A Blue Mountain Memory

LX

Lee trekked his way through the woods to Lawson Lew's cabin– more so what remained of it.

Immediately after his discussion with Henry, Lee knew he had to do more to get rid of Elwood for everyone's sake. When Lee came upon the small, wooden structure, he could hardly believe its shabby and decrepit appearance. He had only seen the place once, but that was over twenty-five years ago, and even then, it had been nearly run down. Lee did not think it was possible for a home to look worse. He limped up the crumbling steps and knocked firmly on the door. As his fist made contact with the weathered wood, the door swung open, and then collapsed onto the floor. The loud thud sent a cloud of dust rising from the floorboards. In a distant room he heard coughing. Lee made his way into the house, throwing a handkerchief over his nose to block the penetrative stench of piss and decay that lingered in the air. As he walked towards the bedroom, he noticed several footprints that had already shuffled their way through the dust covered floorboards.

Lee opened the bedroom door, and foul air stung his eyes. The handkerchief was of no use. Lying in a bed across the room was Lawson Lew. Tattered blankets pulled up over his chest, gently resting against his unshaven chin. His wrinkled forehead was dotted with beads of sweat and his grey-red hair glistened with moisture. His face sagged, as did the large dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes. The man was clearly ill, but that did not stop him taking a swig from a dirty glass bottle that his hand firmly clutched.

"Whaddya want?" Lawson barked.

His breathing was labored and raspy.

"I came to talk to you about your son," Lee responded with a strong voice.

"Ha! That asshole. What's he done now?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out, Mr. Lew."

"C'mere," Lawson said, lazily waving Lee over.

Lee stepped forward and into the light. Lawson squinted at him and gasped.

"Well, I'll be damned... Baxter Davis! I thought you were dead!" Lawson exclaimed with a tone of relief and excitement.

"Not Baxter... His son, Lee."

"Oh," Lawson replied, a distant look falling over his face. "I was sorry to hear about your Pa. He was a good man, best I'd ever known. We fought together, me n' him. He didn't deserve to go, not like that. You're the boy who got hurt?"

"That's right. My leg got trapped."

"Huh..." Lawson seemed to be searching for his next words, "So what business do you have with my son? Is this about your slut sister?"

"Don't speak of her like that," Lee spat, his grip tightening over the handle of his cane.

"Relax, relax, I was only jokin'! Let's get to it, then. Whaddya wanna know?"

"When Elwood left all those years ago, did he ever write to you? Did he tell you where he'd gone or what he was doing?"

"'Course not! When that boy left, he sure as hell left. Not a single word. Not till last week that is."

"What do you mean?" Lee asked with a sense of urgency, stepping closer to Lawson's bed despite the stink that eminated from his body.

"Last week he stopped by. Showed up outta the blue. Came tellin' me I had be quiet 'bout somethin'..."

Like most days, Lawson had been laying in his bed, drinking from a bottle, and staring absently at the ceiling. A sudden creak at the front of the house had startled him. No one had come by in years— nearly two decades. He had committed himself to becoming the town hermit, which should have granted him complete solace and escape from a single soul. He should have been left in peace with a drink in one hand, and sometimes– if he was lucky– a cigarette in the other.