Dig

The Edge: Part II

Do you mind if I just finish this cigarette? asked Doran, his hands shaking while his face remained
calm. I watched him sitting there and wondered. The cabin was quiet except for the sound of the stream
that flowed north of us.
Sure thing, I said. He smiled and continued smoking, filling the room with a blue-black cloud. I
worried that he would finish too soon, and said, You needn't hurry. He inhaled, exhaled, and then
laughed.
I'm not hurrying; I always smoke this fast. Always thought these things would be the death of me.
Guess not, he said, no longer smiling. He started coughing, deep tar-covered lung coughs. I went
behind him, patted his back. He cleared his throat. Thanks, Casey.
Yup.
He took his last drag; I took the remainder and dropped it on the floor, putting it out with my shoe. I
picked up the revolver and put it to the back of his head.
Hey, one last thing he said.
Yeah?
If a shot is fired in the forest and no one's there to hear it, does it really make a sound? He shifted in
his seat.
What about the shooter?
I don't think the shooter matters.
Yeah, I said. "It definitely makes a sound." I pulled the trigger.
The blast was quiet.
His head, what remained of it, fell forward. I walked around the table and sat down on the opposite side
of him. I opened the revolver, took out four bullets leaving one in the chamber, which I spun. I sat
there for a few minutes staring at my old friend.
Switch
I was late to Church. I rushed inside and sat down in the back row as quietly as I could. No one took
notice except for Doran and Father O'Connor. Three ladies sitting in front of me turned back when
Doran whispered, Fashionably late?
I unzipped my coat, leaned forward and whispered, Mind your own, to which one of the three huffed
before all of them turned back toward Father O'Connor.

After the service, we went out back near the gardener's shed. I pulled out the daily paper and opened to
the obituary section and handed the paper to Doran. The sky was cloudy, and the day was warm
meant rain.
She's circled, I said.
Do you ever feel bad about what we do? asked Doran.
How so?
We got families, we got to church, and we do this, he said, slapping his hand against the paper.
The living need; the dead need nothing, I said.
Simple as that, he replied.
Simple as that, I repeated.
Three days of rain was a blessing. Weather was always a friend, bad weather anyway. The dark hid us,
the rain and wind quieted us, and the cold kept us focused. When we started our trade, we were sloppy,
amateur and pathetic.
Not now.
No, now we were efficient. Each taking turns and only doing what was necessary. Thirty minutes a
plot, which included time entering, time digging, time removing wares, time reburied, and time
departing.
The first time, one plot took us both the whole night. Now we could do up to five, six if we rushed.
Two-hundred and twenty-seven.
I cut the obituaries out and put them into a book. After last night, two-hundred and twenty-seven. I was
a man of numbers. Always have been. I spent three-hundred and ninety days of my life in the bedroom
of the deceased. I never worked weekends, so that's about a year and a half. No regrets.
Only Doran knows. No one else would understand or would try too hard to grasp at the thought when
there's nothing to grasp but the notion that it is what it is.
Shifter
I can't do this anymore, he said, looking down at his plate. He took a bite of his toast.
Why? I asked.
Tired of making a living this way. Tired of always having to move. Tired of making up excuses to
Shannon. I almost can't look at my kids anymore. He pushed his plate away from him.
I never forced this on you, I replied. I drank a bit of my tea and looked outside at the cornfields. I
won't force you to continue.

Will you keep on? he asked. He put a cigarette in his mouth. A waitress noticed and walked over.
Sorry, sir you can't smoke in here.
Did I light the cigarette? he asked.
No, but policy...
If the cigarette isn't lit, then I'm not smoking, am I, darlin'?
Well, no, but.
Then, what's the problem? he snapped.
I suppose there isn't one, she murmured.
Now, instead of harassing me, why don't you give me the check and hope your rudeness doesn't result
in no tip. She walked over to her computer, printed out the check, came back over, slapped it down,
and then rushed off in a huff.
Did you have to do that? I asked.
Do what?
Be a dick.
Always, he grinned. Anyway, will I see you again?
The next time we see one another, only one of us will be breathing, I answered.
That so?
That's so.
Well, it's been a mighty fine pleasure.
Indeed."
The Edge: Part I
The sun had just set, so I started the fireplace. The trees outside the windows were swaying in the mist.
There would be rain soon. Doran was still unconscious in the chair.
I walked outside and sat on the porch. Two raccoons were arguing about fifteen feet away. Then, I
heard him moan. I would need to start soon.
I took a deep breath and went back inside. He was sweating despite how cold this night was.

Nervous, I asked. He shook his head. I pulled his cigarettes out of his chest pocket, took one out, and
lit it for him. He was tied to the chair, but I let his right hand free.
Thanks, he said.
Sure thing, I replied.
So it's come to this?
Seems like it, I said. The raccoons began to argue again and then one cried loudly. Then, nothing.
I've no regrets, he said.
Why'd you have to lie? I asked. He kept smoking and didn't respond.
Were we ever men of principle? he asked. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. The rain had
begun.
I would never have lied. I have my own ideas, I suppose. I just know I'm not a liar. I took the
revolver out and placed it on the table. Doran looked at the gun and then me.
Is this necessary? he asked.
You, for sure. I'll leave myself to chance, I replied.
So generous of you, he said. So why you why are you taking that chance? He dropped his
cigarette.
I never thought what we did would ever affect me. It was a foolish gamble. I've nothing now. Property,
finances, cars, nothing. She left with the kids. I picked up his cigarette, took a drag, and then passed it
back to him.
It is a shame, though hardly my fault. I wanted to choke him, to squeeze the life from him. I didn't.
I told her you lied, that I wasn't with you, that I never did what you said I did, but she still left. I
began to rock back and forth in my chair. A breeze came in through the window on my right, blowing
the curtain.
She might come back; you never know.
No. She was too upset when she left. She was driving on 47, crying. Drifted into the other lane. Headon collision. Crushed. I stood up and picked up the revolver.
I'm sorry you lost your family; I lost mine too, I know it isn't the same.
No, its not. I began to walk slowly toward the window.
You're not involving them, are you? he asked.
Shannon and the boys? No.

All right, then.

What are we? What is this? he asked, holding back tears.
Nothing. We're nothing, empty of everything we ever tried to be and full of everything we tried to
avoid. I turned and grabbed another cigarette, lit it, and handed it to him. As for this, this is balance.
I think I'm ready, he said.
The Halfway
I had been driving for two hours and ten minutes before I got to the cabin.
I hate reporters. Reporters and lawyers. The newspaper was on the passenger's seat.
All I had was my name, and Doran took that from me. All we have in this world is trust and a name. I
lost both in a single moment.
If he wanted to keep at it, he should have called me. He didn't. I guess he got desperate, pulled a job
himself. Got caught. Everything spiraled downward after that.
I finally got tot he cabin. I opened the car door and vomited. I had forced myself to believe in what I
was about to do.
I shut the door and walked into the house. He was still asleep. He'd been here for two days.
Paper said we both ran away. I wasn't running; guess he wasn't either.
The sun would set soon.
Blow
I stared at him for a long time before I came to terms with what I had done.
He took away all I had, and I just took the last little bit of what I had in my life away, so what was left.
I picked up the gun, spun the chamber, put it to my temple, and smiled.
Bang, I said, pulling the trigger.
The stream was still flowing to the north.