All the Lights are On

Doc Monty

Doc

The porch creaks and groans, probably not used to being walked on. I rest my arms on the railing, putting my weight on it and staring out at the town. It's a nice view from here. On a clear day, you could probably see all the way up to Lonely Souls. I remember I stood on this porch with Charles McKenzie once, years ago.

He spent most of the time talking to himself, wondering on the functions of the world and why things were the way they were. I let him talk. Talking is a good way to deal with emotions, I've learned.

Charles McKenzie was a strange man. His head was always up in the sky, and he lugged around this old camera like it was a part of his soul, that he couldn't bear leaving it behind. On that night, however, he didn't have it with him.

"Doc, do you believe in fate?"

I stood there for a moment. "Maybe."

"Do you think that there's a reason for everything in the world?"

"I guess so."

He sighed. "You think you're a good person, right? You haven't done anything in your life, but then this happens. Why? Why do bad things happen to good people?"

"I don't know," I said. And that was the truth.

Brae moves next to me. "Well, Doc?"

"Well what, Brae?"

"What do you think about all this?"

I chuckle. "Brae, there are a lot of things I don't know what to think of. This is one of them."

Brae shrugs. That's what I like about him. He knows when to talk and when to listen. Most people in the world just keep talking. That's why I hate most people.

I light up a cigarette, cupping my hands around the flame of my lighter. Behind us, the McKenzie House glows up like a Christmas tree in a snowstorm. Not that we get those in the desert.

There's a lot of talk about this house. I don't listen to it all that much, but I'd be crazy if I said there wasn't something in the air. Maybe it's just the wind, maybe it's something else. Hell if I know.

All of a sudden there's a rustling from behind us. Brae and I turn to the back of the house. "The hell?" I glance down the hill, noticing Carson and the other deputies are still down there.

"Who's there?" calls Brae. We're met with silence for a minute. Then there's the creak of a door opening and slamming again. Brae curses. I drop my cigarette on the porch and step on it. We both draw our guns.

Most people think it's crazy for a good samaritan to carry a gun. Well, I think most people are crazy because everyone good is dead.

We head to the back of the house, guns drawn and eyes up.