Just after sunrise, I woke up from a fitful night's sleep to find Uncle Peter, Grandpa Kevin, and Frank talking in the kitchen. Grandpa made us a great breakfast of eggs, cured meat, garlic toast, and apple juice. Frank bubbled with small talk about living on his own and how he came across his two dogs. He even exchanged funny stories with Grandpa Kevin. It was strange to hear them laughing together. Grandpa was like that; he could have a pleasant conversation with almost anybody.
As I looked over at Uncle Peter, I could almost see the wheels turning as he weighed Frank's misdeeds against the benefits of having a third non-agoraphobic person on the farm.
"Frank," said Uncle Peter at last. "Immediately after breakfast, we need to put you to work. Saving those three people was a nice down payment towards redemption. But you'll need to earn your keep by fishing."
"Hey, no problem." agreed Frank. "Whatever I can do to help. I'm just glad to be back." Frank attempting to be gracious and affable was something I never thought I'd witness.
-----------------------------------------------------
A short time later, Uncle Peter was pushing Frank towards the river while I carried his fishing equipment.
"Are these really necessary?" asked Frank, rattling the handcuffs that bound his hands to his wheelchair's armrest.
Uncle Peter shrugged. "We'll take the cuffs off at the river."
It was early, so it was still cool outside. But in another hour, it would turn hot and steamy. Already, the cicadas were singing.
As Uncle Peter pushed the wheelchair, he engaged in light conversation.
But the conversation was a little TOO light...
Suspiciously light...
Uncle Peter was overcompensating for some reason.
Frank was not a stupid man. He knew how to read people as well as me. He suspected something was amiss... "We're not going to fish, are we?" he asked. My heart skipped a beat.
"No," answered Uncle Peter as he adjusted our heading toward the bridge.
"Are you going to banish me again?"
"Sure." lied Uncle Peter.
But Frank did not believe him. A brief, tense silence followed. "Are you going to kill me?" asked Frank. Uncle Peter didn't respond, but continued to push him. "Why?!" Frank asked, panic lacing his voice. "Why kill me?"
"It's been a year since I banished you. Not a day has gone by I wasn't worried you were somewhere on the horizon with a deer rifle's scope trained on my head. Or you were in D.C., conspiring with the president to drone-strike us. Now I'll never need to worry about that."
"None of that is true," Frank denied, clutching the arm of his chair tightly. "I'll admit, for a while, I nursed dark thoughts against you. But I've changed."
"Samber and I visited your vehicle yesterday. We found the military scope rifle. You don't hunt. The only reason for you to have a scope rifle is to kill me."
"That's not true. I've no reason to kill you. I've changed."
My stomach tightened. I could almost read the thoughts tumbling one after another through the back of Frank's head. His mind was like a rat dropped into a maze, scurrying down dead-end corridors, desperately looking for a way out.
"You haven't changed," countered Uncle Peter. "You're still the same self-serving asshole you were before. Take those three houseboat people... When I asked you why you didn't provide them with vitamin C, you said you didn't want to 'lose leverage'."
"But I saved them."
"No, Samber and I saved them. You tried to trade them like a commodity."
I felt sick. My breakfast was swirling in my stomach. "Is this really necessary?" I asked.
"Yes." answered Uncle Peter flatly, shooting me a sympathetic glance. "I'm sorry to have you involved in this, Samber. But I need you as my backup; just in case Frank tries something. That's why I checked you were carrying your pepper spray before we left. Go ahead and set the fishing equipment down now. I also suggest you stay behind Frank and out of his reach at all times."
I did as Uncle Peter asked.
Frank cleared his throat. "This is just a joke? Right?" he tittered. "If you really wanted me dead you would have shot me already."
"I didn't want to wake everyone. I intend to take you far from the house - THEN shoot you. Unless you cause me trouble on the way there, in which case I'll shoot you immediately."
"Listen, Peter, if this is about hurt feelings... I want you to know—"
"It's nothing personal," lied Uncle Peter. "I just want you dead."
"But I'm not the same man I once was." lied Frank. "Living alone gave me a new perspective. I've changed."
"You have not. Even right now, you're in full 'lawyer-mode,' trying to manipulate me. Willing to say anything to get what you want." Uncle Peter continued pushing Frank towards the bridge. "Last year, you pointed a gun at my chest and pulled the trigger four times. What if you'd succeeded in killing me? You'd have released that asshole captain, and then he'd have flown both you and Samber to Washington. What do you think would have happened to the people at Elwood's?! To my wife and daughters!? They would have died. You attempted to murder me, and in doing so, you attempted an act of genocide."
