The Cabin

Chapter 1The walls of the canyon loomed above the river’s edge where Jamie McNeill sat, his arms wrapped around his knees. He stared unseeing at the rushing water, his thoughts going back to another day several weeks previously when his life as he’d known it had ended. * * * * It was close to nine-thirty P.M., and Jamie was carrying two plates to a table, halfway across the room from the restaurant’s kitchen. Suddenly, he heard someone call his name. Tom, who worked with Jamie’s fiancé, Paul, was rushing toward him. “You have to come, now! It’s Paul. Oh, God.” Tom was deathly pale, his expression panic-stricken. Without a thought, Jamie put the plates down on the nearest table, much to the surprise of the people sitting there, while he asked Tom, “What’s wrong? What happened?” Tom grabbed his arm, pulling him to the restaurant’s front door and out onto the sidewalk. Jamie saw two ambulances and several squad cars parked on the street three stores down, lights flashing. It was the electronics store where Paul worked as a salesman. “They, two guys, came in to rob us,” Tom said, breathlessly. “Paul…he…he was at the register. He tried to stop them and…” The rest of Tom’s words were a blur as Jamie ran full tilt down the street. He was stopped by a police officer when he was almost to the store’s entrance. “Stay back. This is a crime scene.” Jamie tried to push past him. “My fiancé works there. I need to know he’s okay.” The officer gripped Jamie’s arm, asking, “What’s his name?” “Paul. Paul Nelson.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, the door to the store opened and two EMTs rolled out a stretcher. It held a man, an IV line running from his arm to the bag on the bar above him. A man Jamie didn’t recognize. Seconds later, a second team appeared with another stretcher. It held—Jamie thought, from movies he’d seen—a body bag. He tried to pull away from the officer, only to have the grip on his arm tighten. “I’m sorry, sir,” the officer said. “No-o-o,” Jamie wailed. “That can’t be. It isn’t…” A man in a suit, a badge hanging from a cord around his neck, came out of the store. He took one look at Jamie and the officer and came over. “I’m Detective Brownly. Are you Jamie McNeill?” Jamie barely managed to nod, his gaze still on the black bag, which the EMTs were putting into one of the ambulances. “That’s not, it can’t be Paul. Please tell me it isn’t,” he begged. “I wish I could,” the detective replied compassionately. He told the officer to let go of Jamie, and when he did, the detective asked Jamie to come with him, leading him to an unmarked police vehicle. He opened the rear door, suggesting Jamie sit before he passed out. Jamie did, burying his face in his hands. The detective put his hands on the roof of the car, looking down at him. “Take a couple of deep breaths. It’ll help.” “Says you,” Jamie replied, but he did as he’d been told. “What happened to Paul?” “Two men came into the store, intending to rob it,” Detective Brownly replied. “I know that. Tom told me. But how, why…?” “Mr. Nelson was at the front counter, running the register. The men had guns. According to witnesses, they went behind the counter. When one of them threatened Mr. Nelson, he grabbed the man’s arm to wrestle the gun away. It went off, and the man was hit. The second man retaliated by shooting Mr. Nelson. The bullet hit him in the chest.” The detective rested one hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “It might not be much consolation right now, but Mr. Nelson died instantly.” “It’s not,” Jamie whispered. He looked at the ambulance that held Paul’s body. It was pulling away slowly with no lights or sirens, unlike the first ambulance, which was halfway down the street at that point. “Where are they taking him?” “If you mean Mr. Nelson, to the morgue.” Detective Brownly took a pad and pen from his jacket pocket. “I need to know who you are and what your relationship is to Mr. Nelson.” Jamie had the feeling the detective meant was he a friend, a fellow employee at the store, or possibly a relative. “I’m his fiancé,” he replied defiantly, waiting for a look of scorn from the detective. All he said in return was, “I’m sorry for your loss,” before asking for details—Jamie’s name, address, and how he could be reached. Jamie told him before asking, “Can I see him?” “Later. Probably tomorrow morning. Does he have family we should notify?” “Of course.” At the detective’s prompting, Jamie gave him the information he’d need. A thought occurred to him. “You said there were two men.” “Yes. The second man was arrested and taken in to be booked and jailed.” “For murder, I hope,” Jamie said angrily. “Yes. Before you ask, there were several witnesses to what happened. It was one of them who called 911 when the men first appeared.” “Then they won’t get away with it, thank God.” Jamie took a deep breath. “Not that that’s any consolation.” “No, they won’t,” Detective Brownly agreed. “Do you have someone who can stay with you, at least for tonight?” Jamie shrugged. “Not really, but I’ll manage.” “You really should—” “I’ll be okay.” Jamie grimaced. “I sort of have to be, don’t I?” “Mr. McNeill, I strongly suggest…” “No!” The last thing Jamie wanted was someone babying him. “Can I go? Will you let me know when I can…?” He swallowed hard. “When I can see him?” “Yes. Someone will call you in the morning.” “Thank you.” When the detective moved, Jamie slid out of the car, gripping the top of the door for a moment to steady himself. “I guess I should…” He looked down the street