Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
“Chad…” I kept repeating his name as I stroked the side of his face. I stayed right by his side, unable to move. I looked deep into those eyes of his, and moisture hit my face. Flashes of him as a baby entered my mind. The memories were soft and smelled like peonies and felt like light blue cashmere. I smiled. I cried. I died inside. A part of me was determined to follow him to the grave. The part that was killed on this day that I saw him discarded like rubbish.
Chad, you know the story. Your mother and I had you young – when we were mere teenagers ourselves. When she told me of her condition, I married her right before you were born. I was going to give you a family come hell or high water. The family I never had. You were a miraculous creation of nature, and my fear of fatherhood faded away when I looked into your tiny, beautiful face for the first time. Ten fingers. Ten toes. There you were, with your amazing mother’s bright blue eyes, and my dark waves of hair. You looked like an angel. You taught me how to be a man by your mere existence. I had to grow up fast, and I accepted the challenge. I didn’t have a father, Chad, you know that, and I’d be damned if my baby was going to be fatherless, too. I made good on that, didn’t I, son?
But now, my son would never know the joys of fatherhood, now that life was snatched away from him far too soon.
I lost my twenty-two-year-old son to murder. A homicide. I reported him missing on January 2nd. I found him on January 9th. I hunted him down myself, like the good ranger, trapper, and hunter that I am.
But, finding and forgetting live together, intertwined in my mind. Forever with me is he…
I can’t forgive. I can’t forget it. I can’t forge on.
It wasn’t long before I pulled out my LMR Walkie and made the call. This place was far too remote to use the cellphone. The police and coroner eventually arrived, and then so did the news crew. It became a circus: Alaskan park ranger’s son found dead in Arctic National Park. Only within the article was it clear who found him first. The police definitely didn’t wish for the truth to be in the headline.
On the next page was a big ad for Iams pet food, and a 20% off coupon for some dog kibble.
As quickly as all the noise and gossip began, it ended. Rendered deaf, as if the pain itself had fallen into twenty feet of snow, buried beneath a glacier of lies for good measure. Packed deep beneath the surface. Someone had to have seen something… Someone knew something… What had he been doing there? I doubt he’d traveled alone. I wanted to know what happened. I asked around. I went door to door. I offered money and rewards. I threatened. I got into fist fights and promised to shoot dead whoever did this to my boy. I made a big ass scene.
Nobody came forward. No one claimed to know who killed Chad, except for a few liars wanting to get their hands on the reward money. No one admitted to knowing who put two bullets in his chest, right through his heart, at close range. That’s personal. Real personal.
This happened three years ago. Might as well have been three minutes ago as far as I was concerned. People told me to let it go, to let Chad rest in peace. How could I let my son rest in peace when the beast who killed him got to keep his piece? No gun to be found. Chad haunted my dreams. As he should. I vowed to his mother, and to him at his funeral, to find his killer. I have not yet kept my promise. Chad expects better from me.
I, his father, am a decorated and trusted park ranger, huntsman, and trapper. I have found missing hikers that people swore were dead and gone. I smell my enemy before he appears. I see him before he shows his face. I hear him before his weight cracks a branch in the woods or his next breath curls from his flared nostrils and heats his upper lip. I taste his fear; it coats the air like smog, and it’s bitter and salty going down. I touch his chest and feel his slowing heartbeat until there is nothing left but the quiet of the night. Now, I’m in bed in the darkness. It’s hollow where my son’s love for me dwelled. Black ice. I’m driven by violence and revenge and if it weren’t for my reputation, I’m certain more of these selfish, cowardly bastards would have tried to run me out of town. Because I won’t let this die, like they let my son…