Sunken Graves Alan Lee (reading e books .txt) 📖

“Caught you? Oh man.”

“The most unlucky thing you can imagine. Peter walked into a coffee shop in Blacksburg and there we were. You wouldn’t believe the scene. He laughed and laughed and belittled us. The other patrons were so put off that they left. He mocked his brother, and Francis just sat there. I knew it, said Peter, I knew you were still a fag.” Tears now ran down Lewis’ face, his eyes shining in the white parking lot lights. “Afterward, Francis told me when they were younger Peter beat him with a pipe and broke his mouth. The teeth on his left side are dentures and some of the muscles never regained feeling after surgery.”

In his mind, Jennings watched Francis speak from the left corner of his mouth. “Damn.”

“In the coffee shop that day, Peter publicly humiliated Francis. If someone of consequence had been there, or if someone thought to record the tirade, Francis’ career might be over. No one would take him seriously ever again. He ended our relationship immediately.”

“Craig, this is something you should have brought up earlier.”

“I know. I know, but I knew you’d think my testimony was tainted because I have a personal reason to hate Peter.”

“A lot of people have a reason, sounds like.”

"Everything I said is true. That was a dark time for me, and I wasn’t thinking, and I haven’t done something like it since. But the grim facts about Peter, they’re legitimate.”

“I believe you,” said Jennings.

“Thank you.” He wiped his eyes. “Thank you. For an old man I’m a mess, aren’t I.”

Jennings’ head swam. He’d walked straight into a hornet’s nest and he felt it all buzzing, didn’t know which way to run.

Lewis said, “I wish I was strong enough to stand up to Peter. But I’m not. No one is, not even his brother.”

“One thing that gets me. A girl came forward with allegations about being molested. And the police didn’t follow up? And when it was over, Lynch was allowed to scrub the whole thing off the internet?”

“She wasn’t a girl when she came forward. She was an adult.” Lewis was sniffing and trying to stop.

“Still. This isn’t Nazi Germany, you can’t control facts or the media.”

“The whole thing is corrupt and one man is to blame. I am a pacifist, Mr. Jennings. Daniel. Entirely against violence. But I confess I wish someone would kill Peter Lynch.”

10

Jennings ran the track the next morning, words bouncing between his ears in rhythm with his stride.

I wish someone would kill Peter Lynch.

Killing the man was a little much, of course. But Lynch should be held accountable for his crimes. If there were any. Mocking your brother wasn’t one. This was America and you were allowed to be an ass.

He showered and toweled, unable to scrub off Mr. Lewis’ fear.

Benji Lynch walked the halls again, eyes down, his one-day suspension served. The other students largely avoided him. During lunch he submitted eight history assignments and his grade jumped from a 56 to a 71; he could play football. He didn’t look like a boy who’d been beaten with a phonebook.

The hallways were loud and hot with testosterone, like a locker room. Tonight was the football game and winning meant glory and playing in the state championship. Fork Union Military Academy was already traveling, passing Charlottesville in two buses, a caravan of fans and family trailing behind. They’d stop for dinner and arrive at Salem Stadium around six. Jennings didn’t bother trying to maintain order during fourth period. Righteous fervor couldn’t be quenched.

After dinner, Jennings drove a bus of boarding students to the Salem field, bus one of four. He led the way. The frenzied young men knew who waited at the stadium—young women. Girls from Roanoke and Salem and farther off were capitalizing on the opportunity to visit the isolated Crusaders, boys with trust funds and a reputation for trouble. Phones warmed in sweaty hands, feverishly making plans.

The dusk deepened and powerful HID lights blazed to life, illuminating the field. Jennings stood at a gate below the southern stands, their home section, making sure couples didn’t sneak into the shadows. He chatted with Chad Riddle, a cop with the Roanoke County Police Department. He was the Academy’s cross-country coach, earning his twin eighth-grade boys reduced tuition.

Television crews set up cameras near both end zones, and someone launched illegal fireworks in the parking lot. A skirmish erupted when opposing players got too close at midfield during warmups. By the time the Crusaders kicked off, the stadium felt ready to blow.

The temperature was dropping and soon Jennings could see his breath as he cheered.

Fork Union tied the game at 7-7 at the conclusion of the first quarter, and Jennings turned to find Daisy Hathaway at the fence with him.

She wore boots with fur and jeans and a fleece Columbia jacket. Plus a scarf matching her green eyes, and Jennings thought she looked like a bright angel in the cold madhouse, one pure thing.

She pointed.

“Above the stands. Those brick boxes at the top? That’s a suite where the titans sit. I see Peter Lynch.”

“Gods sitting on Olympus looking down at us mortals.”

She shivered and stamped her boots.

“I wouldn’t mind being a titan. I bet the heat is nice.”

They paused as noise avalanched down the stands, someone scoring points. Neither Hathaway nor Jennings noticed who.

“Were you stationed somewhere hot? In the Army?”

He nodded. “Afghanistan. But winter nights were cold.”

“Colder than this?”

“Sometimes.”

“Who are you, Mr. Jennings?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you went to JMU. I know you were in the Army. But that’s kinda it. You still wear battle armor, I think. Who are you?”

He kind of laughed through his nose. “I guess I’m still figuring that out.”

“I need details.”

“Yes ma’am. What kind?”

She whacked him with a green-gloved hand. “Stop it, with the ma’am. Tell me about your respected family Peter Lynch is clearly jealous of.”

He rubbed his chest. “Ow.”

“That didn’t hurt you. It hurt me.”

“For some reason, my family makes a