Destruction Road Read online

  He hopped out and rummaged through a duffel bag until he found his four sweatshirts. Will grabbed them and got back into the truck. He put two of them on, one over the other, and then used the other two as a pillow. He stretched out across the bench seat, putting his feet up on the passenger side armrest. He tried to sleep, but the silence kept him from finding any rest.

  With everything that had happened today, the sound of crickets was the last thing he could deal with right now. They weren't enough to drown out his thoughts. He put the key back in the ignition and turned it halfway until the radio could come on. He reached over and hit the knob. His dad had it tuned to AM, and a newscast came over the speakers. He reached up to change it to FM when the newscaster's words stayed his hand.

  "In local news, a pregnant mother, her baby and 2 year old child were killed by a shooter today while trying to merge onto the freeway. Eye witness reports put an old white Ford truck fleeing the scene.

  Will's raised voice echoed through the small cab of the truck as he swore, hitting the radio button to turn it off. He had been under the impression that he got away clean. He sat up and hit the dashboard. Then a change came over his face. He reached into the glove box, pulled out the flask and took a long pull. He put it back, and then started to laugh.

  "No rest for the wicked I guess."

  Will had to act like this was all just a big video game to deal with it. If he let himself stop to think for too long about all that had happened, then he would lose it. He started the truck and put it in reverse until the road came into view. He drove back to the freeway and then hit the first rest area he could find. He would need their free coffee.

  Tom looked out the window as he held his hands to the heat coming from the car vents. All was cold and dark: the streets outside as they drove, the wet littered parking lot, and the medical examiner building. The overcast sky hid the light outside but inside—that was something else. It was no dearth of fixtures, plenty of them hung from the sterile ceiling above. Something else was holding the light back. Tom got the same feeling at cemeteries, but inside of a building it was more pronounced. It felt like some dark force was at work suppressing the light. As soon as he walked through the doors he felt it. It was death.

  He was glad for his dad's company; this would be it, he would have to face the fact that they were actually gone. The bleak strings of hope he held onto would be cut when he saw them; falling from his white knuckled grasp. They would disappear into a bottomless pit of harsh reality; taking a part of him with them, leaving him changed forever. He was still holding on.

  His steps across the dark room were deliberately slow. Behind a drab desk sat a pale skinny man glued to a computer screen. He did not look up as they approached, but raised one hand to them.

  “Be with you in a minute,” the young man said without raising his eyes. The screen lit his inattentive face. Tom’s father cleared his throat. The man looked over briefly, then frowned when he looked back to his screen.

  "Oh man! There goes my ranking."

  He hit a key and turned to face them.

  "What can I do for you?"

  "We're here to identify his wife," he said, pointing to Tom, "and my grandchild."

  The man straightened.

  "Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

  He picked up the phone, then stopped and looked up again—this time at Tom.

  "I'm sorry, your name?"

  "Tom, Tom Orchard."

  When he spoke his voice came out frail and soft.

  "Hey Lex, a Mr. Orchard is here."

  The silence accentuated the darkness.

  "Ok, I'll let him know."

  He hung up and looked at them with a strained courteous smile.

  "That was Ms. Stilks, the M.E. She'll be right out to take you back."

  "M.E.?" Tom's father said.

  "Oh, uh, Medical Examiner."

  Tom's father nodded. With that the man swiveled back to his screen, leaving them to wait in the silence. It grew darker, and Tom felt a strange cold creep over him. Despite his heavy coat he shivered involuntarily for the briefest moment. Then the small mouse clicks started up again, and Tom was glad for it. The silence was becoming too much for him. The door behind the hunched gamer buzzed and then swung open. A tall gaunt woman with dark hair and thin glasses approached them. She pulled her hand from her lab-coat pocket and shook Tom’s.

  "Hello Mr. Orchard. I'm Alexia Stilks. I'm terribly sorry for your loss. If you'll just follow me, we can get this over with."

