The Order of the Fly
“My youngest daughter, Teresa, heard the second murder. I was grateful she didn’t see the first.”
The Technician raised his hand and signaled for Jahn to hold because the room lost power, and the recording equipment stopped. When the power came back, he signaled for her to continue.
“Teresa used to draw blue crosses on her palms…She’d grab a carton of pancake mix and a stick of butter and slide across the stone floor in her floppy green socks and throw it on the stove. Then she’d grab a step ladder and drag it up to the stove and climb. She’d unwrap the stick of butter and drop the whole thing in a pan. Then she’d turn on the burner and the butter would start to sizzle and melt…”
The Technician kept his eyes down as he’d been told and watched her hands as she talked. Her fingers were long and white and smooth and remained perfectly still, draped over each other like new sheets of cream-colored paper.
He knew parts of her story, everyone in the world did, and he didn’t understand how her hands could be so pale and unscarred. He adjusted the levels to match her voice, then noted the date and time on the pad in front of him:
3:13 pm, April 13, year 7 in the rule of the Order of the Fly.
Teresa waved to a man outside the kitchen window.
It was Avery Roberts, Jahn and Michael’s neighbor, who lived a quarter mile up the hillside on State Route 272 in Irraquah Village. Teresa later said he seemed to be sleepwalking, 20 yards into the woods, clutching a brown, leather-bound book. He led his daughter Samantha (the same age as Teresa) by the neck toward the road that swooped down like a corkscrew to highway 90. She later told Jahn that Samantha saw her and smiled and waved.
“Then Uncle Avery kissed the book and let go of Sammy’s neck. He raised a pistol just like yours, mommy. It went off and Sammy ran…”
Jahn’s husband Mitchell held their daughters’ hands and tried to talk her out of going up the hill.
“Listen to reason, Jahn.”
“This house is my reason. Someone has to pay for all of this. We both can’t lounge around waiting for something to happen. I’ll just go up, talk to Avery and Michelle and come back down.”
Jahn strapped on her Kevlar vest. A black bird landed on the goat pen behind her and cawed. The two gray goats kicked and screamed.
“That was a low blow.”
“That rhymed. You should write that down, Hemingway.”
Jahn crouched to tie her black canvas combat boots.
“Funny.”
“You know I love you, right?”
“You better…But why you? Today is your day off.”
“This is my job. I have to go.”
Jahn’s oldest daughter, Katelynn, kicked at the blue-green snails on the deck while she watched Jahn speed-load her service weapon. Teresa, holding a plate stacked high with two phone-book-sized pancakes swimming in maple syrup, pulled Jahn’s Seattle PD badge out of her princess dress pocket and handed it to her on a long, black-leather strap.
“You can’t arrest him without this, mommy.”
Jahn draped it around her neck.
“Thank you, T-bow,” she smiled.
“Going alone is stupid and wrong and you should call it in,” Mitchell said.
“I tried, honey. The whole system is jammed up. Landline. Cell phone. Internet. Nothing. Keep trying in case it comes back. We might need to get an ambulance up here.”
Mitchell shook his head, scratched his long black beard, and said someone else must’ve seen him waving the gun, someone else must’ve heard the shot and probably already called. Jahn laughed and slapped his pot belly with the back of her hand.
“Remember that we live on a hill full of hunters and that the closest state police are two hours away.”
“I’m just scared for you, babe. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Don’t worry. That’s what the badge is for, dummy. Don’t worry.”
“Be careful, mom,” Katelynn said and then she yanked her hand out of Michael’s and went inside, slamming the door.
“That was your fault,” Mitchell said with some satisfaction as they watched Katelynn throw herself down on the sofa, pick up the remote and turn on the Super-G World Cup from Basel, Switzerland.
“Really? You’re the one who brought them out here.”
“I wanted you to remember what matters. Also, to feel a little guilty.”
Jahn pulled a green UW sweater over her Kevlar vest. “Now that was low.”
“Whatever it takes to make you be careful.”
He smiled and shrugged as Teresa put down the plate of pancakes and hugged Jahn around her hips.
“Don’t be scared, mommy, cause Jesus loves you.”
“I’ll be okay, Coullion. I have to go. I’m gonna go check on Sam and then have a little talk with Uncle Avery. I’ll be back in time to feed the goats with you.”
Jahn kissed Teresa on top of her head and then whispered in Mitchell’s ear to lock the doors, just in case Jesus was busy. She grabbed a green University of Washington blanket draped over a deck chair, jumped down and sank ankle deep in a swamp of wet black leaves.
