together. They had made love countless times. In the corner by the
window, Bill Burton had sat in a much worn rocker and fed his four
offspring before reporting for early-morning shifts, allowing his
exhausted wife a few minutes of much needed rest.
They had been good years. He had never made a lot of money, but that had
never seemed to matter. His wife had gone back and finished her nursing
degree after their youngest had entered high school. The added income
had been nice, but it was good to see someone who had long sacrificed
her personal goals to the needs of others to finally do something just
for herself.”All in all it had been a great life.
A nice house in a quiet, picturesque neighborhood safe, so far, from the
ever-expanding war zones around them. ‘1There would always be bad
people. And there would always be people like Bill Burton to combat
them. Or people like Burton had been.
He looked out the dormer window. Today was his day off.
Dressed in jeans, bright red flannel shirt and Timberland boots, he
could have easily passed as a burly lumberjack. His wife was unloading
the car. Today was grocery shopping day. The same day for the last
twenty years. He watched her figure admiringly as it bent low to pull
out the bags. Chris, his fifteen-year-old, and Sidney, nineteen,
long-legged and a real beauty, and in her sophomore year at Johns
Hopkins, with her sights set on medical school, were helping their
mother. His other two were out on their own and doing well.
They occasionally called their old man for advice on buying a car or a
house. Long-term career goals. And he loved every minute of it. He and
his wife had hit four out of the park and it was a good feeling.
He sat down at the little desk in the corner, unlocked a drawer and
pulled out the box. He lifted the top and stacked the five audiocassette
tapes on top of the desk next to the letter he had written that morning.
The name on the envelope was written in large, clear letters. “Seth
Frank.” Hell, he owed the guy.
Laughter floated up to him and he again went to the window. Sidney and
Chris were now engaged in a pitched snowball battle with Sherry, his
wife, caught in the middle. The smiles were big and the confrontation
culminated in all of them landing in a heap next to the driveway.
He turned away from the window and did something he could never remember
doing before. Through eight years as a cop, where tiny babies had
expired in his arms, beaten to death by the ones who were supposed to
love and protect them, through day after day of looking for the worst in
humankind. The tears were salty. He didn’t rub them away.
They kept pouring. His family would be coming in soon.
They were supposed to go out to dinner tonight. Ironically, today was
Bill Burton’s forty-fifth birthday.
He leaned across the desk, and with a quick motion, pulled the revolver
from his holster. A snowball hit the window.
They wanted their daddy to come join them.
I’m sorry. I love you. I wish I could be there. I’m sorry for all I’ve
done. Please forgive your dad Before he could lose his nerve he pushed
the .357 as far down his throat as he could. It was cold and heavy. One
of his gums started to bleed from a nick.
Bill Burton had done everything he could to ensure that no one would
ever know the truth. He had committed crimes; he had killed an innocent
person and had been involved in five other homicides. And now, seemingly
in the clear, the horror behind him, after months of mounting disgust
with what he had become, and after a sleepless night next to a woman-he
had loved with all his heart for over two decades, Bill Burton had
realized that he could not accept what he had done, nor could he.live
with that knowledge.
The fact was that without self-respect, without his pride, his life was
not worth living. And the unfailing love of his family did not help