Big Brother's Duty

Big Borther's Duty

The rolling emerald hills scrolled by lazily outside the train windows. They had possessed a more cheerful quality the first ride. The clank of Aaron’s chained arms brought me out of my speculating. He had only shifted his weight in his sleep. It was near impossible to believe that this man, with his orderly ponytail of blonde hair, clear, honest blue eyes, fair complexion and mouth quick to smile or laugh, could be the man I came out in search of. Even then, a peaceful thought caused the corners of his mouth to raise into a childlike half-smile. How he could look so peaceful. . .
         An icy drop of fear ran down my spine as the events that led to such an odd acquisition washed over me. The last two weeks seemed to have taken two years to understand fully. The call to my office, the brief, impersonal case folder I glanced at on the journey out of the city, the hike through the forest, and the night in the bar were forever branded on my mind. . . .


         “No Higgins, you acted just as anyone would have in that situation, better than some more seasoned... No, no, I understand that, you’re only a rookie after all. You shouldn’t have been there. You... Don’t worry, you aren’t facing a dismissal hearing, I just think you should take a couple of days off- now let me finish- take some time off for your own sanity. You saw an officer get shot, son, therapy wouldn’t hurt you either. . . Yes it can be frigh- I’m glad you still want to be on the force. Alright. Take a week.” Massaging my temples, I hung up the phone. I tested my coffee and decided to see if my secretary had been able to extract herself from all the paperwork this affair had generated.
         I checked my composure in the mirror before leaving my office, which proved to be necessary. When the precinct was as hectic as the underworld and my physical appearance was penetrated by the mood, it certainly never caused any morale improvement. I smoothed down a lock of graying auburn hair that had worked itself free from the rest sometime in the three hours between my last coffee break and now. 42 is too young to have gray hair my mother had pointed out on her last visit. I had only had a few gray hairs then, and couldn’t bear to think what she would say to me in a few weeks when she returned home from Peru. I returned to my desk to grab my coffee mug and an official looking folder, with a closed stamp on the outside, for the multiple press cameras which were no doubt lurking outside my door to invade territory they know is too dangerous to be legal.
         I heard the shutters begin to flash the moment I unlocked the bolt on the only border between myself and the news hungry vultures circling beyond the safety and borderline peace of my solitary office.
         “Mr. Versantae!”
         “Sir! If I could only have a minute of your time-”
         “What can you tell us about-”
         “Nothing, you know that Ms. Channel 5 News.” I answered tersely.
         “Is that folder related to the shooting of the officer downtown?”
         “Is the officer that let the shooter get away facing an inquiry?”
         “You all listen to me.” The room quieted so quickly that the officer in the back of the room, who had, in order to be heard, been yelling into his phone continued to for an awkward moment.  “There was no officer, aside from the one who was shot, present at the scene.” I waited for the burst of noise to subside.
         “Sir?”
         “I told you to listen, if you aren’t going to, leave.” No one made a move to leave, no one spoke even a whisper to their camera men. “The only other man present was a rookie, never fired a gun in his life. He was riding along side this officer today to further understand what police officers do. There was nothing he could have done within the scope of legality, therefore, aside from a few days of prescribed R&R, he has no punishment entailed to him.”
         “Do you still want him on the force after such an act of cowardice?”
         “Cowardice? Do you consider securing the life of an officer to be cowardice? Perhaps he didn’t play the classical hero and chase the shooter down in vengeance only to return to find his potential partner bled out on the street, but I can predict what you might have done in his shoes. And that would be to have wet your pleated khaki pants, sat down on the ground, and cried until your momma came to take you to get an ice cream. So before you go back to your air conditioned cubical to come up with some report, you consider what the word cowardice really means.” I pushed through the momentarily silenced swarm of career murdering sharks to the desk of my secretary.
         She sighed and rested her dimpled chin on the heel of one of her pudgy little ebony hands, “Well sir, I think you removed them at long last.” I looked over and saw the pack of them dispersing back to their news centers to write a headline story by the morning deadline. “Don’t you dare ask me for coffee. I’m done here.” I chuckled at her empty threat. She shook her head and her glossy black curls bounced. “Oh you laugh, but I’ll be gone by the morning. I’ve just got one request before I go.”
         “Oh? And what’s that Dorcas?” A smile twitched on her lips as she stared, as if she could see fulfillment of this one last wish playing out on the gray-washed wall of the bull pen.
         “Bury me at sea. In a canvas bag, sewn from head to toe.” She turned her gaze to me as I raised an eyebrow at her request, “I often fear that if I’m buried in a wooden casket the smell of potential paperwork might just resurrect me.” She cackled the way only black women are capable of at her own little joke.
         “So, no fresh brewed coffee. Well, I’ll just go back in my office then.”
         “Oh quit your poutin’! It’ll be five minutes til its done!” She shouted at me as I closed the door to my office. I sat down, weary from dealing with the cut throat business of politics. I knew Dorcas would bring me my coffee once it was ready, so I decided to take a five minute break. It was, however interrupted by my private line buzzing me.
         “Hello?” Dorcas’s clever voice responded on the other end.
         “I knew you wouldn’t answer any other line, but there’s a man here to see you, says he knows something about the killing of a woman, out in some little town called Avalanche Valley.” She told me the name of the victim and when I didn’t respond she continued. “He’s on his way in, I thought you might be interested.”
         

