The Wright Way

Chapter 37 - The Wright Way

For a moment, I can't breathe, paralyzed by the sheer impossibility of this situation. Uncle Zachary can't be here. He's in his mansion, barricaded inside with his followers, negotiating with the police. How could he be in my kitchen, of all places—with the police car outside the building and another policeman by the door?

"Joshua, come here," I hear myself say.

He doesn't move. I can see the reason why when Uncle leans forward, placing one of his elbows on the table, and the gun in his hand becomes visible. He ruffles Joshua's hair with its barrel in a mockingly affectionate gesture. Joshua doesn't react, sitting with his back straight and his hands clasped on his knees, looking in front of him. He has only his underwear on, and a T-shirt, and it occurs to me, irrelevantly, that being so exposed must feel as bad to him as having a gun at his forehead.

"Don't," I say. I can't see if the safety is on or off, so I must assume the gun can go off any moment. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" Uncle's finger caresses the trigger. One little movement, and nothing will ever be the same again. Life is so fragile. I have seen dead people at work, but this is different.

"Because it's one of the Ten Commandments, not to kill," I say.

Uncle nods thoughtfully, as if appreciating my input. Three empty beer bottles stand on the table before him, and there's smell of alcohol in the air. I've never seen Uncle drink, but the way his eyes look slightly unfocused, at least some of that beer must have been consumed by him.

"There are exceptions to every rule." The barrel of the gun presses harder at Joshua's head, forcing him to lean to the side. He winces but doesn't protest. I wonder for how long they've been sitting here, and what they've been talking about, and how on earth the policeman outside the door hadn't heard anything.

"How did you get here?" I say, hoping to distract him.

"Just went down a flight of stairs." He nods up. "We rented the apartment above you shortly after you'd moved in here. It seemed reasonable to have one of our people keep an eye on you. You're my little nephew, after all."

"Wow," I say, a few of my questions clearing up, from their awareness of Joshua staying with me to the bunch of The Wrights arriving in the middle of the night in full ritual clothing unnoticed by any of the neighbors. "So, when the police set out for the farms today, you were here, upstairs?"

He shrugs. "Until we found you, we couldn't be sure the police wouldn't show up on our doorstep, so we deemed it wise for me to hide somewhere. Hiding here, right under their nose, seemed fairly elegant—and later, Mr. Wilkins has graciously allowed me to come in."

I remember the surly look of the policeman behind the door. Uncle does have a lot of followers, and their representation in the police force is surely not limited to Jeremiah Wright. Could it have been another Jeremiah's little favor to his cousin, orchestrating for Mr. Wilkins to get the job of watching my apartment today? He could still do that much, even if he couldn't get the police off Uncle's back completely.

"Why hide?" I say. "Why not talk to the police?" From the moment the standoff on the farms started dominating the news, this was inexplicable to me. I would have expected for Uncle to cooperate and use his lawyers and connections to wriggle out of this.

"They have a search warrant." His mouth twists bitterly. "If they search the farms—well, let's say they won't let me off the hook."

"What will they find? Weapons? Bodies? Incriminating documents?"

"What does it matter?" He presses the gun to Joshua's head, making him lean to the side again.

I watch, feeling cold and helpless. Joshua's gaze finds me, his eyes pleading for help. Yet what can I do? No matter what I try, pulling a trigger will take less time.

"You'll only be in more trouble if you kill him," I say.

"It won't change much." Uncles mouth twists again. "You see, I did believe you when you pretended to have chosen us over him." Another push with the barrel makes Joshua's head bob to the side. "And then you picked him and ran away. It comes from your mother's side, you know? " He briefly points the gun at me. "Your mother's sister could never quite fit in, and after her death, your mother started to have doubts, too." He spits the word 'doubts' like a curse. "It's been a mistake to start taking outsiders in. People can only be pure if they've been raised that way. The outsiders are...unreliable. Doubts spread like a decease. From a leaf to a branch to another branch until the whole trees is sick. You must cut the damaged branches before they infect the others."

"What do you mean about my mother?" A tiny ominous bell rings at the back of my mind, a thought that's been there for a while, buried too deep, newer examined in the light of day. "Did my parents intend to leave?"

"Not openly," he says, "but yes, they were preparing to."

I stare at him, trying to wrap my mind around a suspicion that's too ugly to process.

"The fire?" I say. "Did you...Were you behind that?"

I feel like I should be yelling this, yet the words come out in a whisper.

He shrugs. "It's my responsibility to keep my community well and safe. Allowing one rotten branch to kill a tree is hardly a good gardening practice."

"They're not trees!" It feels like the floor shifts under my feet, and I pause. This is not good. I must get myself under control. Yet the memories feel like a tidal wave, my past suddenly rearranging itself, presenting the familiar events in a new light. All those times Uncle was good to me. His hand on my shoulder at my parent's funeral. Him calling me to his office to tell me that now that they'd passed away, he was my next of kin and I could come to him for anything. Him hugging me. Me hugging him back.

I feel betrayed, and yet, at the same time, I feel like I knew. Deep inside, I always knew the truth. The pieces had long since arranged themselves into a clear picture somewhere deep in my mind. I just wasn't willing to look at it, too afraid to lose what I still had.

Then my eyes meet Joshua's wide, shocked gaze and I'm suddenly reminded that none of this matters now. I can think of the past later, but right now, Joshua could be wiped out of existence any moment by this old man who has a loaded gun, two or three bottles of beer inside of him, and nothing to lose.

"Let's talk about it," I say. "Put the gun down. I promise I won't do anything. I just don't want you to do something rash."

Uncle raises an eyebrow. "Fooled me once shame on me. Fooled me twice..."... He shakes his head. "Won't happen, Ethan. You are not to be trusted. You are to be punished."

I lick my lips. "Punish me, then. Leave him alone. He has nothing to do with it."

"He has everything to do with it." Uncles reaches with his free hand and turns Joshua's head by the chin to the side, so that the gun is now pointing at his forehead. "It was him who corrupted you. The seeds of corruption may have been there, yet you'd been doing fine with your new job before he came along. Now, you've ruined your family to protect this piece of trash."

"You're drunk," I say. "You don't know what you're saying."

Uncle hums thoughtfully. "I might be slightly intoxicated." Unexpectedly, he laughs. "Truth be told, I have nearly forgotten how good a cold beer tastes. At least something pleasant has come out of this night. But you're right, I should have a clear head when doing God's work." He nods at Joshua. "Bring me a glass of water. Don't try to come back with a knife or run away—the bullet will be faster, you know."

Joshua rises slowly and goes to the counter by the sink, moving stiffly. He opens a cupboard and retrieves a glass, then reaches for the tap. I return my gaze to Uncle, wondering if I could use this moment to try something. Yet the gun is pointed at Joshua's back, and I'm not close enough to try and wrench it out of his hand.

"Just point it at me," I say. "It was I who has caused all this trouble, not him."

"It was you," he says. "And that is why it will have to be him who dies tonight."