Rural Southern Alabama, mid 1980s
The boy is in his teens, slender and blond, kicking a pine cone down the red-dirt country road, dense woods to his left, cotton field to his right. Though the Alabama sun lays hard across the boyâs bare arms and legs, his skin is pale, like light bounces off, never sinks inside.
A sound at his back turns the boyâs head to a bright truck grille a hundred yards behind. He steps to the roadâs edge to let the truck pass. But it glides slower and closer until his nose fills with the oily stink of the engine. The truck pulls even.
âHey, I saw you in the newspaper,â the driver calls through the open passenger window, a man in his early thirties with tight-cropped hair, angular face, eyes behind wraparound mirror sunglasses. His face is built around a smile, his voice is pure country twang. âYouâre that kid who got a perfect score on the STA, right?â
The boyâs water-blue, almost feminine eyes drop with embarrassment. He mumbles, âSAT, Scholastic Aptitude Test.â
âAnd now you got free college and all that. You do us proud. Wanna ride?â
âIâm fine walking. But thanks.â
The driver grins with bright, even teeth. âItâs gotta be ninety-five degrees. We canât have our local genius getting heat stroke. Where you need to go?â
âTown, then. The library.â
The driver nods, pleased. The boy climbs in the truck. Hard muscles on the driverâs arm dance as he shifts. He drives for a quarter mile before swerving on to a dirt lane scarcely wider than the truck. Branches squeal against the vehicleâs sides.
âHey,â the boy yips. âYou said we were going to town.â
The truck bounces to a small clearing and jolts to a halt. The boyâs eyes dart from side to side. Insects buzz from the trees.
âYou recognize this place, son?â the driver says. âYou been here before, right?â
Something in the manâs voice has gotten harder. The twang has disappeared.
âListen, mister. I uh, I need to get back to ââ
âIt was last year, son. A dead man was found tied to that big pine tree yonder. Someone took a long time to kill him. A real long time.â
The boyâs hand sneaks to the door handle. He pulls the latch and dives against the door. The door doesnât give. The boyâs terrified face turns to the driver.
âLocked,â the man says, his voice calm. âUnder my control. Itâs all under my control. Look here â¦â
The driver lifts his blue work shirt to reveal a pistol in his belt. Pictures and voices from the past align in the boyâs mind. He recalls who the man is, when they met, what was said.
The boy closes his eyes, thinks, Itâs over.
The driver looks into the shadowed woods. âThere was blood everywhere the day that man got torn apart. Someone said he didnât know people had that much blood in them.â
âYouâre wrong, mister,â the boy protests, his voice high and tremulous. âI didnât do anything. I never been here before. I swear I ainât never ââ
âSHUT THE FUCK UP, KID!â
The insects are silent. Birds freeze in the trees. Itâs as if time has stopped. When the manâs voice starts again, so does everything else.
âIâve studied on that day a lot, son. More than you can believe. You know what I came up with in my thinking?â
âWhat?â the boy whispers.
âIâve never heard of so much anger busting free. So much â¦letting out. You know what I mean by letting out?â
A long pause. âNo. Not really.â
âLetting out is like floodwater piling up behind a dam. You can picture water rising behind a dam, right?â
The slightest motion as the boy nods. The driver continues speaking.
âThe dam holds back the water â keeps it inside, under control. But a dam canât stop the rain. So letâs say it keeps raining, day and night. The water rises and that held-back lake gets longer and wider and deeper. You know how that goes, donât you? Maybe from experience?â
âYes.â The boyâs whisper is almost lost in the sound of the insects.
âThe damâs a strong one and wants to hold. But that rain whips down day and night. Water keeps backing up, pushing harder. What do you think happens next?â
The boyâs face quivers and his eyes shimmer with liquid. A crystal tear traces down his cheek.
âIt keeps raining. And the dam breaks.â
The man reaches over and erases the boyâs tear with his thumb.
âNo, son. The dam opens just in time. And thatâs how it saves itself.â