“This being the first book in the telling of the Walker story, describing as it does something of the Inland agent’s strange arrival in the small, non-remarked-upon town of Anthion, deep in the big ol’ state of Texas — likely ’bout the year ’57, tho’ maybe ’58 — and the unhappy things that happened during his short time there.”
Better.
Yip, definitely better.
Just a tad mind, havin’ said that, but, well better is better th’n worse. And he’d take that side of the coin right now. No doubt.
That being to say, there seemed to be a floor ’neath him now. N’ he was sure he was a ‘he’ too. Though not how he knew that he was-uh he. That was a stretch. I’ll jus’ take that as read he thought.
So. A floor. Whoop-de-doo. Not some yawnin’ chasm to hell knows where or even Hell isself no more, ‘cos not a minute ago, that was pretty much his’n best guess as to what he was floatin’ in.
So, first the floor. Good.
Now some shapes were formin’ up in his vision. Better was gettin’ better still. N’ that was sweet relief, cos fer all of the longest time all he had to sail by was some big blazing, nothin’. Not so much light, tho it were pure white, if vision was the sense you were callin’ it by. But just as if dark is all absence, this was all presence’. Like somehow, all of everything, all at once. Now seemed that that was splitting, white light though a prism, getting sorted into colors, shapes and forms and gravity all distilling out. The moment of creation.
So vision. Let there be light indeed.
Then sounds. Sorta. Was in truth no much more than big ol’muddy soup of somethin’. But jus’then some high notes came along, like he’d been listenin’ to a busy party through a big oak door and somebody just opened it a crack, giving clarity and a sonorousness to the tumbling of…words. Sure. Words. Being spoken. Means people. This was all snowballin’ fast now.
But right at the centre of it all,the Great Anchor, giving root so all this worl’
could now whirl round his fixed point. Real and solid and in his hands, gripped tight ‘case it decided to give him the slip when he most needed it.
A coffee cup.
Smooth, ceramic and certain. Kinda dumb thing to be the most precious thing to your existence. But after what had been the seemin’ of several lifetimes, just a heart jackhammering out in some great zero, well, this was somethin’ real.
It was progress.
It was warm too. Coffee means caffeine and jus’ maybe the jolt needed to get him over the hump o’ the dream and into reality. But the cup came up empty. Disappointed, he eyed the tarry dregs resentfully. Then he realised it was the first thing he had truly set his eyes upon clear, and so revisited their divine detail with relief and relish.
“Need a refill there sugar?”
He probably shoulda jumped four-square from his skin, his back like an alley-cat on a Tex Avery powerline but he didn’t. ‘Cos the voice was soft, sweet…female. Truly he sweetest sound he’d ever heard. The only one he’d ever heard, sure, but still, it was drawled like how an angel earning extra cash table hopping at a diner might sound.
I’m in a diner.
Diner being a popular eating place in America. (Other countries too, but the accent, colloquisim she had, American). How do I know that? On a roll with his seein’, he followed the words to their author, hopin’ a sight to match the sweetness.
And my lord. No words for the wonder. I’m dead. And Heaven is an American diner, thas’waited on by angels and I’m dead and that’s where I’ve gone and I’m happy. A smiling girl, checking her gum for an instant to give that smile its full effect. Blonde, tho not by birth. The red of her gingham pinny echoing on her lips. Eyes bright n’ wide. The whole effect, even allowing for his sorry state o’his newly made-mind, was overwhelming, as if all-ah thee smartness and all-ah the beauty of that sex had gone made its masterpiece. No doubt he was gawkin’ cos-of-it. He should probably up’n say somethin. Pretty soon too.
“Sure”, Something smart, he’da prefferred. But was his first word he guessed, Walker Awake from The Datura Press
so it coulda been mama. He forced hisself to hold her gaze— Whattagaze— and furthermore forced a smile he hoped didn’t go n’ make him look overly simple of mind.
“You got it” she shot a shot of fresh Joe into his proffered talisman. It’s bitter smell seemed a resolutely familiar one now.
And so this angel had gone n’made everything in this universe rock-stock solid. A by-the-numbers picture all now properly coloured in. Right to the edges too.
Hallelujah, he thought.
And then…
I’m not dead. I’m alive.
He felt that was true too. Tho without wondering where the sureness of his knowing came from. I mean, it’s a relative thing right? No one had disproved his theory bout being dead. Not least as yet.
Maybe he was both?
“Not hungry tho huh?”, the question threw him, though he followed her slight motion to a plate of uneaten eggs and hash. He recognised this as the source the smell that had spun his stomach before he come fully to he world. He wondered if he was hungry, or should at least try and eat something. No. He reckoned he could just go some coffee, wasn’t sure it was wise to run with solids just yet.
“Sorry Miss, guess’n I’m just not as hungry as my ordering mind supposed. They do look good tho, I’m sure I’ll regret the skippin’ of them later”
It was interesting for him to note his accent was similar to hers, tho’ that was based on not much of a conversation. Not identical, her notes came over more song-y whilst his were deeper, more swampy, rumbling with more than just a man-woman difference.
Maybe he was kinda from round here.
Kinda. That for example did strike him as a ‘round-here’ kinda word.
“Well we do do ‘em good, and there’ always a fresh batch just five minutes away if’n you come back”, he caught her once-overing him, tho she was too polite to do so overly, so’s it’d be done rude “tho I don’t guess you might. Interessin’ folk don’t tend to, an’ you look like you’d pass for interestin’ most places, not just here.”
