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J.E. Seymour lives and writes in southern NH and has had stories published in "Windchill: an anthology of New England Writers," Thriller UK, Shred of Evidence, A Cruel World, Shots Crime and Mystery Magazine and Mysterical-E.

Fade Away by J.E. Seymour

Cindy hung up the phone, tears starting in her eyes as she felt his hand on her leg.

"What?" he said, always conserving words, as if there was a limit on the amount of language he was allowed to use.

"That was my mother. My dad just died." She said it loudly, even with her mouth close to his ear.

"I'm sorry." He rolled away from her, turned on his bedside light, grabbed his watch.

She blinked in the light and sat up.

He reached towards her, touched the tears on her cheeks, slipped an arm around her shoulders. "You want to go to the funeral?"

"I don't know. I guess so. I should." She tried to remember how long it had been since she had seen her parents.

"You want me to go with you?"

"How?" She sniffled a little.

"Hey, nobody knows me up here."

"Don't you think there might be somebody there, some Fed looking for you?"

"I doubt it. I'm a small fish."

"Would it be okay, for all of us to go?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

She touched his shoulder. "What about that guy, who went to ground, and his brother is a politician in Massachusetts? They harass his brother all the time."

"I don't think you can compare me to him. That was a federal thing, a RICO thing. I don't think there's any FBI agents looking for me."

"The funeral will be in two days." She tried to figure out what day it was. "Saturday. He'll be buried up at the Veteran's cemetery after the service."

He put an arm around her, pulled her in close.

She felt a tear run down her nose. She didn't have any siblings, it was just her mom and dad and her, and she hadn't seen as much of them as she would have liked.

"Hey, it's okay." He touched her nose, licked his finger. "Let's try to get a little more sleep." He turned off the light.

* * *

She looked over at Kevin as she walked up towards the old white church. She was almost proud of him. Them. Kevin and the boys. All three of her men were wearing dark suits and ties, white button-down shirts, polished black shoes, even Andy who never wore anything other than black tee shirts. As far as she knew, Kevin had only ever owned one suit in his entire life, the one he'd married her in.

She sat with her mother in the front of the church, Kevin beside her, the boys next to him, fanning themselves with folded paper. Her mother kept looking over at him, giving him funny looks.

Riding in the limo on the way to the cemetery her mother hissed, "Why is he here?"

"Who, Mother?"

"Your husband." She was twisting her wedding ring on her finger as she whispered the words.

"You can't even say his name?" Cindy paused, gathering herself. "He came because I wanted him to." Cindy watched her mother fiddling with the ring, wondering if she would still wear her ring when her husband was dead. She realized that she had never really thought about it, despite years of it being a real possibility.

"Wasn't he worried about somebody seeing him here? Isn't he still a fugitive?"

"I'm not worried about it, Mother. Although it's certainly nice of you to be so concerned. I would appreciate it if you wouldn't use the word fugitive in public, okay?"

"Okay." Her mother turned to look out the window.

Cindy swallowed hard. "So why didn't you tell me Dad was sick?"

It took a moment for her to answer. "He didn't want to worry you. He really didn't think he was going to go so soon."

"I would have liked to see him again. Instead of having to come to his funeral."

"I know, Cindy. I'm sorry." She paused. "We didn't think you could."

"That's presumptuous of you."

Her mother changed the subject. "Your boys look great."

"Their father took them shopping. He took care of everything."

"Really?"

"Really." Cindy sighed. "Look, I know you never liked him. Neither did Dad. I guess Dad would be surprised to see him here. But I love him Mom. And he's given me a decent life."

"It's okay. I understand, I guess." She sighed as well, staring out the window. "You know your father cheated on me."

Cindy almost fell off the leather seat. She hadn't known, had never even suspected. She was surprised her mother would bring it up here, now, at the man's funeral.

"Our whole marriage was largely a sham. It started right after you were born. This pillar of the community slept with every woman he could convince to sample his manhood." She paused, looking down at her lap again. "So I guess I do know how you feel. I put up with it because I knew I needed him. And in some way, he needed me as well."

"I would have left him in a minute," Cindy growled, surprised at her own sudden anger.

"Really? You would have left the man you loved over a few simple indiscretions?"

"But you said he cheated on you for your whole marriage. That's not a few simple indiscretions, Mother."

"Off and on. But I still loved him. And he was still providing for me. And you. Think about the time period, Cindy. What could I have done, a divorcee with a small child and no education?"

Cindy looked out the window, feeling suddenly sick to her stomach. "I wish you hadn't told me."

"I needed to tell someone."

"I didn't want to know."

"Now you know why I feel I can understand your situation."

"This isn't anything like my situation. My husband has never been unfaithful."

"Your husband is a murderer."

"Who says?" Cindy found herself wondering why she was defending him. She had seen him standing in courtroom after courtroom, wearing orange jumpsuits and shackles. Of course he was a murderer. He had admitted as much to a judge. But at least he was faithful. She never doubted that. "So is there anything else I should know? Like a half-sister or something?"

"Not that I know about." Her mother brushed a tear from her cheek. "I suppose it might be possible, but I never heard anything like that." She paused. "We really did want to see more of you. You and your boys."

"But not my husband. That was the problem, Mom."

"Such nice boys."

"Mother, I'm married. You can't just ignore him, pretend he doesn't exist."

Her mother shook her head. "Your father wouldn't even discuss it. He never understood what you saw in that man. Of course, your father was right."

Cindy almost said, "Mother, it's this sort of behavior that keeps me from visiting you, do you understand?" But she bit the words off, refusing to rise to the bait.