"That's not what 'genocide' means. Genocide is—"
"Frank! Are you really going to argue semantics at a time like this?!" Uncle Peter continued to push his chair. "I made the conditions of your banishment quite clear. I ordered you to head NORTH to Canada. You didn't do that, did you? Over breakfast you admitted that you first headed east, and then circled around back to Scott Air Force Base. Then you tried, and failed, to use the phone on Marine One to contact the president. You treasonous fuck! Afterwards, you went a short distance east and puttered around there until you found the houseboat. I told you, straight out, if I ever saw you again, I'd execute you."
"But you can't kill me. We're family."
Uncle Peter laughed. He almost fell over, he was laughing so hard. "You're SO full of shit, Frank."
"But you're an OPPONENT of the death penalty. We debated the topic on the day we spotted the helicopter. Remember? You said: 'Killing a defenseless person is wrong'. Remember?"
"Yes. And I also remember you saying: 'Executing a criminal ensures he'll never pose a threat.' After careful deliberation, I've decided you were correct."
"Then... Am I not entitled to a trial?"
"A trial?! HAH!!" barked Uncle Peter. "Back at the helicopter, did you give me a trial before you pulled your trigger? Besides, who else can judge you? I'm the only other adult who's not suffering from a crippling mental illness. Under whose laws should you be tried? All the governments have fallen. Anything I'd come up with would just be a drum head, kangaroo-court, show trial. And I don't have time to waste on bullshit like that... I just want you dead."
"Without a trial, killing someone is just murder."
Uncle Peter blew air through his lips. "What's good for the goose..."
We were silent for a short while, thinking our own thoughts. I found myself fighting off a fresh wave of uneasiness and nausea. I was FAR from comfortable with this. It was happening too quickly. One minute Frank was laughing in the kitchen with Grandpa, the next he was being escorted to his death!?!
"Murder is a sin." pointed out Frank. "If you kill me - you will go to hell when you die."
"Ha ha ha ha!" laughed Uncle Peter.
"But... There's a possibility there really is an afterlife. Do you want to take that chance? Th—"
"Oh wait... You were serious?... Let me laugh even harder... HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!!!!!!"
I glanced at Frank's hands. They were still cuffed. His fingers were drumming nervously.
"Out of curiosity," ventured Uncle Peter. "Why did you lie to me and Samber about running out of gas? We checked your car. The tank was almost full, and you had spare gas in the trailer. So why did you lie about running out of gas?"
"If you kill me, you'll never know the answer to that question."
"Hah! Good one, Frank. I don't really care. I was just curious."
"But the answer is crucial to your survival. If you give me a fair trial, I'll reveal it in my testimony."
"Crucial to my survival, huh?"
"Yes."
"I'm not buying it, Frank."
"But if you kill me without a trial, you'll never know."
"I guess I'll never know." shrugged Uncle Peter.
Frank's lawyer mind was desperately searching for a loophole, appeal, escape clause, fine print, ANYTHING that would save his life.
"I'll admit what I did at the helicopter was wrong. But right now, you need me."
"For what?" leered Uncle Peter.
"Fishing!" beseeched Frank, suddenly nauseatingly obeisant. "I'll gladly fish for you. I'm a good fisherman. Admit it."
"Yeah. You're really good at fishing. But it's not worth it if I have to sleep with a gun under my pillow."
"Then just banish me again, and you won't need to worry about me betraying you."
"Not good enough. There's a chance you'll come back with another scope rifle and pick me off from a mile away. Then you could roll back in here, crown yourself king, and force Samber to do all the work. Simply put, a dead Frank Brown can't hurt me or my family. You're a demon. I'll sleep better after you have been exorcised."
We were all silent for a short time. Part of me wanted to believe this was just a cruel prank. That Uncle Peter just wanted to make Frank sweet it out. That he would let Frank go after a long walk. But I knew my uncle too well.
"I've something to confess," admitted Frank.
"I'm listening." urged Uncle Peter.
"The houseboat was not the only place I found survivors."
Although Frank could not see it, Uncle Peter's face tensed up. "Oh?" replied Uncle Peter, pretending he didn't care. "Do tell."
"They had agoraphobia, but survived because they had stockpiled supplies."
"So where, exactly, are these ALLEGED survivors?"
"I'll take you there."
"Bullshit. You're lying."
"No! It's the truth!"
"So why did you lie when you said you hadn't seen anyone else?"
"I didn't lie," lied Frank. "I just... omitted some information."
Peter rolled his eyes. "So why did you omit that information?"
"I had my reasons."
"And they were...?"
"Well... I can't tell you... But I had good reasons."
"Uh-huh. Tell me about them. The alleged survivors, I mean."
"They had been isolated for a year. I found them just in time. Their stockpile was running low. So I resupplied them with several years worth of food. They—"
"Hahaaaaaaa! Now I KNOW you're lying! You had me going there for a minute."
