In Hell: When Love Kills A Small Town Mystery

Chapter 5

Who wanted Clifford dead?

He'd lost track of time. How long had he been sitting in his truck under the shade trees? He didn't know. He'd only meant to rest his eyes. But who knew how long he'd been asleep? He was drenched in sweat, but thankfully a breeze was making things tolerable. He wiped his brow with an old rag he kept in the truck.

Getting old. I'm getting old.

Cash stared at the note on the truck seat. He picked it up, folded it, and shoved it into the pocket of his tee shirt. He tried to crank the truck. Nothing. He slammed the door as hard as he could and started walking.

About a mile down the road, he came to the spot where the railroad tracks ran parallel to the road. Cutting down a small hill, Cash waded through the weeds and began walking. The woods were thick, but he knew if he kept walking he'd come up upon the railroad line. His tee shirt was wet and clung to his chest. The gnats were swarming about his eyes, and the salt from his sweat burned them. He plodded on. Finally, he spied the prize. He followed the tracks south, kicking the rocks off the cross ties. They clattered against the steel, their sound smothered by the rhythmic chirps of countless crickets.

He put one foot in front of the other, at a slow and steady pace, careful to keep a wary eye out for snakes. His worn work boots afforded little protection. He brooded. He couldn't seem to help himself.

They'd find a way to blame him. Just like his daddy, they'd say. He'd heard it over and over again. People don't change, they'd say. You don't fall far from the tree. He just wished all those gossip mongers would get a life and leave him alone. But somewhere deep down in his gut, he knew that losers like himself would always be the subject of idle talk. Shit flowed downhill, and he was at the bottom of that ravine.

Birds called to each other. The woods were full of chatter. Squirrels barked and chirped like maniacs. A cicada sawed loudly. The sun hung in a clear azure sky. He walked until he ended up by the river. Under the shade of the tall hardwood trees, the air was cooler. He looked across the river to the complex of buildings on the opposite hill. The blue logo on the rusting water tower was faded. Big, bold, and battered by the elements, the logo would soon be illegible. The abandoned furniture plant sat like a sleeping giant. The group of buildings were sprinkled over acres of overgrowth. There were large sections of the roof of several of the buildings that had surrendered to the elements. How long would it take until there was nothing left but a few brick walls? How long before Mother Nature gobbled up the place entirely, Cash wondered as he surveyed the site.

Here is where it happened. Here is where it happened. Those words circled round and round inside his head.

Even after all these years, people still gossiped in hushed, quiet tones, as if anything spoken too loudly chanced to raise the ghosts of that horrible night. He tried not to listen, but it was hard. He'd been a little kid, but that kind of wound leaves a scar that never heals. His whole world had shattered. After that fatal night, nothing was ever the same.

He had gone to live with Clifford permanently after that night. Hell had opened its gates for him after that night, he guessed. He shook away the cobwebs of memories and resumed walking.

He made his way across the old trestle that crossed the river and headed toward the deserted hulk. Once again, he stared at the rotting remains of the old furniture factory.

It was hard to fathom how the Ashlons had just walked away. The buildings were still in good shape then. The whole place was ready for some kind of industry to move in. It would have been a process of cleaning out the old and making way for another endeavor. The town's workforce was eager for employment of any kind.