at the restaurant. “You should go home,” Detective Brownly replied firmly. “I’m sure someone’s already let your boss know what happened. Did you drive to work or do you need a ride home?” “I drove.” “All right. Be careful on the way.” Jamie smiled sourly. “Meaning don’t run into something, trying to kill myself? Not happening. I’m shattered, but I’m not suicidal.” Not yet, anyway. Not until it really sinks in that Paul’s dead and gone. He made it home in one piece. It wasn’t until he was in his apartment that he completely broke down. He cried uncontrollably and then raged through the apartment screaming his anguish, throwing anything he got his hands on that hadn’t belonged to Paul. Finally, exhausted, he collapsed on the bed, clutching a photo of the two of them. In it his short dark hair and hazel eyes were a sharp contrast Paul’s too-long brown hair and blue eyes. It was a selfie, taken three months previously when they’d finished restoring the fishing cabin hidden near a river in a canyon deep in the mountains outside the city. It had belonged to Paul’s grandparents and was going to be his and Paul’s getaway place whenever they got the chance. They’d only used the cabin once after the time when they’d taken a month’s leave of absence from their jobs to work on it. When they’d finished, they’d discovered that getting more than a day off together at the same time to enjoy the fruits of their labors wouldn’t happen, as their jobs required them to work weekends. Frustrated, Paul had suggested they call in sick for two days during the week, which they did. The time they’d spent at the cabin had been idyllic, with peace and quiet and no one to bother them. Of course much of that time was focused on buying what furnishings they needed, using Paul’s truck—an older long bed, four-wheel-drive—to haul the furniture to the remote cabin, which nestled in a tiny clearing at the end of a narrow dirt lane. It was tucked in between soaring canyon walls, several hundred yards from the edge of the river which had created the canyon. Thankfully, it was early June, warm and dry even in the mountains, so the lane was passable. “We made it!” Jamie high-fived Paul when they arrived. Paul retorted with a laugh and a, “You didn’t think we would?” as they got out of the truck’s cab. “Considering how much we hauled up here, I had my doubts,” Jamie admitted, looking at the furniture piled high in the truck’s bed. “Okay, I did too,” Paul replied, hugging Jamie. They began carrying the furniture into the cabin. There really hadn’t been much when it came down to it—a double-bed frame and mattress, a table and two chairs, an old sofa which had seen better days but was still comfortable, and a side table that went next to the sofa. “I’m sure the man at the near-new store thought we were crazy,” Jamie said once they had everything in place. “Maybe we are, but there’s a lot to be said for crazy.” Paul wrapped his arms around Jamie and they kissed. Because they still needed essentials, like food, dishes, linens, etcetera, they returned to the city that evening, ending up at Paul’s place where they spent the night. The next morning they’d packed up what they’d already bought, made a stop at a grocery store for the rest, and took everything up to the cabin. The perishables, only enough for that night and the following morning since they didn’t know when they’d be back again, went into the small refrigerator under the kitchen counter. It was powered by a generator that ran on propane. At the end of the counter was the stove, which also used propane. The rest of the food went into the cabinet above the counter, along with the dishes. Linens, what they didn’t put on the bed or hang in the tiny shower room in one corner of the main room, went into the cabinet along the back wall to the left of the window. Water for the shower and the sink in the kitchen came from a large cistern on the cabin’s roof. The toilet was, in reality, a well-insulated outhouse they’d built, attached to one side of the cabin’s exterior. As Paul had pointed out when they discussed their options, it was low-maintenance and cheap, and replaced the ramshackle one that had been at the edge of the property. They were thankful that Paul’s grandfather had insulated the cabin when he’d built it. Otherwise, as Paul put it, “We’d freeze our balls off as soon as the weather gets colder.” “Now, to celebrate,” Paul said when everything had been put away. They cooked steaks and mashed potatoes, taking them and a store-bought salad out to the porch to sit on the edge while they ate. After doing the dishes, they went for a walk, ending at the edge of a cliff which overlooked the river and their barely visible cabin tucked away on its miniscule plot of land. “This is heaven,” Jamie murmured, his arms wrapped around his fiancé. “I could live here forever.” Paul turned to smile at him. “It would be wonderful, until winter hits. Then, even with the insulation, we could freeze to death.” Jamie snorted. “Killjoy, but I guess you’re right, although if we stocked up on propane tanks and food, and knew how to hunt, we might survive.” “It’s the hunting part…” Paul shuddered dramatically. “Yeah, I’m not sure I could kill a rabbit, to say the least of a deer, and what do you do with them after you have?” “YouTube it to find out,” Paul teased. Soon it was dark enough they had to return to the cabin by the light of a half-moon. They lit one of the Coleman lanterns, undressed, and finished their celebration in bed. Two months later, Paul would be dead.