The sun of a smile dimmed a little then, as if she hadn’t meant that last thought to escape her all out loud. While she was speaking he’d drunk her in with his new-made senses too. She was say…. Seventeen? Young enough to be bright as a button. Her job, her life, it hadn’t gotten her down yet. He was glad at that. She was the only person he knew after all.
Again as he looked, the crimson on her lips, aside from that colour it was hard to know what was more white, or perfect, her teeth, her face or the bleached hair that shot back into her cap. He daren’t look at her blue eyes overlong, lest he would start grinning like a fool. Smart as a wolf’s, blue as summer.
She glowed. And she thought he was interesting. Maybe he was handsome too? Now that rilly would be somethin’.
It was his turn to speak, but he fretted he was going to come up empty on smarts the again which was a shame, seeing her sigh a little at her small town stuckness had made him want to cheer her up somehow..
He was saved from his own dumbness by her waitress gift of noticing any attention seeking movement in any corner of her big blues. She looked over at something, someone?, outside the Diner’s big main window.
“Frens o’ yours?”
He didn’t answer, He couldn’t, despite the missed-note it left hangin’ tween them. His gaze went to where hers had been. Against a blazing outdoor glare, a man’s shape was looking in, hands cupped on the shopfront glass against the midday light. At his hip, bump of a gun. The law. And the law was looking right smack-dab at him.
A small sense of panic rose up in him, til the outline waved at him. He waved back in turn and that seemed good enough for the outline who withdrew from the window like he was gonna wait outside. He noticed that his companion had smiled and waved to.
“You know Deputy Helm?”. No. She obviously did. He wondered if he did too. No…she knows him well but not me.
I’m expected, he thought, and so as if in the flow of proceedings he drained his new coffee with a wince and stood. I’m tall, least compared to her. No, tall anyhow you look at it.
He checked his table and surroundings.
Some sunglasses, a Marlboro pack (he smoked?), a lighter (he guessed he
not tho’hungry huh?
did) and he also saw a medium, tan valise which he guessed was his too. A valise means I’m visiting, I’m here to meet this deputy perhaps.
A very smart black suit jacket hung on the back of is chair. There was also an impressive white Stetson hat on the table. Now that’s very fetching, so he didn’t care if that wasn’t his, he was takin’ it anyways. Slipping it on it fitted head-in-glove
He reached into his jacket, mercifully there was a wallet in the first pocket he tried.
“You’ll excuse me, Miss, seems business won’t wait”
“I’ll get your check” she said motioning to go.
He pulled a bill from his wallet. A twenty. He seemed to have a lot of others.
“Hold up. No need, this cover it?” The way she went bug-eyed at the bill, being ‘bout the first time she’d torn her eyes from him, he guessed it did. “The change ain’t my concern if OK with you.”
“Gee..thanks”, the crimson had started to bleed into her cheeks now as she took the bill, almost lookin’ round the rest of the Diner like she’d been caught stealing. “You know, we do more than eggs, we have new specials every night. If’n you are stayin’”, this last sentence came as a blurt, one that didn’t fit so well with the sassed-sweet sureity that seemed her stock-in-trade.
Her cheeks burned a little now, like she felt bad at sounding desperate or something. He just smiled and nodded, hoping to give some of her ease back to here.
He tipped his hat “Miss, if I can, you know I will.”
That seemed to relax her and he was glad, her smile came back at full sweetness.
Then, “I’m Kathleen” she said, offering up something tween a bow and a curtsey which should have probably looked foolish but instead looked astonishing even if a might awkward. It really pained him he had no name to give her back, just a smile which was gettin’ ever more goofy. Cold silence threatened and crept back, ‘cept this time she took it on herself to joke their way of it.
“Say? You’re not a bad boy are you?” she motioned to whatever law agency was waiting outside for him.
“Not the worst” he smiled “But not the best-of behaved neither”
She laughed, and so all was OK.
You know? Somehow he felt this was a fair description of him too.
Then she said something he didn’t expect.
“It’s OK, I know why you’re here. Sure hope you find some answers.”
At this somehow, someone turned the volume down on their surroundings. People left their conversations mid-point and stopped talking altogether almost all in time. The furtive glances they’d snuck at him (he’d been aware after a while at being something of a novelty to his fellow diners) had turned into one all-in group stare.
“I hope so too” he replied, hopefully, somewhat reassuringly.
A swift movement had his jacket on, his sunglasses on and gathered up his smokes n’ valise.
“I’ll see you again Kathleen, you-kin count on that” he said tipping his hat brim fondly.
She didn’t say anything, just smiled again, tho in truth more sadly this time.
She stood watchin’ him walk to the door. Stood there lookin’ at much of nothin’ in truth, like someone jus’ realizin that most significant person you’d ever get to meetin’ was done and gone through your life in five minutes flat. Stood still clutching the twenty and thinkin’ on what all that might mean, til the short order cook dinged the counter bell meanin’ fer-her to shift her ass.
“It’s OK, I know why you’re here. Sure hope you find some answers.”
“You’ll understand Agent Walker, if I … ask to see some identification?”
Man alive it was HOT outside. The diner could a done gone cooked their eggs one-ah the car bonnets in the lot outside. Cooked ‘em real quick too. Whole thing was like opening a great oven door to check your cookies.
Even with his sunglasses he had to squint after the diner’s relative darkness when he came out, tho the flare gradually dimming enough so’s he could make out there being two people who seemed to be waiting for him.
Both deputies. Hat. Sunglasses. Full bit. For some reason he knew this to be Southern? As in Southern States of America.
