A Whisperville Novel

Prologue: Chance

      The Judge dropped awkwardly onto the bench. The way he collapsed made me think of how my legs felt after a workout that was beyond my capability. When my legs turned rubbery, and I couldn’t fully trust them. He didn’t look well. He motioned to the bailiff, who gave us permission, and as one, the courtroom took their seats. I had to pull my body in as I was squeezed in between my parents on one side and Max’s on the other. Everyone was crowded. The courtroom was filled, probably beyond legal capacity. Our little village had never been home to anything like we had recently been through. By now, everyone knew how the story began. We had gathered to learn how it would end. 

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      I heard a whimper and looked to my left. Max’s mom was crying. It hurt to see her this way. I leaned over and whispered it was going to be okay. She patted my leg without looking at me. She whimpered again.

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      The Judge’s voice drew my attention. “I spent 25 years on the bench in Chicago. Fuller Park, to be precise. Gangland. Animals doing unspeakable things to each other. I listened to prosecutors describe atrocities that no one should ever hear. Things I have never been able to forget. 

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      “The nightmares I live with are what finally drove me to this remote village. When I discovered this place, it was so quiet and peaceful that I felt like everyone was whispering so they wouldn’t disturb their neighbor. An unimaginable thought in Chicago. This seemed like a perfect place to serve my remaining days on the bench, hearing arguments about parking tickets. 

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      “I thought it was my reward for having done my civic duty and having dealt with evil.”

      The Judge sighed deeply while he removed his glasses with his left hand. He looked down at the bench and closed his eyes for a moment. The courtroom waited silently for his next words, for the verdict. 

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      I stole a quick look around the courtroom. It took me a moment, but I found my uncle, the Sheriff, leaning against the door in the back. His left arm hugged his body while his right hand cupped his chin. He was staring at the floor. I stared at him, wanting to see his eyes, but he refused to look up, refused to meet my eyes or anyone else. He was a good man and had done what he was supposed to, but was it what he should have done?

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      I turned back to the front of the room. My best friend was sitting at the defendant’s table. Hands folded in front of him. Leaning forward, waiting to find out his future. 

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      I looked back to the bench as the Judge raised his head and looked toward the spectators. I couldn’t see who he looked at, but I saw his lips press together in a grimace. He raised his eyes gently and appeared to look above our heads. Not meeting anyone’s stare.

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      “It seems as if evil has followed me here.” The Judge fell quiet again, and his eyes glazed over, so it was hard to tell what he was looking at. “Perhaps we are all evil, and the façade is better in some places.

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      “I’ve never imagined a situation like this. Regardless of my sentence today, it will haunt me for the rest of my days because there is no right answer. 

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      “Max Church, may God forgive you because the law cannot.”

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Chapter 1: Max

      Eighteen years later.

      “You new around here?”

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      It was risky, but I took my eyes off the drug dealer, who was trying to intimidate me. My vision blurred a little as I looked over his shoulder at the lake, catching the last rays of light. The water looked dark this time of evening, but I remembered tubing with my family and friends in bright sunlight. I turned to my left, looking over the wood dock next to me that rose shoulder height at this point on the beach. Beyond it, in the fading light, I didn’t see the woods growing toward the lake. I saw a picnic spot where, in the front seat of my Ford Ranger, I made it to second base for the first time. Her name was Emily Downs. Remembering the trouble I had with her bra nearly forced me to smile. To hide the memory, I turned and looked to my right. In the distance was the quaint village of Whisperville. The type of place country singers referred to as heaven. At least they would have when I lived here before. Now, a soft light shone on a row of brick patios on top of a retaining wall that was a few feet above the water. I could see a coffee shop that seemed to serve everything except black coffee, a bistro with foreign specialties, and bars with large plate glass windows because the patrons wanted to be seen. It was all new, all alien to me. My joy evaporated.

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      Was I new around here? I wasn’t sure. 

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      “Does it matter?”

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      “Maybe.”

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      My intentions were serious, but I laughed. “Do I look like a cop to you?”

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      The kid, all he was, couldn’t have been more than 20 to 22 years old. He stood with his back to the edge of Lake Calm, in the shadow of the dock, as the sun started disappearing so the night could have a turn. He was doing his best to size me up. Trying to determine if I was a cop by my appearance. I wasn’t, but he would wish I was before the night ended.

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      “No. I suppose you don’t. However, the people around Whisperville don’t exactly look like you.”

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      “What do they look like?” An edge slipped into my tone, and I could tell it spooked him. Hard to blame him. I easily had 75 pounds on him, mostly muscle, and enough prison tats to cover the wall of most tattoo parlors.

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      “I didn’t mean anything. If you hang around town, you will see what I mean. Most newcomers are decked out in clothes from brands I never heard of and jewelry that costs more than my home. The rich are turning this village into a weekend and summer playground. Hardly leaves anything for guys like us.”

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      “We are nothing alike.”

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      The kid shuffled his feet and glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing but dark water behind him. He had probably chosen the location and position, so he didn’t have to look over his shoulder. Now, he had nowhere to run. He was on his own and scared. I imagined he was used to being the intimidating figure in his circles. Having the roles reversed was too much for him. He cut to the point.

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      “Do you have the cash? We can get this deal done, and you can party.”

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      “Yeah. I got the cash. Is this stuff good? You grow it yourself?”

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      The kid’s eyes got bigger. 

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      “Don’t worry, I’m not going to raid your grow house. Just making sure you can speak for the quality.”

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      He hesitated but finally gave in. “No. I don’t grow. Trust me, the pot is good.”

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      His stupid smile made me believe him. “So, who is your supplier?”

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      Nothing. I pushed harder. “The Reapers?”

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      The kid swallowed and looked around again. He didn’t like the turn in the conversation, and he did not like me bringing up the gang that supplied him. “That is my business. Let’s do this. Let me see the cash.”

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      “I’m not giving you any money.” The kid had been losing his nerve. My response was the last push. Panic showed on his face, but he tried to play the part. He squared himself toward me and placed his hand behind his back. Probably a knife, maybe a gun.

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      “You here to rob me?”

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      I shook my head and smiled. “No. I’m here to give you a choice. If you choose wrong, I will kill you.”