Dakota (ch 4)

Dakota ch 4
Nearly two months had passed since the gruesome murder of my older brother. Christmas loomed just days away. I was getting comfortable in Wessington once again. I felt younger here. But I still missed him terribly.

Rebekah had called me 78 times. I know that not because I kept count but because she had left 78 messages on the machine for me. I skipped most of them, hoping for a message from Sheriff Holt. Praying for news about the case. I didn't delete them. I should have. I didn't want her to be able to take advantage of my grief. I didn't want this tragedy to lead to indecision, indescretion and inevitably, regret. I did what needed to be done, what had to be done. I had closed that chapter of my life. Rebekah Dekolowitz was no longer apart of my life, except she just didn't seem to see it that way. 

The news I had received from Sheriff Holt in the past weeks, what little news there was, lacked promise. There were no real leads. Jason's killer was still out there. He could be anywhere. He could be anyone. And that's what scared me. I had no idea what led to Jason's death, but what's more, it was impossible to rule out that the killer might also be after me. Granted there had been no signs or threats. But the possibly existed. And the fear was real. 

For that, I slept little at my home in the Dakota woods. I was awoken by the most minor of sounds.  I slept at times in the chair by the fire and thought about that night that brought me back to the place where I had grown up. And at times I would just sit in that chair and remember the floating embers. They drifted up like memories of my past, my childhood.  And like the embers, in a flash they faded to grey, dull and lifeless, before falling back to the flames. 

Each day was a challenge. I set small goals for myself. Most days I succeeded in meeting my goals. Some days were particularly hard. Small things would trigger a dormant memory and I would be paralyzed the rest of the day, finding my only solace in the torrid sleep my mind would not accept. 

But then came December 17th. It was the last thing I could expect. There was a gentle knock at the door. In the eight weeks since I returned to this house, I had not received a visitor. Perhaps it was Sheriff Holt with a major development in the case. Perhaps it was the man who murdered Jason, returning now to kill me.

I went to the door, opening it just a crack. I didn't see anyone. I opened it further and stepped outside. There was no one there.  My mind did this from time to time, played little tricks on me. My nerves were constantly on edge. It was the nature that I now lived everyday. 

I closed the door and stepped back inside  I made my way up the stairs and into my room, the very room where I had spent the first 18 years of my life. I threw myself on the bed with a sigh.

I missed Chicago. Not for Rebekah, but for publishing. I missed reading manuscripts and making my notes in red. I missed my work. I knew I lacked the focus to do what I loved so much. But I needed a pen in my hand and a stack of paper in front of me. I couldn't edit. I couldn't proof. But I could write. 

And so it began. Each day I would have my breakfast and my reminscing by the fire and then hide away in the tiny room beneath the stairs, what was once my father's study, and write whatever it was that came to mind. Some days it was a poem, some a tirade, others an epiphany and still others but a simple line, "I miss you. I miss you all."

Going into town was not easy. Most people either didn't remember me or didn't recognize me. But it was those who did that caused me such distress. I spent the entirety of my days missing Jason, regretting what happened. I needed nothing less than the constant reminder from busybodies and gossips that my brother's death was a tragedy. I knew more than anyone. I was there. I found the body.

Christmas Eve had brought with it a threat of snow. I needed to pick up some groceries and some essentials should the flurries turn into something more substantial. Afterall, this was South Dakota. You couldn't gamble with Mother Nature. She had been kind thus far, there was reason to doubt that that was all about to change. 

I rounded the corner on to Main Street.  I missed the little shops that used to line the narrow streets. But this was the age of WalMart. Retail is king.  Sales are the measure of success and service, well service is what must be sacrificed for the sake of pennies on the dollar.

I missed Main Street. I missed my turn for the market too.  That missed turn was providence. In the two blocks I drove passed my turn, I saw the little red truck I hadn't seem in ten years. Right there in front of me. It was unmistakeable. I followed the truck for a few blocks. It pulled into the library parking lot and just idled.  I waited a moment for the driver to make a move. Nothing. I couldn't wait any longer. I swung open the door of the car, stepped up to the window of the truck and tapped the glass. The woman on the other side jumped. She looked up at me and froze.  She didn't move for what seemed like days. I stood there gawking at her with my mouth hanging open. In a flash, she leaped out of her seat, threw open her door and grabbed me under the neck. 

My sister Janie. I hadn't seen her since the week she came to visit me in the city. That was only a year after I moved. Since then I had only heard rumors and stories of where she had been living. I was blamed with making her fall in love with travel.  From what Jason had told me, one day she just loaded up her truck and headed south. No one knew exactly where she went.

When mom died and then dad followed a year later, Jason had tried to find her, in fact he claimed he did find her current address and phone number. But it had been disconnected and attempts at mail were poor. There were never any responses.

It didn't matter now. The sole surviving piece of my family puzzle had returned to wessington as well. I didn't know what she knew. But I sensed she knew enough to bring her home. She wasn't here by chance. She came Home. And that's all that really mattered right now.