The side of the police car they were next to seemed to agree.
Sherriffs Department
Atacosa County
Texas? Shit, how did he know it was Texas? But he was sure of it, just not the how of the sure.
One of the deputies came towards him, he was obviously the senior of the two, the other just hung back mustering as much fuck-you surliness and threat as his dumbass pig-fat young face would allow. Which weren’t over much in his opinion.
The other was maybe 35, tall, 6-2? Makes me bout the same height judging by the eye levels. Slim, but you could tell he could handle himself, that kinda wiryslim. He smiled as he approached, you could tell he was handsome, albeit inna very obvious American way. Looked like he walked off a recruitment poster for small town police.
He liked him. Didn’t like the other. He wondered what they made-ah him.
“Agent Walker?” he put out his hand, removing his mirrored glasses so as to enhance the genuiness of the greeting.
He returned the handshake, making it as firm as possible, like that would guarantee it was truly felt. He too removed his sunglasses so as to return the openess. Something in the Deputies demeanour, the way he looked at him, suggested his appearance was distinctive and had been described before.
Walker Awake from The Datura Press
He wasn’t stating the name as a question. He knew him by desciption.
I’m Agent Walker. It was a hell of a thought to have.
I am someone.
Agent Walker just nodded and smiled. Then retreated back behind his glasses.
“Hi there”, the deputy continued, seeing that his stoic guest wouldn’t be so forthcoming “I’m Deputy Helm, that there is Deputy Curtis, Sherriff Dowd sent us down to meet you.”
He stayed silent, some of the panic from early was creeping back. He wondered if it would be rude to light a cigarette, but then he worried his hands might get to fumbling and would give him away too. He was real glad this wasn’t a poker game.
If Deputy Helm was unnerved by the continuing quiet, he didn’t show it. He did however, look somewhat embarassed at his next statement.
“You’ll understand Agent Walker, if I err, ask to see some identification?”
Worldessly he reached into his pocket. His jacket pocket. He had felt the weight of something in there earlier. Not his wallet. He’d replaced that in his pants. Something else. Heavy and therefore significant.
He pulled out a piece of very smart, folded black leather. Knowing how dumb it would have been to have looked at it first, however curious he might be, he just flipped it up and held it out to Deputy Helm like a statement of fact. He felt himself holding his breath as he did so.
Here goes.
Helm’s glance over it was cursory and he felt some relief that the Deputy was so readily satisfied. Accordingly he relaxed.
Walker felt ready to speak, feeling that Helm’s genuine hospitality should be reciprocated.
“Deputy Helm, Curtis” he nodded to each in turn. “It’s a pleasure, and I’d like to thank you for coming out to meet me.”
“We’re the one that are grateful, Agent Walker.” Helm replied “We don’t mind admitting this one is beyond what we know, what we got experience of, and that we need a little help.”
Am I FBI perhaps? How do I know about the FBI? He didn’t dwell as Helm was continuing.
“That said, we hope you won’t be like them Hoover boys, and just try an’ run
roughshod over our jurisdiction. Small town we may be, don’t mean we’re small minded, if you understand me.”
Not FBI then?
Walker noticed that while Helm smiled broadly as he said this, he was serious. He was proud of this town and wanted it and its people to be respected. Walker like Helm already.
“Anyhow, if you want to follow me in your car…”
Walker had noticed something he didn’t have when he was gathering up his stuff. Car keys. It seemed plain dumb that you could get to somewhere like here without a car, so he made the best answer he could.
“Apologies deputy, but I don’t have a car” Helm did look back somewhat perplexed.
“Damn thing got stolen last stop, can you believe that?” Walker laughed and shook his head at his own dumb luck. “I had to hitch to get here, so, you know, I’d appreciate a lift” Walker shrugged, he hoped by looking a bit foolish in their eyes, they might relax about him a bit. Helm shook his head, part disbelief, part sympathy, tho Curtis sniggered a bit in back. Now that was an example of small minded folk.
“Sure thing Agent Walker, your rooms all set up, so we can drop you no problem. Know where you can get a rental too, but until you’re mobile, no problem for us to fetch n’ carry ya.
“Thank you Deputy Helm, I really do appreciate that” walker said genuinely.
“Like I said, no problem at all. You know…”Helm paused and almost kicked the ground while he plucked up courage to say his next piece “..the house..well, the house is pretty much on the way.” Helm gestured with his thumb to some direction or other. Walker saw something flash across Helm’s calm demeanour, behind him Curtis practically shivered despite the searing heat. “Figured you might, you know, wanna take a look first, maybe, before y’all get settled in?”
“Sure, let’s do that” said Walker, trying not to share their unease.
“OK then” Helm got back to his genial relaxed self. “Curtis, you put Agent Walker’s case in the trunk. Agent Walker, you can ride up front with me. Door’s open.”
“Hey, I ride up front” Curtis started to whine.
“Just get the damn case Lije.”
Helm rolled the patrol car silky smooth from the diner’s parking lot and they were on their way. Whatever town they were in’s meagre-mount of buildings soon fell away from view and they were on the open road.
“Don’t worry bout your place, by-the-way Agent Walker. Lady runs it is an aunt of mine. She’s a sweetheart. Don’t you go misbehavin tho’. I felt her broom-handle on my ass more than a few when I was growing up. All deserved of coursee. Names Mrs. Mucha, she got German stock from a while back, but you kin call her Minny, you know as in ‘Moocher’, everybody does. She don’t get no offence to it”
Helm was obviously trying the genial host thing, and doing a good job of it too, but he was obviously just breaking the ice before business, as much for his own comfort as Agent Walker’s.