         The guards knocked on the door of the train compartment to make sure I was awake before entering, some common courtesy folderol. I let them know it was fine for them to enter and the door slid open.
         “This the guy?” One of the cronies asked, obviously not hired for his intellect,  pointing at the man curled on the seat with his feet and arms chained together as well as to the wall and floor. “Need us to take care of him?” He spoke, in a blatantly fake Chicago accent, putting too much emphasis on the word ‘care’, as if to be a discreet reference toward violent actions.
         “No Mr. Lawrence, just call me when he wakes. Use the walkie-talkies please.” I added to avoid any misconception. “I really do mean right away. Don’t talk to him either, nothing more than a simple yes or no answer to questions.” The blank stares I was receiving made me uneasy. “You boys understand what you’re to do?”
         “Oh yessir.”
         “Good. Don’t let anyone in here but me, I’ve got a key and I’m locking you boys in.” I stepped outside the compartment. “Remember to call me the moment he wakes up.” I shut the compartment door, all the time praying to God that nothing would happen that required more than basic thinking skills. I walked down the narrow aisle next to the other compartments and stepped into the bar car. The cheesy ragtime music grated on my already incapacitated nerves, but I continued on.
         “What’ll it be sir?” Asked the bartender casually cleaning out an already sparkling glass.
         “Coffee and an aspirin.” I turned to watch the people, all enjoying themselves, oblivious to the monster that shared their train. The bartender slid the glass next to my elbow with the aspirin on a napkin next to it. I thanked him, or at least I ought to have, and went back to observing people.
         “Business or pleasure?” I sighed and forgave the bartender his inquisitive nature because it was probably in his job description. Socialize with the customers and maybe they’ll buy more drinks. I laughed and explained to him that must have been business because it certainly wasn’t pleasure. He changed the subject and reminded me that I was going to home to whatever my home might be. I was about to blow him off and go back to the compartment but I remembered what the agent had told me about keeping myself from arousing suspicion, and made a valiant attempt to be civil. This man’s education was certainly not in the art of detecting sarcasm and cruel wit, so the conversation went along just fine.
         Static on my walkie-talkie ended our conversation. Aaron was awake and was asking for a Sprite. I payed for my coffee and a Sprite and returned to the make-shift confinement cell of this disturbed individual. His calm composure sent shivers down my spine. He drank his Sprite very calmly then turned to me.
         “You been thinkin’ ‘bout the last couple a weeks we spended together, huh?” He asked in his simple tone.
         “Well, yes Aaron, I suppose I have been. I still don’t understand though, why did you kill her?” He took a slow drink of his Sprite, all the while keeping his eyes glued to my face.
         “I reckon if you only thinks ‘bout it a bit more, you’s can figger it out. You’s a purdy keen fella.” He nodded slowly, very convicted that I was ‘purdy keen’ as he so elegantly stated it.
         

