"What?" Adam demanded, reaching into his pocket.
She didn't like his snarl. She carefully laid the phone next to the cash register. "We can't sell beer here after midnight. It's the law."
"The law?"
"Yes. The law."
"Of the State of Mississippi?"
"That's correct," she said smartly.
"Do you know what I think of the laws of this state right now?"
"No, dear. And I honestly don't care."
Adam flipped a ten-dollar bill on the counter and carried the beer to his car. She watched him leave, then stuck the cash in her pocket and went back to the phone. Why bother the cops over a six-pack of beer?
He was off again, going south on a two-lane highway, obeying the speed limit and gulping the first beer. Off again in pursuit of a clean room with a free continental breakfast, pool, cable, HBO, kids stay free.
Fifteen minutes to die, fifteen minutes to vent the chamber, ten minutes to wash it down with ammonia. Spray the lifeless body, deader than hell, according to the young doctor and his EKG. Nugent pointing here and there - get the gas masks, get the gloves, get those damned reporters back on the vans and out of here.
Adam could see Sam in there, head fallen to one side, still strapped under those enormous leather buckles. What color was his skin now? Surely not the pale whiteness of the past nine and a half years. Surely the gas turned his lips purple and his flesh pink. The chamber is now clear, all is safe. Enter the chamber, Nugent says, unbuckle him. Take the knives. Cut off the clothing. Did his bowels loosen? Did his bladder leak? They always do. Be careful. Here, here's. the plastic bag. Put the clothes in here. Spray the naked body.
Adam could see the new clothes - the stiff khakis, the oversized shoes, the spotless white socks. Sam had been so proud to wear real clothes again. Now they were rags in a green garbage sack, handled like venom and soon to be burned by a trustee.
Where are the clothes, the blue prison pants and white tee shirt? Get them. Enter the chamber. Dress the corpse. No shoes are necessary. No socks. Hell, he's just going to the funeral home. Let the family worry about dressing him for a decent burial. Now the stretcher. Get him out of there. Into the ambulance.
Adam was near a lake somewhere, over a bridge, through a bottom, the air suddenly damp and cool. Lost again.
Chapter 52
THE first glint of sunrise was a pink halo over a hill above Clanton. It strained through the trees, and was soon turning to yellow, then to orange. There were no clouds, nothing but brilliant colors against the dark sky.
There were two unopened beers sitting in the grass. Three empty cans had been tossed against a nearby headstone. The first empty can was still in the car.
The dawn was breaking. Shadows fell toward him from the rows of other gravestones. The sun itself was soon peeking at him from behind the trees.
He'd been there for a couple of hours, though he'd lost track of time. Jackson and Judge Slattery and Monday's hearing were years ago. Sam had died minutes ago. Or was he dead? Had they already done their dirty act? Time was still playing games.
He hadn't found a motel, not that he'd looked very hard. He'd found himself near Clanton, then was drawn here where he'd located the headstone of Anna Gates Cayhall. Now he rested against it. He'd drunk the warm beer and thrown the cans at the largest monument within range. If the cops found him here and took him to jail, he wouldn't care. He'd been in a cell before. "Yeah, just got out of Parchman," he'd tell his cell mates, his rap partners. "Just walked out of death row." And they'd leave him alone.
Evidently, the cops were occupied elsewhere. The graveyard was secure. Four little red flags had been staked out next to his grandmother's plot. Adam noticed them as the sun rose to the east. Another grave to be dug.
A car door closed somewhere behind him, but he didn't hear it. A figure walked toward him, but he didn't know it. It moved slowly, searching the cemetery, cautiously looking for something.
The snapping of a twig startled Adam. Lee was standing beside him; her hand on her mother's headstone. He looked at her, then looked away.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, too numb to be surprised.
She gently lowered herself first to her knees, then she sat very close to him, her back pressed to her mother's engraved name. She wrapped her arm around his elbow.
"Where the hell have you been, Lee?"
"In treatment."
"You could've called, dammit."
"Don't be angry, Adam, please. I need a friend." She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"I'm not sure I'm your friend, Lee. What you did was terrible."
"He wanted to see me, didn't he?"
"He did. You, of course, were lost in your own little world, self-absorbed as usual. No thought given to others."
"Please, Adam, I've been in treatment. You know how weak I am. I need help."
"Then get it."
She noticed the two cans of beer, and Adam quickly tossed them away. "I'm not drinking," she said, pitifully. Her voice was sad and hollow. Her pretty face was tired and wrinkled.
"I tried to see him," she said.
"When?"
"Last night. I drove to Parchman. They wouldn't let me in. Said it was too late."
Adam lowered his head and softened considerably. He would accomplish nothing by cursing her. She was an alcoholic, struggling to overcome demons he hoped he would never meet. And she was his aunt, his beloved Lee. "He asked about you at the very end. He asked me to tell you he loved you, and that he wasn't angry because you didn't come see him."
She started crying very quietly. She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands, and cried for a long time.
"He went out with a great deal of courage and dignity," Adam said. "He was very brave. He said his heart was right with God, and that he hated no one. He was terribly remorseful for the things he'd done. He was a champ, Lee, an old fighter who was ready to move on."
"You know where I've been?" she asked between sniffles, as if she'd heard nothing he said.
"No. Where?"
"I've been to the old home place. I drove there from Parchman last night."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to burn it. And it burned beautifully. The house and the weeds around it. One huge fire. All up in smoke."
"Come on, Lee."
"It's true. I almost got caught, I think. I might've passed a car on the way out. I'm not worried, though. I bought the place last week. Paid thirteen thousand dollars to the bank. If you own it, then you can burn it, right? You're the lawyer."
"Are you serious?"
"Go look for yourself. I parked in front of a church a mile away to wait for the fire trucks. They never came. The nearest house is two miles away. No one saw the fire. Drive out and take a look. There's nothing left but the chimney and a pile of ashes."
"How - "
"Gasoline. Here, smell my hands." She shoved them under his nose. They bore the acrid, undeniable smell of gasoline.
"But why?"
"I should've done it years ago."
"That doesn't answer the question. Why?"
"Evil things happened there. It was filled with demons and spirits. Now they're gone."
"So they died with Sam?"
"No, they're not dead. They've gone off to haunt someone else."
It would be pointless to pursue this discussion, Adam decided quickly. They should leave, maybe return to Memphis where he could get her back into recovery. And maybe therapy. He would stay with her and make sure she got help.