“You’ll find the case file in the glovebox, don’t know if they had time to give you no details. You can choose not to look too, I know you guys sometimes like to make your own opinions.”
Helm went quiet at that and turned back to the road which was now nothing but a blue-black scar straight up a featureless yawn of nothingness scrubland. Walker fancied the road was the only difference in this view to a how it would
Walker Awake from The Datura Press
a-been bout a million years ago.
“Thanks, I will take a look” he said fishing the treasury tied manilla binder from its storage space. Whilst he appreciated Helm’s efforts to be acquainted, he also needed some silence to think on what the fuck was going on. He quickly thought on his name too. He wasn’t sure if he recognised it, but it seemed to suit. There were worse names. For sure on that.
Then of course he was also interested in the ‘case’ itself. After all, to all appearances, it looked like the very reason for his existence somehow. He untwirled the folders tie and shuffled inside. The car got very quiet
It weren’t sweet readin’.
After a while Helm looked over and saw Walker had gone through everything it had, it being pretty slim despite its heavy goin’ and nodded to the folder.
“Don’t say much does it? Not least anything that’ll tell you why what happened happened.”
Walker made an agreeing kinda noise.
“Lot of folks might say there’s nothing to say bout it all.” Helm continued, half to Walker, half to himself, a secret half to the unfair world in general. “You could probably fill a thousand folders with a thousand head-docs opinions ‘bout it. At least you can carry that one”, he half smiled.
“You know it was thicker” Curtis interjected from the back-seat “those dumb-ass Hoover boys.” He was cut short by Helm glowering at him through the rear-view.
“Curtis is right”, said Helm, instantly smoothing any ructions in the conversation’s tone “FBI did take some things from it. Though nothing I’d take. Just facts and figures, you know, social security numbers and such. Lord knows why they bothered, but then I guess the FBI likes to just count up rows of figures, rather than real detection, you know? Think it was just to prove a point and treat us like they’d seen something we missed.”
“Missed?” Walker instantly regretted asking, he had no reason to doubt anything about Helm’s integrity, fortunately Helm, took no notice or was too polite to reveal any hurt caused.
“We didn’t miss nothin’” Helm shook his head assuredly. He then ran off how the scene was secured, how they went through the rooms, evidence
collection. If it went down as said, Helm was a diligent and dedicated officer. Smart, too. Showed a nose for procedure his small time badge belied.
But Helm was right. Nothing in the scant notes on their background could give a sense of what could lead up what was shown in those photos.
He had come to them last. The other parts of the file were nothing but small notes on basic details, residential, financial what-have-you. Then a couple of neighbour’s statements, there being no actual witnesses, just said how lovely they all were and how shocked that anything like that could have happened.
And then there were the pictures.
They were grainy and soft. Walker thought that the photographer was probably inexperienced of this kinda thing, PDs didn’t really do much crime scene photography outside of the cities or maybe someofthuh bigger towns. He also probably wanted to get the hell out of there. Walker couldn’t say he blamed him.
Still, the pictures were grim enough, fuzzy or no. Walker didn’t blanche at any of them til the last. Only the blond curls and the body’s size gave the victim away as the young girl in the school photo he’d seen earlier. A best guess, there was nothing much left from that angelic face you could make a match from.
“Yeah” Helm shook his head talking to no one in particular it seemed “No-one can see something like that comin’. Still, got the whole town, whole county and probably the whole state soon enough jabberin’ about their theories n’such. Gotta say, we called FBI in, they took one look and got on the phone for you guys, didn’t bother messin’ with us even. S’why I’m glad you came out so speedy, sooner you satisfied at the scene, sooner authorities can gitton and do what they’re gonna do.
“Pull it down is what I’m hopin’,” Helm continued distractedly “That place a hell of a sale for any realtor even before this thing happened. Middle of nowhere and they ain’t,…weren’t exactly pulling nuggets outta the dust we got round here.”
“Any money trouble?” Walker asked.
“Some. Surely some. But no more than most of the folks round here. And I didn’t think their heads were any lower in the water than they ever had been
up recent. Shoot, Mr Meeks bought himself a new truck, well, new t’him, bout three month back, so maybe things were better if anything. Nah, that weren’t it.
“I wanna see it pulled down, cos truth is, I’m kinda worried it’d become some kinda lighthouse for all them ghouls out there. Like that Gein fella they got last year, everyone pretends to be all up’n’shocked by it, but that don’t stoppem readin’ every damn column inch onnim they can git there hands on.” Helm shook his head at humanity in general this time.
“Like some kinda rock n’ roll star. That’s the modern world I guess. People like going sightseein’ in other peoples misery.”
“You got that right. Plenty’d pay to see that crazy bitch fry” Curtis had interrupted his sulk again to give his opinion through the perp grill from the back .
“Wastes her whole family, sooner she gets a fast ticket to the flames the better.”
“Shut up Lije” said Helm wearily, he was obviously used to his partner’s dumber comments. But it nagged him for another reason. Walker asked the obvious question.
“She do it?”
“Well Agent Walker, you know every single shred-ah evidence is stacked out of her favour, every shred, but…” he paused, Helm felt it unprofessional to base anything on his gut, even though it had never steered him wrong in all his eight years of police work .“Well, I just can’t see it is all.”
“Shoot Levon”, Curtis’ ugly mouth was opening again “we found her there still holding the fucking gun man, an’ she had more blood on her than a pig in-ah slaughterhouse. Sure weren’t her blood neither, so how you figure that?”