"I did? How did you... I mean... Why do you think I'm lying?"
"First of all, you and the truth are rarely on speaking terms. Second, you'd never help survivors without getting something in return; the houseboat is evidence of that. And finally, even if you did help, you certainly wouldn't supply them with 'several years' worth of food. Nice try, Frank."
"But it's true. I did give—"
"Hey, Frank! Do you know what a keg of beer, a VHS player, tickets to the policeman's ball, and your story have in common?"
"What?"
"I'm not buying any of them."
Uncle Peter continued to push his prisoner towards the bridge. Frank squirmed in his seat. I unholstered my pepper spray. Any minute I expected Frank to attempt a desperate escape. But I doubted it would do him any good.
"Do I get a final request?"
"No."
"But isn't a condemned man entitled to a last meal?"
"You just had it."
We were getting close to the bridge. Any second Frank might try to break free. I knew I had to keep my guard up, but my stomach was churning and my head was full of doubts. Was this re—
"SAMBER!" pleaded Frank. "You deserve to have a say in this! You c—"
"FRANK!" thundered Uncle Peter. "Shut the FUCK up! Talk to ME not her!"
"Okay, okay, Peter..." cringed Frank. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... How about this... lock me up and place me under guard. You—"
"That won't work either. You're the kind of scoundrel who can follow people into a revolving door and still come out in front. I can't afford to let someone like that live under circumstances such as these." Uncle Perter shook his head and sighed. "I shouldn't have spared your life in the first place; you're not worth it."
"Who died and made YOU God?" scoffed Frank.
"Everyone." shrugged Uncle Peter.
A dismal silence followed. I could tell Frank was contemplating his next appeal. No doubt he was digging deep into his bag of manipulative tricks for a convincing argument.
"Peter..." he said gravely. "If you do this, you'll become just like me. Killing a defenseless person is wrong, and you know it. If you kill me, you'll become the type of person you're accusing me of being."
That was a strong argument. His strongest yet. And I could tell that Uncle Peter was considering it...
"Yeah..." admitted Uncle Peter after long moments of contemplation. "...Maybe a little."
We were in the middle of the bridge by then. The river was flowing below us. Uncle Peter stopped pushing Frank's chair. He took a step back, pulled out Officer Hal's gun, and motioned for me to move away. Then Uncle Peter pointed the gun at the back of Frank's head. Frank didn't turn, but he knew what Uncle Peter was doing. I couldn't see Frank's face, but his posture was deflated and crestfallen.
"Do you want to hear my last words?" asked Frank, his voice quivering slightly. Uncle Peter didn't respond, so Frank continued, uninterrupted: "When I was in college, I had a teacher who wanted us... his students, I mean, to prepare for what we might one day say just before our death... on... on our deathbeds, for example. So he had us write a paper about what we would imagine our last words would be and why. Anyway, I got an 'A' on the paper. I... I.. actually worked REALLY hard on it. I wanted to make my last words prophetic. Something worth reading in history books someday. So... So, Peter, do you want to hear them... my last words?"
"No."
The bullet exited Frank's head with an eruption of red mist and gore. He pitched back, rather than forward, so he didn't fall out of the chair. Uncle Peter, not one for half measures, then circled around to the front and shot Frank in the center of his chest.
Uncle Peter removed the cuffs and rolled the corpse to the bridge's railing. With my help he pushed the bloody thing over and it fell with a splash. We watched as the body floated down the river and disappeared around a bend.
My twisted stomach went hot and sick. I threw up some of my large breakfast onto the bridge.
Uncle Peter and I rolled Frank's empty chair back to Elwood's.
--------------------------------------------------
We approached the Main House with the wheelchair and fishing equipment. Grandpa Kevin watched us from an open window. He leaned on the sill, but no part of him went beyond. It was a reminder that, in my grandfather's mind, there was an invisible force field there that would cause him horrible anxiety if he dared touch it. The force field was not really there, of course, but it was as real as a nightmare to Grandpa Kevin.
We walked over to him.
"Where's Frank?" he asked. There was a seriousness to his face that betrayed his question's casual tone; he had undoubtedly heard the distant gunshots.
"He's dead," admitted Uncle Peter. "I executed him for attempted murder, attempted genocide, and violating multiple conditions of his banishment... Also, because I REALLY wanted to."
"I see," responded Grandpa Kevin, dragging the two words out ominously. "And what will we tell everyone else?"
"The truth. I'd like to make it well known that anyone who attempts to kill me can count on me killing them back. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have work to do. Samber and I have to provide food for forty-nine people."
"Forty-eight now," corrected Grandpa Kevin.
[I'd LOVE to read your comments. What do you think? Did you expect that to happen?]
[Also please remember to vote for this chapter.]