  She gave Tom's father a kind nod, then walked back through the doors. They followed. Once through the doorway Tom could swear the temperature had dropped again. He felt like a cloud would form as he blew out his next breath; but the brisk air remained clear. They passed several rooms with long black bags resting on polished steel tables. The stiff rubber bags looked cold, like the bodies within.

  The last door on the right led into a room with one difference from the others: it had two tables set up. A bag laid on one holding a form much smaller than the others they had seen through the dark windows as they walked down the hall. Alexia walked to one end of the larger form first. She turned and watched them come in. When they looked settled she said,

  "I'm going to reveal her face. Are you ready Mr. Orchard?"

  Tom looked from the body bag up to her, and then gave an ambivalent nod.

  She pulled back the zipper. The silent cold grew again. It filled the room until Tom managed,

  "That's her, that's my wife. Oh Kathy."

  He looked away. Tom's dad put his arm around his son and pulled him in.

  The M. E. zipped the bag back up. She watched them for a moment, then moved to the other table. She felt bad for Tom. Most people had to deal with the loss of one, and then they could leave. Seeing their loved one like this for the first time, in this cold sterile place; it was no wonder to her when they had trouble handling their emotions. She thought she would have become used to it by now—the loss of sympathy was just part of the job after so many years. She hadn't. She still felt sorry for every new person she met.

  She waited for him. He was crying into his dad's shoulder. Alexia hated seeing grown men cry. Something about it unnerved her, no matter how many times she had seen it. This was not her favorite part of the job. Tom stepped back from his father and dried his eyes, looking over at her, too distraught to be embarrassed.

  "Okay, sorry. I'm ready."

  "You don't need to apologize for anything Mr. Orchard."

  She pulled away the bag revealing his little boy's face—the one with the mouth that had started saying complete sentences which made Tom laugh and cheer. An innocent face that did not yet know the evils of this world. Now that face was drained of life, and looked like a wax representation of his son.

  "That's him, my son Ronnie."

  The timbre of his voice had changed now. It was now hard and lacked the frailty it carried before. There were new tears, but these ones were hot as they plummeted down his face. His eyes burned, and his knuckles popped as he clenched his fists.

  "Who would have done this?" Tom said in a low tone to himself.

  "Is that everything you need?" he asked the M. E. without turning to look at her. It came out more callous than he had intended.

  "Just one more thing,” she said.

  She walked over to a desk and grabbed a clipboard, then handed it to Tom.

  "If you could just sign here that you've identified them, and initial here to verify their social security numbers, you can be on your way."

  "Thank you," he said with a forced amount of appreciation. He marked the spaces with a pen, and walked out. His dad gave Alexia an awkward look and then followed his son out the door. The scrawny man behind the desk thanked them as they passed by his desk, but they didn't acknowledge him. Tom went home and then to bed, putting the worst day of his life to rest.

  Chapter 4

  By the third rest stop Will figured he had covered enoug
h distance to rest somewhere safely. He pulled into a sleepy town just as its inhabitants were getting up to start their day. He found a good spot in the very back of a huge parking lot right between two other old trucks.

  He figured that this would be a much better place than hiding on a country road. He thought that blending in might be smarter than hiding. He planned to sleep in crowded areas by day, and travel by night until he found something good. He rolled up his sweatshirts and stuffed them under his head. Within minutes he was asleep.

  Will awoke to the sound of an officer tapping on his window. At first he thought it was a nightmare. How could the police have found him in this podunk town parked among a bunch of other old trucks? Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He was, after all, a long way from home. He sat up and rolled down the window.

  "I'm sorry to wake you, but we've been called to run the plates on these here trucks and contact the owners. You can't park your vehicle here for more than 8 hours. Didn't you see the signs?"

  The officer pointed to a sign three spots away.

  "Oh, uh, no; I didn't. I'm sorry officer. I was driving most of the night—just needed a little cat nap. I'll move it."

  "Not from around here?"