         The picture of the body fell out of the case folder when I opened it on the first ride to the little backwards town. The woman, Peggy, was a beautiful woman, a real, classic beauty, not some fake silicone girl. She was dressed in a golden, sparkling gown, with a red-ish tiara set in the auburn pile of curls atop her head. She wore dainty slippers, Wizard of Oz ruby red, red satin gloves and a simple but amazing red ruby and gold necklace. Her make-up was perfect and her face had been made to smile. The final touch of red was the crimson blood that has stained her gown from the slit on either side of her neck.
         Aaron himself greeted me when I arrived at the tiny train station. I immediately felt I could trust him by the simplistic manner of his speech and demeanor. He drove me, in his rusted- out, door less pick-up truck to the only hotel in town.
         “I knows it ain’t much.” He said as I tried to find a positive aspect to the dive. “You be more than welcome to hole up at my farm on account of my wife’s wantin’ the guest room to be made up all nice and purty supposin’ we was ever to have us some visitors.” Though he wasn’t bright, Aaron certainly had an air about him that wasn’t homely, at least not always, but kind and good-hearted. I took him up on his offer and made sure to think of a compliment to pay his wife for the no doubt, beautiful decoration of the guest room.
         When we arrived at his farm, he adopted a very proud air. There were no weeds in his front yard and a very beautiful arrangement of flowers under every windowsill. The farm house itself had a new coat of shiny red paint with white trim and there wasn’t a loose animal in sight. At this gorgeous sight I fully expected to see his wife waiting in the doorway with a little tyke on her hip and an adorable young girl holding her other hand, but the door was shut tight and I didn’t see any sign of a child about.
         “Well, Mr...” I paused, realizing that though I knew his first name, Aaron’s last name was a complete mystery to me.
         “Anthony. Aaron Anthony. I figger my momma named me that so I’s could remember how to spell my name. A-a. Just like my initials.” He seemed so modestly happy about it that I couldn’t help but smile.
         “Well, Mr. Anthony. I’m Julius Versantae. Is you wife inside, I must thank her for taking me in just like this.” I started to walk toward the door, but turned when I noticed Aaron didn’t move. I looked very closely at his face and saw tears welling up in his eyes. “Aaron? I’m sorry,” and for once I was, “did I offended you, Aaron?”
         “Sir, you’s here cause my wife’s the one’s been killed.”


         The train continued rattling along and my memories rattled with confusion.
         “Aaron... she was your wife, and you... I don’t understand.” I shook my head. “Didn’t you love her?” Aaron smiled his simple smile and nodded once.
         “More than nothing else. She’s all I had to talk to and be with. You just keep a thinkin’, Julius.”


         A few days later Aaron offered to take me to his wife’s favorite place to read. He said it was a little hike but it was ‘purdy’ and he ‘figgered’ I’d enjoy myself. On the hike we talked about his wife. Aaron called her Sue, but he said that wasn’t her real name. when I inquired as to her real name he said he didn’t feel it was proper for me to be asking that question. I was familiar with his ways by then and had come to notice that he was backwards minded and a little slow to learn things, but he always tried his hardest. We walked on in silence for a time before I asked him a question.
         “Aaron, what kind of books did your wife like to read?” He had to think long and hard
about that, but finally came to an answer.
         “I can’t really ‘member the way she said it was called but she and her lady friends always talked about some peoples goin’ into a magic closet findin’ a talkin’ muskrat and then it bein’ Christmas and Halloween during summer, but I never could follow what they was talkin’ about.” He had a perplexed look on his face for a minute or two, as if he had momentarily figured something out, but he shrugged and went back to staring off into space. I suppose I didn’t know it then, but I was growing rather fond of the simple man and his simple nature.
         “Why don’t you read the book, then you’ll know what your wife liked about it so much.”
         “Well, Mr. Julius, I love that idea, but I can’t. My wife was teachin’ me to read, so good like she did, but she hadn’t gotten me anywheres near to that level of readin’.”
         


         “Aaron... don’t you wish your wife could have finished teaching you how to read?” I looked at him as he stared out the window.
         “Well, I don’t rightly know. I never really wanted much to read ‘fore she came to teachin’ me. Then I guess I wanted to cause she wanted to teach me so bad like. She were a right good teacher too. I reckon she could a teached me how to read anything.” He smiled. “I reckon I can keep tryin’ though. I brought some of my books along to read cause the train ride’s so long.” He reached into his canvas satchel and pulled out a small book with more pictures than words and set himself to reading as fast as he could.



