Ava's Gift. Jason Mott
around the sixth error that he decided he’d had enough. “It’s time to stop this,” was all he said. And, from that point forward, he limited the doctors’ access to his daughter and he told them, in no uncertain terms, that he would be taking her home.
Today was the day he would bring her home. And the entire world seemed to be watching. He had always been a private man, and nothing that was happening in his life right now sat well with him. The earth was falling away beneath his feet.
“Never would have thought it,” John said.
“What’s that?”
“That all of this could fit into a town like ours.”
“I suppose nobody ever thinks something like this will fit,” Macon replied, taking another sip of his coffee. Finally he closed the blinds and returned to sitting at his desk. “But there it is,” he said, motioning at the window and the crowd beyond it.
“I still can’t quite see why you wouldn’t want to stay in Asheville,” John said. He leaned back on his heels a bit and thought. “Then again,” he said, “I suppose that if I were you and Ava was well enough that she didn’t have to be there, I reckon I’d want to have the home field advantage, too. Up there in Asheville, it’s just a city of people you don’t know. At least here, you know who you can trust. And, if you really, really want to, there are enough mountains and backwoods paths that you could sneak away from all of the cameras, even if only for a little while.”
Macon’s office, much like the town of Stone Temple, was small and old. The sheriff’s office building had been rebuilt in the late sixties after having burned down—something to do with lightning. And from that rebuilding onward, little had changed—apart from wiring the place for internet a few years back.
“Any actual crimes going on?” John asked, returning from the window. “I expect not, but I like to ask.”
“Crimes? No,” Macon said. “Mostly it’s just people. Too damned many of them. And everybody’s got their own agenda. You been out there on the mountain road lately?”
“Not if I can help it,” John said. “I try to stay in town most these days.”
“You couldn’t get over the mountain now if you wanted to,” Macon said. “At least not without burning three or four hours. It’s a parking lot. Just full of people. People in cars, people in vans, people in buses, people on bicycles, people walking. I don’t know where they’re planning on staying. Folks have already started renting out their houses and their property to anybody with enough money, but even with all that, I don’t think Stone Temple is big enough to hold all of this. It’s like watching floodwaters rise. Except I feel like we didn’t get the part where it started at our ankles and crept up slowly. All of this—” he made a motion with his hand to indicate the mass of people outside his window “—all of this makes me feel like the waters are already up to our necks.”
John nodded to show that he understood and agreed. He walked to the opened door of Macon’s office and looked out at the rest of the station. “Got a few new faces out there,” he said.
“State police loaned us a few bodies, just to help keep a handle on things,” Macon replied. He leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin. “A lot of people in town now with a lot of different opinions. Some folks think it’s all just some kind of hoax. And I can’t say I’d believe too much differently if it was me. All they saw was some video on the web. And there isn’t much in the world these days easier to disbelieve than what you see. So the skeptics have come and so have the people who think Ava’s the Second Coming. Put those two together, and you’ve got a recipe for shenanigans. At least somebody had the good sense to decide that maybe we could use a little help.”
“On whose dime?” John asked.
“Not sure if they’re getting paid overtime or what,” Macon said. “I think most of it is coming from the state—damned sure ain’t coming from us. But...”
“But what?” John asked.
“Honestly,” Macon said, “I think some of them might be volunteering for all this.”
John grunted disapprovingly. He closed the door to Macon’s office. “Can’t say I’m surprised by that. Keep an eye on them.”
“On who? The volunteers?”
“Yep,” John said. “Nobody volunteers for any damned thing. Not in this lifetime. They got mouths to feed, just like you do. If they’re here, and if they’re working, they’re getting paid. Likely as not they’re working for those reporters out there.” He motioned toward the window through which he and Macon had been looking. There was disgust in his gesture. “Chances are they’re getting paid for information. Little tidbits they can sell to the tabloids or whatever. They show up here, work, listen, watch and then when their shift is over they head out there and debrief.” John sighed. “Oldest trick in the book,” he said.
Macon thought for a moment. “Suppose I knew that, but I hadn’t really paid any attention to it.”
“Got any of them volunteering to work close to your house?”
“A couple,” Macon said.
“Yeah,” John replied. “Those are the ones getting paid the most.”
“Think I should be worried?”
John waved his hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t. Yeah, they’re out to make a buck off you, but I don’t think a single person out there would do it at the expense of your family. They’ll keep you safe, but they’ll make a little gravy if they can. I’d just be careful who I talked to,” he said.
Macon watched John as he spoke. The old sheriff shifted in his seat and licked his lips as he glanced around the office. “Are we going to get down to business anytime soon?” Macon asked. “I know that, as Southern folks, we’ve made taking the long road in conversation into an art form, but my world is too crazy right now to spend much more time on whatever it is you’re trying to bring up, John. I gotta make the drive up to Asheville and, like I said, with the road the way it is, it’s going to take hours.”
John squinted and leaned in toward Macon. “How did she do it?” he asked. “How did she heal that boy, really?”
“I don’t know,” Macon said. “Just like I told the reporters, the doctors, all those biologists they brought in, the twenty different preachers that have called me, the bloggers who keep emailing me. My story hasn’t changed, John. I don’t know anything about what’s going on here.”
“Bullshit,” John said gruffly. “We both know that you can bury a dead body in the distance between what a person knows and what a person pretends not to know. And I have a hard time getting my mind around the notion that you didn’t have any kind of inkling about any of this.” He shook his head. “No, I think you knew and you wanted to keep her...it...this thing that she’s able to do, you wanted to keep it under the radar.”
Macon sighed. “Everybody on this planet seems to think that, even if it’s not true.”
“You were wrong to keep it secret,” John said. “My wife,” he began. His fingers picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on his pants. “I loved my wife,” John said. “She was a good woman, a kind woman. Better than this world deserved, if you ask me. She was in that hospital a week before the end. Doctors did everything they could to save her. At least, that’s what I thought.” When he finally looked up from his fidgeting hand and into Macon’s eyes, there was a dark mixture of blame and bitterness in his eyes.
“I’m not going to have this conversation with you, John,” Macon said.
“It’s just that you could have helped,” John replied, and this time he was no longer the hard-nosed sheriff; he was simply a man who had lost his wife two years ago and now, very suddenly, believed it could have happened another way.
“John...” Macon said.
John