  "No sir, just passing through."

  "Alright. Well I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to write you a fine for parking here for too long."

  "Okay."

  Will thought the best way to get out of this was to be polite, take the fine, and then make tracks. Normally he would have argued with the cop until he was blue in the face over something like this. He probably hadn't even been asleep that long, but it was best to just play it cool. He watched the policeman walk back to his car and get inside. He looked over at Will's license plate. This was not good. Will thought about starting the truck, but would he really be able to outrun a police cruiser in his dad's old Ford? Not likely. All he could do was wait and remain polite. Maybe he could still get out of this.

  "I'm going to need you to get out of the vehicle sir."

  Maybe not.

  Tom hadn't slept much, and it wasn't because his parent's guest bed was uncomfortable. The day didn't seem real, couldn't be real. And yet he had seen them. His beautiful wife and baby boy. Always asking the funniest questions with his cute little voice.

  Everything seemed like a hazy dream. He had hoped that once he finally found sleep maybe he could wake up from it all and roll over to give his wife a kiss on the cheek as she slept. Unfortunately for Tom, it was no dream. It was a nightmare. He had finally fallen asleep around four, which was why he was still asleep when his parent's phone rang at ten AM.

  Tom never heard it, but he did hear his father's knock at the bedroom door.

  "Tom?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm sorry to wake you son, but there's a detective on the phone for you. He says he has some news to share about the case."

  "No, that's okay Dad, I'll take the call. What time is it?"

  "It's just after ten. We've got some coffee left if you want it, and pancakes."

  "That would be great dad, thanks."

  Tom sat up and followed his dad out to the kitchen where the phone was sitting on the counter waiting for him.

  "Hello?" he managed to get out between yawns.

  "Hello, this is detective Strunk. Is this Thomas Orchard I am speaking to?"

  "Yep," Tom said, "unfortunately that's me.”

  "Well, I have some good news for you Tom. We picked up the kid who's responsible for the death of your wife and son. He was parked in the back of a Supermarket lot about 600 miles from here."

  "Really?! Oh, that's great. You know it's him then?"

  "We do. His father reported that his son had stolen his truck, with the same description the witness saw, and he lives less than ten minutes from the crime scene. That's how we were pretty sure we had the right license plate number. We sent out a watch to all the states within a thousand miles in every direction to be on the lookout. They're hauling him back to town now."

  "That's wonderful. Oh man, thank you."

  He looked to his parents with a weak smile.

  "So where do we go from here?"

  "I'm sorry to say that now we wait. He will be in jail, but it will be a while before the trial. One thing I do know is that he's not quite 18 yet. The significance in that, is that back in 05' the Supreme Court barred the death penalty for juveniles in Roper v. Simmons; so he won't be getting the death penalty. But rest assured Mr. Orchard, he will spend the rest of his life in jail to think about what he's done, starting today. I hope this offers you some comfort.

  "Well, I'm glad he was caught. Thank you."

  "I am as well. That's all the news I have for you at this moment. Was there anything else?"

  “Yeah, um, am I able to go and see this kid?”

  “Uh, yeah, we could arrange that. You want to do that then?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay. Normally only family is able to have visiting privileges, but yeah I'll make the call. You can talk to him through a window on a phone. I’m not putting you in a room with him.”

  “That’s fine. When will he be there?”

  “In just a few hours.”

  “Alright, thanks.”

  "You're welcome Mr. Orchard. I'll tell you more when there's fresh news."

  "Thank you. Goodbye.”

  Tom hung up the antiquated phone, an act of actually hanging it back up onto the wall, and turned to his folks.

  "They found the shooter. He's just a kid, not even 18 yet."

  "Dear Lord," said Mrs. Orchard.

  "Could you help me find a travel mug for the coffee dad?”

  “Sure thing son.”

  “Thanks. I'm going to take a drive, and pick up some things from the house. I'm not sure when I'll be going back to my home yet—too many memories to deal with right now."