“That true?” Walker asked.
“It’s true” said Helm, and upon thinking on moving on with the story, he thought it best to start further back.
“No-one seen any of the Meeks for a few days, kinda unusual, a farmer usually gotta do a lot of rat-runs to town n’ back. Kids missed school too. An’ Mrs Meeks, she was like a real good mother, you know? Those kids were always smart and right at school. She always saw to that. So it gets noticed right? They ain’t got no phone, you kin see from this drive their house ain’t close to much, so me and Curtis decide to make a call. We pull up, all their vehicles are there,
but it just looked quiet you know? So, we knock, but ain’t no-one answering, so I takes a look through the window. I felt something was wrong already, but Lord, when I go up to look through the fly grilles, that place isall mess’d up inside. And I can hear flies a-buzzin. A lotta flies, an up closer, you can tell there’s a smell leaking out in the heat. Now Agent Walker, I worked at a farm myself as a kid, I knows that smell…meat, dead meat, left out too long in the heat” Helm paused, though not for effect.
“So we goes in, I go first, ‘n’ that place…that place, it is a slaughterhouse, jus’ like Curtis said, some rooms, don’t seem like there’s a single surface in there not covered in blood. N’that blood’s all dark from a coupla days, that rotting, copper smell. Man you could cut it with your knife it’s-jus so thick. I’m calling, calling all their names, but their ain’t no sound, cept the flies and my creakin’ and a-callin’. I don’t have to tell you what I found in them rooms, you see those photographs, they better seen in black n white but you can colour ’em in yerself I guess…well…I sure can’t describe it. But I’ll never sleep with the door open agin.
“Anyway, last room’s the kinda attic room, I go in, I can hear this clicking, first sound of anything in that place that ain’t to do with death or me. It’s pretty dark but I can see there’s some armoire in the corner, got bullet holes, but the wood is blown out like someone had been shooting from inside. Now I’m leaking sweat into my eyes, part the heat, and part I don’ mind sayin’ from more fright than I’ve ever had. I call out for someone to come out, no answer, cept that same clicking sound and now I’m sure it’s from inside that thing. Now I go to pull that door open, my gun, which has bin drawn pretty much a quarter second since I opened the front door is in fronta me, and I’s shaking so much I darent’ put my finger in the guard. That fact saved Laura Meek’s life, that door swings open an she screams enough to make me jump clean of my skin, I’d have blown her head clean off for sure. When I get it together she’s just there, still hunched in that place, like her last hiding place, still clicking that empty gun at nothin’. Over and over and over.”
“You should have shot that bitch Levon” Curtis smirked, “save them courts a whole lotta trouble an’ no mistake.” This comment Helm didn’t bother to acknowledge.
“She do it?” Walker made the question direct, Helm was close to overcome
by his retelling and reliving, he thought it might help him come back from the house.
“As I said, same gun, that’d fired the same bullets as were found in her family. But I tell you I seen fear in people, lot’s of different kinds, but not like this. Not this all…consuming. Like that’s all she was, just all fear, if that makes sense. And this weren’t fear, like, of being caught. She didn’t even know who I was when she saw me, I mean nothing registered with her you know? Some’d say that’s just the shock at what she’d done, you know most this town’d lynch her today if you gave ‘em the rope, but…I saw Laura Meeks in town not four days before. Last time I seen her. She was smiling, polite, just goin’ about her groceries, whatever, like I seen her do some thousand times, two thousand probably. She had Barbara, girl in that picture with her, just laughing and playing round her legs while she gossiped with her neighbours. And one, two days later she pumps a whole gun’s worth of bullets into that girl point blank? That just don’t sit with me. Even if she did pull the trigger, the Laura Meeks I knew was long gone before she did.”
“She ever say anything bout what happened?”
“She ain’t said a word since we found her. Whatever happened, no-ones telling.”
There seemed nothing to add for the moment, as they went over a small rise in the road, Walker could see a farmhouse or similar, white as snow in the glaring heat, its wind pump twirling limply at what little breeze was blowing across the nothingness.
If he hadn’t of known better, it looked a charming place.
The Police cruiser rolled to a stop in the large front area to the house. For a brief second, knowing he had to be first, Helm sucked in a small sigh, like even the air ‘round the house was poisonous to him somehow, and he should take a final untainted gulp. He opened the door and swung out. Walker followed suit.
The house was almost comically normal given the circumstances. Flat and white from the front, a veranda, some chairs, small table. It sat central to the usual collection of farm side out buildings and detritus. Totally normal, but even in the whittling heat, Walker couldn’t resist a shiver.
Realising they were all just staring somewhat agog at the outside, Walker decided he should spare his companions seeing its sights again.
“Thank you deputies, I can take it from here”. Curtis went to bristle at any implication he wasn’t up to the task, but then he remembered the alternative was going inside and seeing it all over again, so he let it pass.
Helm nodded at Walker’s consideration, him being the lawman he was, he would never had said no, but he was glad to sit this one out if it was all the same to anyone.
Walker walked up towards the front door. It was hanging pretty loose from its hinges, no doubt bumped and tossed by all the police and medics and whatnot that had come and gone. He wondered if there would be anything left for him to see once all that trampling had happened. He caught the doors handle mid-swing, putting a halt to its soft creaking and sighing back and forth. Already the house looked tired and old, it was amazing how quickly a house ran to ramshackle when it wasn’t being lived in. It had been eight days since Hell paid a visit to the Meeks and already, it looked like no-one had ever lived there.
