town over. I’d say no more than fifteen miles from here.”

“I can’t do that.” Durkin shook his head, his jaw locked in a determined scowl. “I need to stay close to the field.”

“Jack, I can drive you back here anytime you’d like.”

“Nope. Wouldn’t want to put you out that way. Besides, I got other plans.”

“Jack, really, it’s no bother…” Hank Thompson stopped as he stepped back on his heels. He froze for a moment, then tapped his chest. “Indigestion,” he told Durkin. “I shouldn’t have had that extra helping of stuffed cabbage.” He smiled weakly as he took out his wallet and peered inside it. He counted what he had and handed the money to Durkin.

“Forty-three dollars,” Hank said. “All I have on me. If I knew those bastards lifted the two hundred dollars from you, I would’ve stopped off at an ATM before coming here. You’re sure you’re going to be okay?”

Durkin nodded without much conviction.

“Call me tomorrow,” Hank said. “I’m going to fix this, Jack, I promise. I’ll be filing an emergency injunction tomorrow morning to get you reinstated as Caretaker and back in your house. Don’t worry about a thing, Jack, we’ve got a valid contract on our side.” The attorney sighed as he gazed at the boxes and furniture scattered across the front yard. “It might take a few days to get all this worked out, so I’ll arrange to have your belongings put in storage. I don’t want to give our good sheriff an excuse to throw your property away.”

“I appreciate all this, Hank.”

The attorney fixed Durkin a careful look. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked.

“Yep. I’ll be fine.”

The attorney took Durkin’s hand. His face grew a shade grayer as he stared more intently at Durkin. “You’re sure you’re going to be able to weed that field tomorrow?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay, Jack.” Hank lowered himself into his Cadillac. “If you need anything you call me, understand?”

The attorney showed a comforting smile as he held up the Book of Aukowies and promised Durkin he’d get it repaired. As he pulled away, he honked his horn and waved out the window. Durkin watched until the car disappeared around the bend. Then he found his flashlight and hobbled painfully to where he’d left Lester’s mountain bike.