  "You just take your time son."

  "Well, alright. Thanks dad."

  "You bet."

  Chapter 5

  Tom grabbed his cell phone charger from the house and got back into the car. He was in and out as fast as possible. It still hurt too much to see all of their things. He cried sitting there alone parked in front of his house.

  He started the car and plugged in his cell phone so it could charge. Powering it on he saw that he had missed a call from work. He didn't want to deal with that right now. He just sat there crying until his sleep deprivation caught up with him and he fell asleep.

  He woke up to the sound of his cell phone ringing.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello Mr. Orchard. This is detective Strunk again. I just wanted to let you know that Will Sandstone arrived at the Juvenile Detention Center. It's out on 1427 W. Countmore, do you need directions?”

  “No, I can find it with my phone, thanks.”

  “Yes sir. If you don't mind me asking, why are you going to see him?”

  “Don't worry detective, I'm not going to try and get revenge. I just want to ask him one question. Why? Why would anyone shoot my wife?”

  “Why he did it might not be the best thing to hear right now.”

  “I have to know.”

  “Well, I'll talk to you later then Mr. Orchard.”

  “Alright. Thank you.”

  This was it. He was going to see the murderer. As Tom pulled out of the driveway the silence had become too much for him, so he turned on the radio. Normally he listened with his mp3 player hooked up, but he didn't want to think, just listen. It was set to a country station. She had been with him the last time the radio was on. Tom hated country, but he left it there because it reminded him of his wife. It was different somehow than the glimpses of their things when he had raced through the house. It was almost like she was sitting next to him, singing along, and teasing him as she sang the lyrics to him.

  He was driving to a place he had never been. The nickname for it reminded him of his favorite road trip candy. You could only find it at gas stations. Not once had he foun
d them at a supermarket. Jujubes were the best for road trips, because they lasted so much longer than any other candy. He suspected visiting juvie would be nothing like a road trip with his favorite candy.

  He had given himself time to get out a lot of the tears, which might never go away, but now most of him was spent on resentment toward his family's killer. He'd spent enough time holed up in his parent's guest room, now he was going to go see this kid, and get an answer from him. An answer to a simple question: why?

  There had to be a reason, even if Tom couldn't think of one. His wife had no enemies. He couldn't conceive of why anyone would shoot her. She was one of those drivers that, no matter what happened, never had road rage. She was also one of those drivers who didn't pay the best attention behind the wheel, but she was a polite driver. As Tom made his way toward an unfamiliar stretch of road one of her favorites—Love Song by Taylor Swift—came on. It made him smile.

  He turned it up and let it fill his ears as his eyes filled with tears. He listened to the singer's voice, playing off the band's melody. He could hear her voice too. His thoughts drifted off to where he was going as he drove down the barren patch of road. The song ended. He wiped away his tears and turned it off as the DJ's voice announced the next song. His wife's voice was gone, replaced by the low crackle of gravel beneath his tires.

  A broad gray building lay in the distance. Tom's hands began to sweat as he drew near. He rolled his window down and let a hand hang out to dry his palm. The sound of the gravel grew just as the looming building before him. There was something unnerving about it. He turned on the air conditioning to dry his other hand, and drown out the sound a little. Then he closed his window and drove with his knees as he rested his palms before the cool blowing vents. As he pulled into the very small parking lot, he thought to himself, must not get many visitors.

  Somewhere inside this building was the one who had stolen everything from him. He was going to find out why. He got out of his car and approached the harsh building. The front door looked like one which led into a business, and it opened easily enough. Once inside the building, however, it did not feel like a store. Instead of a smiling face to greet him there sat a squat plain faced woman with a hint of a mustache. Her eyes tracked to Tom with annoyance from behind thick barred glass. A solid door was at his left, which looked like it opened with a key, and another to his right. He guessed that one was for ingress into the facility, while the other was for employees. He walked up to the lady at the window.