He stepped inside and instantly he was glad he hadn’t touched the eggs from the diner as the acrid aftertaste of his earlier coffee got as far as his throat before he could choke it back. Helm was right, the smell was so powerful and thick that it felt almost solid to breath in. Without thinking he reached into his pocket, flipped a Marlboro clear from the pack and to his mouth, then lit it with the lighter in his other hand. He wasn’t sure if he wanted a cigarette, just the smoke as some way to break up the stench around him.
The bodies had been removed and the blood must have dried to dust by now, so heaven alone knew what it’d been like some days ago. The very house itself seemed to have died. Helm was right, this should just be bulldozed from the Earth.
Nothing or noone could ever live here again.
The hall seemed untouched, there were some drags and scuffs made by the fleet of police and others who had flocked in and out in the aftermath, but nothing had happened here. There were some blood spots, but he felt these had come from the ferrying of bodies once they had been photographed and poked and prodded. It was pretty much normal, tidy, neat, still with it’s coat hooks, the small size of one, on a peg set specially low, made Walker sad. One of pictures
was at a slight, sadly funny angle.
Bless This House.
To the left of the hallway was the kitchen. There were washed dishes in the rack, a meal had been cleared away. It was spotless, belonging to another world to the slaughterhouse.
The Hell started when he got to the living room. Every single surface in it seemed to be awash with blood. In places it was so thick, the footprints of the police or ambulance men had remained in it. Like a fossil in what once was mud, trapped forever. In different circumstances you could marvel at just how much blood the human body holds. Even a little one.
The TV had been blown out during the firefight, sparks had pocked the floor around it, and its dying puff had darkened the ceiling above it. He imagined the scene just before, there were two, small body shapes in tape laying lengthways pointing directly at its smashed screen. It seemed impossibly domestic, impossibly sudden. The kids hadn’t seen it coming, there seemed to be a small mercy in that fact.
The Meek’s hadn’t been sighted for four days before Helm and Curtis came calling. Noone could be sure when the death’s had taken place with any real accuracy, such was the damage to the bodies. Walker fancied it was early evening, given the immaculateness of the kitchen, but with dishes rack drying, the kid’s allowed some TV time before bed while Mom made home. From the blackness of the blood and its consistency when it had been walked through by the authorities, it was two days before the Deputies visit.
Walker had two thoughts. Firstly, Laura Meeks had made a family meal, then tidies her kitchen like a new pin before blowing her whole family away and secondly, she’d spent best part of two days hiding in a cupboard firing an empty gun at nothing while their bodies began to rot around the house. He wasn’t sure which thought gave him the most discomfort.
One of the victims had burst an artery, the spray was unmistakable, it’s arc scarred the far wall, as he followed it he saw himself in a large mirror, and forgetting the scene for a moment, he went to see the stranger held within. Finding a bloodless part, he examined his face, tracing the path his eyes followed
with his hand, as if feeling in the dark for a lightswitch. He was striking, one eye was hazel green tho dark, almost to the point of blackness, the other blue and airy as Spring. Hetero chromia. They stared as his hand traced a strong jaw and cheekline. No wonder Kathleen stopped her gum chewing when was had looking at him. You handsome devil.
As he was on the subject of himself, he hooked out his ID wallet, opening it to see that face was the same as the he’d just examined. It was, allowing that you could see more of his blue-black hair without the hat. His name was indeed Walker, though the ID gave no first name. Walker appeared to be a secret service agent, though his actual department “Bureau of Inland Security” didn’t sound familiar. But then he was sure he’d get used to it, just as he gotten used to his last name. He took one last look before he put it back in his jacket at his date of birth. 1924. It suddenly struck him he had no idea how old that made him.
The carnage continued outside of the room. The two youngest Buddy, and the girl with the blond curls, Brenda, nine and six respectively, had died instantly while watching TV. The third child, older at twelve, Madison had seemingly bolted from the room. The gun, a three-fifty-seven had blown a hole in her shoulder, ironically it was the fall that smashed her head on the bottom step that’d killed her. Just to be sure, her mother put another five bullets into her as she lay dead. Laura Meeks had shot all her children to death ten times over.
That’s hate, surely? How could a mother do that?
The gun didn’t sit right either. Laura Meeks was five-three and 100 pounds, tops, wringing wet. Gun like that should have snapped her wrist clean in half unless she really knew what she was doing. And if’n she did, she’d have to train at it. Walker remembered a facsimile of a gun shop receipt from the folder. The handgun was on it. Counting the shots in the report, the number of shells bought at the time pretty much tallied. The receipt seemed old, worn, maybe four, five years old in the Photostat. It was dated 28th June 1953. That’d mean the year was, what? 1957? Walker was surprised that he’d seen no other dates on any of the documents in the folder. Maybe they was the numbers the FBI were a-busy crunching.
Mr Meeks body was found at the top of the stairs. His face, or what there
“One shot for the kill. Then eleven jus’ for good measure. How you figure that?”
was of it, had hung over the top stair in one of the photographs, one eye left to weirdly stare from the pulp of his big head at the front door. Walker imagined he’d ben out working, maybe even heard the shots, and come home to this pandemonium. Seeing his angels massacred bodies, he had probably called out to his wife. Maybe she answered. Walker noted that his bootprints, picking up the blood from the ground floor, had bolted up the stairs two and three at a time, slipping once. Whatever, when he got to the top landing he’d caught a round full in the face. Looking at the blood on the ceiling above the staircase, it fitted with someone Laura Meek’s height shooting up into the face of someone a clear foot taller.
