Department of English

Spring 2006 High School Edition

Circumstantial Evidence

Garrett Root
Fiction (11th-12th)
Second Place
Snow Canyon High School
Teacher: Lenore Madden

The smell of coffee filled his nostrils as he poured a mug for himself.

“Aaah, that’s a good brew, just what I needed after a day like today,” he mused.

Putting the mug down, he reached for a fishing magazine, but while he was retracting his hand he bumped his mug and spilled the scalding coffee on his lap.

“Shit!”

He got up and walked through the living room, passing his wife and four-year-old son.

“I’m going to bed honey,” he muttered as he passed them.

After he changed his clothes, he climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling.

What am I going to do?  I can’t go through this again.  Not again.  Please not again.  What did I do wrong?  I didn’t do anything wrong.  I did just as much work as everybody else.  How am I going to tell Barbara?  She’s going to flip out.  They didn’t even give me a warning so I could look for other jobs in advance.

 Barbara slid into the bed with him.  “What's matter with you?  You only swear when something’s really bothering you.”

Should I tell her?  I better.  Now is as good a time as any.

“Barbara,” he said choking on his words, “I’ve been laid off again.”

She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and then she sighed.  “I knew that job was a dead end,” her tone was less harsh than the one before.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he added, feeling more confident that she didn’t explode.

“I think the best thing for you to do now is go fishing for a week.  You need a break and some time to think.  You can take Devin; he doesn't know how to fish yet.  Plus, you can show him your special fishing spot.”

All Alan could say was, “Ok.”  He was blown away that he wouldn’t be sleeping on the couch again.

“I love you, Barbara.”

“Good night, Alan.” 

It was still dark when Alan put Devin in a carseat in the back of the station wagon.  The trunk was filled with the proper supplies for about a week of fishing.

He sat down on the rotting driver’s seat and started the car.  Pausing, he tried to think if he had forgotten anything.  Alan scanned the cabinets in the garage, but the only thing he could see was a vase full of fresh roses.

He shut his door, backed out the car, and drove down the road.

Alan’s favorite fishing spot was in the Finger Lakes region.  It was only a day’s drive away, which was good because he didn’t have much money for gas.  The lake he usually went to didn't have a name as far as he knew.  He and his dad found the place while Alan was learning how to drive.  The only other person Alan had taken to this spot was his wife while they were dating.

“This is some of the best fishing this side of the Mississippi,” Alan said enthusiastically as he turned off the highway onto a dirt road.  I’ve caught fish here that are as big as you!”

Devin didn’t seem to pay much attention to his father; he was too busy with his Spiderman toy.

Alan turned off onto a smaller dirt road.  The road wasn’t too bumpy, but it was overgrown and shadowy.

The tunnel of oaks and pines ended abruptly at the foot of a large meadow.  In the center of the meadow there was a shimmering lake.  It was about sunset, so they decided to set up camp before it got too dark.

Devin suddenly started asking questions.

“Dad, are we going to sleep in a tent?  What about bears?  How deep is the lake?  What if a fish pulls me in?”

“Whoa, slow down.  I’ll protect you from any bears,” answered Alan in a deep voice.  And there aren't any fish big enough to pull you in.”

“I thought you said you caught one as big as me?”

“So you were listening?  Well, I was exaggerating.  Go start unloading our bedding.”

Alan grunted as he lifted a heavy cooler.

Once they had set up camp, Alan started a roaring fire and gave Devin a bologna sandwich for dinner.  Devin gobbled it up, then licked his grubby little fingers.

“Dad,” Devin said thoughtfully, “I hope we catch a lot of fish tomorrow, so we don’t have to eat bologna sandwiches for dinner again.”

“Me too,” agreed Alan.  “It’s time for bed though; did you put the bedding in the tent?”

“Yup.”

They got snuggled into their sleeping bags for a good night’s rest.  Devin was asleep in no time, but Alan had trouble falling asleep.  His mind was in other places. 

The next two days they caught as many fish as they could eat.  Alan taught Devin how to correctly catch fish, and Devin taught Alan how to correctly catch tadpoles.

They both sat around the campfire Wednesday night, filled with fish, staring into the coals.

“I’m glad we came here dad,” Devin said dreamily.  “How much longer do we get to stay?”

Alan answered almost reverently.  “Well, it’s Wednesday, so we get to stay three more days.”

“Ok, Dad.”

The four-year-old was quickly asleep on his father’s lap.  Alan got up and put Devin into his sleeping bag, then got into his own.  He had just closed his eyes when he heard a dull rumble.  It was moving in his direction and was getting louder.

That sounds like a truck, but nobody knows about this place except me.  It must be thunder or something.

Then he heard the screech of dirty brakes.

What the . . .?

He shot out of the tent and looked around but couldn’t see anything.

I could have sworn.

He went back inside the tent and got a flashlight.  The beam of light penetrated the darkness, following the edge of the meadow.  He then checked the road.

Nothing there, I must be more stressed out than I thought.

Alan went back inside the tent and got snuggled into his sleeping bag.  The noise started again.

I’m stressed out, that’s it.

The noise faded away.  He shut his eyes and slept. 

“Dad, wake up,” said Devin, poking Alan.  “I want to catch some more fish.”

Alan slowly got up and rubbed his back.  “I must have slept on a rock.”

The sun had already come up and was reflecting off the lake into the tent.

“Let’s fish on the other side of the lake today, Devin.”

