The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 3

Joe is a big guy even by prairie standards. Thick. The kind that infuriates the wind's religious zeal to make everything lean east. Joe, he just leans right back.

So it only makes sense his wife, Elma, is also on the solid side. Not fat. Solid. Like the bison that used to live here.

But even I'm surprised by her condition once we get to the house. She's spilling out from a love seat in the living room. They've become one.

The room smells of warm skin. Salty and fried by wind burn. Like the ocean I'll never see.

Joe folds his hands. Looks me in the eye.

He says, "She's napping. It's all she does any more. Her body can't keep up. We found out about the diabetes last month. Turns out she's had it for a year."

I get where he's going.

A squirt of panic flutters in my chest again. I pinch out an eyelash when Joe's not looking.

I've put down sick livestock before. Simple as a bullet and a tractor ride. Maybe a mercy killing for a person isn't all that different.

But here's the thing. Elma doesn't look that sick. I thought she was near death.

It's one thing if someone needs that extra push to stop the misery. This is a little different. Not what I was expecting.

"You can't be serious," I say. "She's in rough shape, sure. But this isn't a mercy kill. This is just a kill."

Joe nods. He taps a Gideon Bible on the table next to us.

"Compassion for others, that's what the Bible says. She's done living. It's time to bring her home. Seriously," he says.

For a second, I swear Elma slips an open eye to me. Like she was saying, "Seriously? What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Could be it was part of her sleeping. But I've seen that look before. Walking up to a lame cow. That nervous glance as I approached.

I saw it in my father's eyes, too. Or eye, rather. Right as the truck-sized chunk of frozen grain at the top of the bin came down on him. Maybe he saw the same in my eyes as I tried to tug him out.

One thing I know for sure, though. His last expression. It was a mix of shock and something you can't understand unless you actually watch a person die. Up close. Near enough to feel the heat of the body dissipating into the air.

The wind picked up the moment he died. I prayed it would take me with it. Off to join the herd of rushing bison shapes that curl over the tall grass as the wind blows. Shadows of the prairie that used to be.

Yet there I stood. No one disappears on the prairie.

I scrape a fingernail over the bald spot in my eyelashes. Breathe out a shiver of pain.

"Anything in that Bible tell you to get her to a doctor?" I say to Joe. One last attempt at salvaging humanity.

"We'd have to go several times a week. That's a lot of time away from the farm. We'd go broke. Work won't get itself done," Joe says.

"Seriously? This is a financial decision? You can't hire help?" I say. "Take her to the fucking doctor already."

"No. It's time to give her the mercy she deserves," Joe says.

The second he says it, the look on his face takes it back. He gets a little wet in the eyes. Lip starts shaking.

"You're not making any sense," I say.