Certainly, the headshot was the rightshot. Charlie ‘Chuck’ Meeks was a solid two, two-twenty pounds, filled out on hard labour and steaks and beers. In his anguish and distress, even a heart shot wouldn’t have put him down right away. Again, if circumstances were to be believed, Laura Meeks, stood over her husband, from all accounts, she loved very dearly and had three beautiful children with, and pumped five bullets into him as the heart he had given over to her was grinding to a halt. She reloaded, the pattern of the spent cartridges she’d thrown out of the revolver’s chamber were in the blood and then pumped in six more.
One shot to kill. Eleven for good measure. How you figure that?
Walker went up, at the top he saw the huge black stain where Mr Meek’s life had drained from him. He noticed drag marks in the blood. The body had been pulled, so as to clear it from blocking the access to the attic room which was by a small landing door. Meeks must have fallen forward after the shot, the arc in the drags explaining how he ended up facing backwards over the stairs. That didn’t make any sense either. Not only did this woman wave a heavy revolver round like it was a pop gun, she could shift a two-hundred dead weight round and back in one continuous motion? Walker was pretty sure he couldn’t do it himself.
Walker looked at the attic door which was ajar. He stood for a minute. He’d save that one for last.
The other rooms didn’t turn up anything remarkable, aside from the fact
they were so normal compared to everything else in the house, so perhaps they were truly remarkable for that. Laura Meeks had a collection of chintzy dolls in her and Chuck’s bedroom. They were kinda on the cheap side, which just made them look sad. Like they knew that no one would come wanting them now their owner was gone and they’d just get tossed. Laura had liked them, enough to sort them by size all neatly done, and sort of by colour too. Looking at their mute faces all lined up, Walker was happy they hadn’t seen what had gone on outside their room.
Nothing else to note. Now for the attic.
Walker checked his step on the first step up, he muttered at his own hesitance, of all the things he didn’t know about himself, he was pretty sure he didn’t believe in the boogeyman. And yet he had the feeling that if the boogeyman was hiding anywhere it would be upstairs in that attic. Laura Meeks knew it, that’s why she ended up in that old armoire. Just what did she think was outside of that door? He shook off one last shiver and went on up.
Their was a switch, wired badly enough that it could have killed the Meeks given time, but Walker flicked it anyway. A bare bulb in the middle spluttered on and cast a better class of gloom around the dark. The room was nothin’ but junk, though to be fair, neatly ordered junk, some the sort of thing Chuck probably protested the tossin’ of as it “might come in handy”. The furniture in the house in general weren’t great, but it was tidy and in good condition, the Meek’s seemed to be pretty house-proud (Bless This House indeed, Walker rememebered).
This looked like the stuff that had just got tired over the years, maybe they were too sentimental to throw stuff out, or in the case of the sad little crib in the corner, somethin’ had been home to all their sleeping kids probably, and when all grown no family to pass it on to. Walker doubted one stick of furniture would make it to relatives or auction. The Meeks had cared for their possessions, but no one else would, and Walker was sad at that.
The armoire was in the corner. It was probably the grandest piece in the house, looking well made, like only older stuff can. Craftmanship. But it was beat up, and that’s probably why it ended up here, outta sight. There were six holes in the front doors. Walker noted they were shut, who would have done that after finding the cowering Mrs Meeks and helping her out. He went over to
it and went to turn the latch, no sooner had his hand touched it, the light, which had been fizzing slightly the whole time he’d been in there, bloomed bright and then plinked out, putting him in total darkness.
“GODDAM IT!” Walker ridiculed himself for the outburst and the panicky way he was fumbling for his lighter. He flicked it open and alight in one movement. Then he realised, agent or no, he didn’t have a goddam gun. Now what kinda hell use was that? He maybe in an empty house, but he could sure use one he thought, even’if justa shoot at shadows if needs be.
He stood still, and tuned out his heartbeat to check the room for sounds. He didn’t care how dumb that was. Nothing. OK. A deep haul of air and he opened the door damn quick. Still, nothing. He almost gagged up, again, he smiled, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. It smelt of must, wood, dust and….stale-ing piss and worse. Then he thought of Laura Meeks in there for maybe two days, scared witless…he guessed it would stink to high heaven. Closing the door he ran his fingers over the bullet holes, feeling where the wood had splintered out. There was also the smell of cordite as an undernote to the other scents and Walker was struck by the confined space the shots were fired from. The roar of that gun in that space would probably have blown Mrs Meeks eardrums clean out. What a way to live for a couple of days, pissing yourself in terror with a deafening ringing in your head and blinding pain. Walker wanted to tell all those would-be lynch mobs that Laura Meeks has suffered plenty of punishment already, you’d probably jump into the electric-chair rather n’run through that again.
The holes were also grouped, which gave the impression she was shouting at something rather than just firing blindly. But at what? Everyone else in the house was dead by now, all the evidence pointed to that. Walker wanted to believe that maybe there was another attacker, but nothing pointed to that. It was Mrs Meeks footprints in the blood, hers alone. Her hands were practically black from gun discharge. At her size, how would she have got the gun from the other attacker if there was one? No, it was the Meeks gun, he reminded himself. Nine times outta ten, you get shot with your own or a relatives gun. Gotta love the second amendment. Everyone had a gun. ‘Cept him a-course. No that didn’t make sense. But then the alternative wasn’t a whole lot of sense either.