They both grabbed their fishing poles and started to walk around the lake.  When they got there, Alan put the tackle box on the ground and started to choose a lure.  While he was deciding on which one, he noticed that he had set the box down on some tire tracks.  He jumped up.

I haven’t driven the wagon over here.

“Devin, on second thought, let’s go back to our side.”

They walked back to their side of the lake, Alan looking over his shoulder every ten steps.

It was probably some other fishermen; they saw our tent and went somewhere else.  But how did they find this place?  The road isn’t on any maps, and it was pitch black last night.  They didn’t even have their lights on.

Alan had thoughts like this the rest of the day.  That evening, he gathered a large pile of wood.

“Watcha get so much wood for dad?”  Devin asked innocently.

“Well, I don’t want to gather any in the morning,” he lied.

Alan was planning to stay up all night to see if the truck came back.

As soon as it was dark, Alan put Devin to bed.  He pulled a chair by the fire and stoked it full of wood, then got a big mug of coffee.  Now that the fire was roaring and he was pumped full of caffeine, he was ready.

Nothing happened the first few hours, and nothing happened the next few hours.

What am I doing?  Why am I even staying up?  What does it matter if they come back and start fishing.  But I just can’t understand why they didn’t have their lights on.  They must have been up to something.

Alan began to doze; the caffeine was out of his system.  He was beginning to have the let-down after the surge.  His head nodded, then drooped.

CLANK!

Alan exploded out of the chair.  “I fell asleep, dang it!”

The fire was smoking gently and a morning mist had formed across the meadow and lake.

CLANK!

The noise came again.  Alan strained his eyes in the direction it came from.  He could see the glow of a fire through the fog on the other side of the lake.

He went inside the tent and checked on Devin; he was still asleep.  Alan decided to see what was on the other side of the lake.

Everything had a gray hue in the fog, and the sun was barely coming over the tree tops as he began walking around the lake as quietly as he could.  The ground was covered in a blanket of dew that soaked his shoes and socks.

As he got near the other campsite, he could hear the Bee Gees on a radio and could see the outline of a truck.  The truck’s door was open, and he could see a small canvas tent.  Alan stayed about a hundred feet away hiding, crouched down in the tall grass.  After ten minutes, he still hadn’t seen anyone and decided the coast was clear and slowly crept into the camp. 

It was your average camp, nothing special.  Alan looked into the door of the truck; the music was coming from its radio.  There was a bottle of red stuff on the seat and some papers.  Alan sat inside the truck and started looking through the papers but didn’t find any information about the truck’s owner.  He decided to leave before he got caught and started to make his way back to camp.

When he got back to his camp, he went inside the tent to see if Devin had woken up yet.  He looked at his son’s sleeping bag, but Devin wasn’t in it.  Alan went back outside the tent.

“Devin. . .  Devin,” he called.

He turned around to call again.

SMACK!

Somebody hit him square in the face with a log of wood, knocking him out cold.

When Alan woke up he was face down on a tile floor; he was drooling. 

Where am I?

He got up and looked around; he was in the kitchen of his house.  Everything was disheveled and a mess.  It looked like there had been a fight.  Alan turned around; he was in front of a mirror that hung on the wall.  He looked at himself; his hands and clothes were covered in blood.

Alan checked himself.  It’s not my blood.

“Devin?” he said in a panicked whisper.

He ran outside into the garage.  The station wagon was there but neither the camping supplies nor Devin were in it. 

He ran outside the garage.  “Devin!” he screamed as loud as he could.

Suddenly three police cars screeched to a halt in front of him.  The policemen got out of their cars brandishing their guns.

Alan stood there.  “What the. . .?”

One of the officers grabbed Alan and put handcuffs on him; another read him his rights.

“What’s going on?”  Alan said, panicking.  “Where is my son?”

“That’s what we’d like to know,” one of the officers answered harshly.

“We were just fishing, and then. . .  What’s going on?” Alan screamed again.

“Fishing?” scoffed another officer.  “You were too busy killing your old boss.  We found blood all over his truck and your fingerprints everywhere.  We don’t even know what you did to your son, poor little guy.”

They started leading Alan toward one of the cars.

“What are you talking about?  I didn’t kill anyone.  Where’s my wife?  She will tell you that I’m innocent,” Alan pleaded with them.

“This guy is crazy,” a third cop said in disbelief.  “That’s her blood all over you. Someone heard her screaming last night and then saw you covered in blood this morning, so they called us.”

“Then how did you know that I supposedly killed my boss?”  Alan asked, looking from face to face.

“Your old boss went fishing and said he would be back on Wednesday.  When he didn’t come back, we formed a search party and found his truck and camp.  We also found your camp and found your address.  We were already on our way over here when we got the call that you murdered your wife.”  The cop answered like it was a daily routine.

Alan was dumbfounded.  “But all we did was fish, that’s it.”

“Get him out of here.”

The police car sped down the road as investigators sealed off the perimeter of his house.

Alan’s trial took months and in the end he was found guilty.  He was convicted on mostly circumstantial evidence.  The ordeal broke him. 

15 Years Later

“Mr. Hearth, you have a letter.”

Alan looked up.  The nurse was standing in her white uniform, holding a letter.

“Thank you,” Alan said in a hurried whisper.

He took the letter.  It was addressed to Alan Hearth, Prisoner #24602, Psychiatric ward.  It didn’t have a return address.  It read: Alan, Devin is safe.-Barbara Trenchent 

Alan looked at the picture of his once four-year-old son.  “Trenchent was my old boss's last name.”