         In the middle of the second week, Aaron took me to meet his father at the local bar. His father was a huge man, who worked in the mountains and came down ever other week to check on his sons, Aaron especially. He wasn’t brilliant, but he knew Aaron wasn’t able to take care of himself and he was looking for work in town, so he could watch Aaron until they found some other way to look after him. He took me aside and we had a very private conversation.
         “Aaron’s wife was like no other gal I’ve ever met.” He nodded, in very much the same way Aaron did. “She t’weren’t no ordinary gal at all, but I reckon you know that.”
         “So, Mr. Anthony, how was she found? Was it Aaron who found her?” I hadn’t been able to get much out of any other person in town, but I figured that if anyone knew, Aaron’s old man would.
         He blinked sadly, “Aaron found her a’right. He came runnin’ inta town, all flustered and sayin’ something about her lookin’ pretty but not wakin’ up to talk to him. Well, we all knew what had happened, or we thought we did. But when we saw, well, when Aaron showed us the knife he had in his bag, we knew what had gone down. Aaron isn’t bright, Mr. Versantae, and he had violent times when he was a kid. Did the same thing to a puppy we got him for his birthday, all on account of the puppy not wantin’ to play fetch. We all just wanted things to be done official like and I was hopin’ that maybe, you bein’ from a bigger city, maybe you could take him somewhere he’d be looked after real good.”


         Aaron was still reading hard when I looked at him again. The train began to slow down.
         “Aaron, we’re reaching the train station now. Why don’t you put that book away and I’ll make sure you don’t get lost on the way to my working building alright? This place is going to be a lot different than what you’re used to.”
         “I been to the city before. I’s not sure I likes it. But if I’m with you I figger I’ll be alright.” He put his book away and closed up his bag. I unlocked his manacles and helped him to his feet. “I’s always a little dizzy after ridin’ the train,” he explained apologetically.

         Dorcas personally greeted us when we arrived at the precinct.
         “Aaron, this is Dorcas, she works for me. She’s going to help you out for the next few days until we find you a place of your own to live in. I know I look a little different than her, but she’s like kin to me, and she’ll take good care of you. I’ll come to see you at the end of the day.” I patted Aaron’s shoulder and told him to get into Dorcas’s car. “Dorcas, Aaron’s a bit slow, but he means no harm. Don’t let him near knives and everything ought to be just fine.”
         “Julius, there’s a lot of press waiting for you inside. Just thought I’d let you know.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “The vultures must not have any other food source.”
         Dorcas drove off as I walked into the precinct, fully expected to be mobbed by microphone and lenses, however, there was a very neat, if impromptu, press conference set up. I knew I was the main speaker by the looks of intrigue that were plastered on every reporter’s face. Then I caught sight of one face that scared me. It had triumph written in every wrinkle of the smile.
         “You must forgive me, but I’ve been away on a bit of personal business. It appears that you all have something important to worry about, so lets begin. You, with the smug look on your face, what would you like to know?” I pointed to the reporter in the front who looked so triumphant.
         Very quietly she rose and with a sangfroid attitude she asked, “Why did you kill your sister?” I could hear the normally undetectable whir of a camera zooming in being emitted from all 20 of them in the room. I tried to speak, but my mouth was so dry and my tongue no longer consisted of a muscle I could control. “You just brought your brother-in-law back to be put into a mental hospital because he killed her, but it wasn’t him at all. It was you.”
         “That’s absurd,” I croaked out.
         “The knife he found was yours,” another reporter broke in, “There weren’t any knives in the house that weren’t kept in a safe he could possibly have the mental function to open.”
         “Why would I kill my sister?”
         “She married without telling you. Then she sent you this letter.” The reporter I had verbally insulted only weeks before now held up a hand-written letter in a plastic evidence bag. He began to read from it, “
         ‘Dear Julius,
                   I hope this letter finds you in a good mood. I know you are sometimes possessed by an almost demonic temper when your job has put too much stress on you.
         I have good news. I’m married to a wonderful man, Julius. He’s mentally challenged, but has the soul of an angel. He has a temper like yours, but much more uncontrolled. When he was a child he killed his puppy by slitting both sides of its throat. I tell you this so that you’ll know I know the man I’ve married. But there is still more good news.
         I am pregnant with his child. I would have told you sooner, but could not find the time or the means. Please do not be angry with me for withholding this from you.’ It’s signed Peggy Versantae Anthony. That is your sister’s name, isn’t it?” The room spun.
         “She...” I whispered, unable to find my voice. “Father said... When father passed away he told me to look after her and mother. She didn’t tell me anything about him... I loved him the minute I met him... If she’d only told me... I wouldn’t have done it... But she lied to me...” An officer came to my side.
         “Julius Versantae, you’re under arrest for the murder of Peggy Maria Versantae Anthony. You have the right to remain silent...”
         “SHE LIED TO ME!” I screamed torn between anguish and hatred. Then sobbing I fell to my knees. “She lied to me... I love her and she lied to me...she lied...”