He traced the line of the holes, if they were as a result of aiming, what could she have been aiming at? Treading carefully in the meagre light afforded by his lighter, he followed their line back to the opposing wall. Nothing was there, cept an old dresser, a mirror sitting atop it, Walker noticed for the first time that a bullet had struck it, strangely only cracking it clean in a line putting it in half rather than shattering it. Seemed strange, but then where were the other bullets? The distance from the armoire to here was bear twenty feet, a 357 would easily have gone through the wood panelling that made up the house’s outside. Really you’d expect shafts of light from the bullet holes to be flooding the room, but nothing, unless they’d hit something before the one that hit the mirror got through? But what?
At that thought, something else struck Walker that hadn’t before and this one gave him a creeping chill in his blood. The room was cold. Real proper almost see-your-breath cold. Up here in the eaves of this old house, sun baking down, it should be like a sweatbox on a bonfire. And if he didn’t miss his guess, it’d gotten colder as he’d advanced into the room. Colder still, coldest in fact, right here, by the mirror.
He looked deep into it, you couldn’t see nothing but his face, barely lit by his lighter it hung there, mask like. The crack gave the illusion of his face being two halves not quite joining down the middle, and given his eye colouring, you could almost believe it was two different people, though with the same choice in hats. Without thinking, he leant, real slow, and made to touch it.
“Jesus” .
The cold on its surface was enough to stick his fingertip’s sweat to it sending a jolting shiver from finger to floor right through him. He dropped the lighter which promptly went out in the fall, sending him scrambling to the floor for its retrieval. Sweet relief he found it quick and stood upright. He expected to burn his finger it had been lit so long, but is wasn’t even warm. He struck it. No catch. Despite the chill, he was starting to sweat, more-so than he had in the oven downstairs.
Again. No catch.
Walker’s eyes were wide enough in the dark that the brief flash from the flint was enough to glimpse the room. He started to flick it quickly and edge
backwards to the door. He knew he should be looking where he was going, but he was transfixed, transfixed by his own face floating in the mirror.
‘Fuck….fuck’
He prayed he wouldn’t fall over anything. This room was never this long.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck”
Just as he thought he’d lose it, his hand that he was holding out behind him struck wall, mercifully he hadn’t just fallen clean backwards down the stairs, looking behind him enough light came from the landing below to make the doorway down.
One last flick of flint and glance back and he was on the stairs taking two at a time. In an instant he was downstairs standing in the dry pool of Buddy Meeks blood and slammed the door behind him.
His eyes stung with sweat and he removed his hat, wiping away the drench on his face. He pinched his eyes with thumb and forefinger closing them real tight before he would open them again. He slowed his breathing, and hoped his heart would get under some sort of control. It was hot and his shirt stuck to him under his jacket which he regretted keeping on, but it was a hell sight better and welcome than that icebox upstairs. Calming down, Walker shook his head and laughed at his own terror, sighing out a long relieved almost whistle at the whole thing.
“Motherfucker” he whispered to the house topping it with a long whistle, “Mottttherrrr fucker!”
When he came outside, Curtis was throwing rocks at a tree stump with limited success. Helm looked as if he hadn’t moved the entire time.
“You OK?” the concern was genuine, the deputy’s warmth and that of the beating sun started to put some thaw back in Walker’s marrow. He nodded. He wondered if they’d heard his exclamations from the attic. Curtis wasn’t smirking at him so he guessed that they didn’t.
“Alright then…” Helm went to get back into the patrol car.
“Guess that’s the last of Meek’s farm” he said regretfully, though to no-one in particular.
so Walker wakes, and who might meet, but here’s
It’s OK, I know whys you’re here. I sure hope you can find some answers to what happened.
Kathleen
You could hear the road thinking. Long and low and full of bad ideas
Walker Awake
One shot for the kill. Eleven just to be sure. How you figure that?
Deputy Helm
Man I froze.
I just plain froze right there.
Marvin King
knows who he is or who he
some clues for later…
History round here. It never gets written down. it gets buried
What’s my name? Now that’s a real ironic question comin’ from you.
Seems like trouble has come to town, so you look out for yourself…and a little for us all too I hope
Real idealist ain’t yer? Well, I respect that Agent Walker, believe me I do.
Senator Conroy
The world of Walker Awake is envisioned not only as a novel but as an expandable literary property. With its blend of American noir atmosphere, mythic undertones, and episodic narrative arcs, the story holds strong potential for adaptation across multiple media platforms. All inquiries regarding the following subsidiary rights are welcome.
The novel’s cinematic qualities and episodic structure make it well-suited for screen adaptation.
Its universal themes of justice, identity, and survival provide strong resonance for international audiences.
The shifting perspectives and atmospheric narration offer a strong foundation for either single-voice or full-cast audio performance.
Distinctive characters and symbolic motifs within the novel allow for illustration, collectibles, and related licensed works.
The work’s interplay of character, mood, and scene provides scope for theatrical reimagining.
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The Datura Press
general: info@thedaturapress.com author: dom@thedaturapress.com agent & rights: camilla@thedaturapress.com
Published by The Datura Press Part of the I Live Night by Night group.
Copyright © 2025 by Dom Salmon
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This is an advance excerpt from an uncorrected proof. Please do not quote for publication without checking the final, finished book.
A man wakes up in a diner in amphion, a remote small town in Texas. he discovers he is walker, an agent in the feared and secretive us agency, inland — in a fifties america where, everything is very so slightly different, that is, compared to how you or i might remember it.
So, he has much to discover, but a brutal whole-family slaughter by a loving mother must come first.