"Here we are," said her mother as the limo pulled into the Veteran's cemetery in Boscawen. The rows of stones were all punctuated by fresh flags, leftovers from the Fourth of July.

Cindy stood beside the grave, next to her mother. Kevin put a hand on her shoulder as she backed into him when the bugler played Taps, wanting to be close. She watched her mother take the triangle of flag from the two young servicemen, wiping tears as she did.

She wrapped an arm around her husband as they walked towards the car and felt the familiar lump of steel at the small of his back. He wiggled away from her hand and she grabbed his arm, pulling him down to her.

"At my father's funeral, Kevin?" she hissed in his ear.

"Please don't attract attention, dear."

"I can't believe this." She was really angry now, angry for all the times over the years her husband had spoiled things, had created problems. Suddenly angry at him for the rift in her relationship with her parents. "Why do you think you need that at a funeral, for God's sake?"

"You never know." He straightened up and scanned the horizon.

She moved away from him as he continued to walk towards the truck. "You're paranoid, you know that?" She wanted to scream at him, beat him with her fists. She remembered the first time he had gone with her to meet her parents, he'd had a gun with him then too.

He kept walking. People were giving them curious looks. The boys were staring at the ground.

Michael spoke softly, "Come on Mom, can we just go?"

She bit her lip and followed her three men to the vehicle, shaking her head.

As she drove she glanced at the backseat where both boys were squirming out of their coats and taking off ties, then focused again on Kevin. "Why do you have to carry that at my father's funeral?"

"I have to protect myself. You were the one who suggested there might be somebody here, watching, looking for me."

"And what were you going to do, shoot it out over the headstones?"

"No."

"Go quietly?"

"I don't know. I just feel better with some kind of backup, okay?" He paused. "How long do you expect this to last?"

"I don't know. Dad's Legion buddies put this together. I've never been to anything like this before." She paused. "I haven't been to a whole lot of funerals."

They parked outside of the old Quonset hut that served as the Legion hall.

"Can't you leave that thing in the car?" she asked.

"No."

She got out of the SUV and Kevin limped along behind her as she entered the cool gloom of the building with a son on each arm.

"How are you, Cindy?" A large, pale man in a tight sportcoat approached, holding out a hand. "Long time no see. I was so sorry to hear about your dad."

"Uh, thanks." She freed her right hand and offered it to him. "Bill, right?"

"Right." His eyes widened slightly. "Is this your husband?"

"Yes, Bill. You remember Kevin, I'm sure."

Bill backed up a step, looking up at him. "Uh, yeah."

Cindy saw Kevin smile slightly. He was still wearing the glasses. As Bill scurried off she turned to him. "Are you going to keep those on in here?"

"Yep."

"How can you see?"

"I'll manage."

They found a place to sit, Cindy avoiding her mother. She had no desire to hear any more true confessions.

The boys loaded up paper plates with mounds of food. Cindy looked at Kevin. "You going to eat?"

"Nope."

She started to speak, then thought better of it as he raised his eyebrows.

"We have a deal."

"Okay." She nodded. The deal was that she didn't get to bug him about anything. She wasn't allowed to complain about his eating or his smoking, and he would stay around. She'd already tested the limits of that today with the gun incident.

She turned in her seat as a heavy-set woman approached the table and Kevin got to his feet.

"Cindy?"

"Louise?"

"Yes. I'm so sorry." She leaned over, wrapped her pulpy arms around Cindy's neck. Then she straightened up. "Is this your family?"

Cindy nodded. "My husband, Kevin, and my sons, Michael and Andrew. This is my cousin Louise."

Louise pulled out the chair next to her cousin and sat down. "I was just talking to your mother, and I had to come see you. I'm so sorry."

Kevin took his seat. The boys sitting across from them looked up briefly from their food, and then resumed eating without speaking.

"Did you want to get something to eat, Cindy?" Louise asked.

"Uh…."

"I'll get you a plate, hon, you stay and chat." Kevin got to his feet again, relieved to be away from the small talk.

As Kevin approached the people in line for food, he caught a glimpse of Bill talking eagerly into a cell phone. The man turned slightly towards him, and Kevin could just see what he thought might be a weapon on the man's hip. Too dark to see for sure. Not worth taking off the glasses. He considered the possibilities as he waited patiently in line. He only vaguely remembered Bill from a time before he and Cindy were married, before he and Cindy were even dating. He did remember that the guy had been overly proud of his service in the National Guard. The man in line in front of him turned to him, and looked up. Kevin smiled slightly, trying hard to be polite, trying to be nice. The man stuck a pudgy hand out.

"I'm Dick Wilson."

Kevin shook the man's hand. "Kevin." He didn't offer a last name, avoiding the awkwardness of having to explain why nobody had ever heard his last name before.

"How are you related?"

"He was my father-in-law."

"Really?" The man looked up. "You're Cindy's husband?"

"That's right."

"I'm her cousin. I'm surprised we've never met. How long have you been married?"

"Twenty-four years."

"Twenty-four years? I don't remember your wedding. Where have you been hiding?"

Kevin gave him a half-grin. "We lived in New York for about 22 of those years. Didn't come up this way a lot." He leaned on the cane as he moved forward in line.

"What'd you do to your leg?"

"Car accident. Long time ago."

Dick turned to the dishes and Kevin sized them up. Lasagna, green salad, baked beans, potato salad, swedish meatballs, all the usual potluck fare. Kevin dished out a small amount of each of the things he thought she would like, realizing that he really had very little idea what she liked.

"You have kids, don't you?"

"Two boys." Kevin looked towards the table, then picked up some plastic silverware and a napkin.

Dick followed the other man's gaze. "There she is. How's she doing?"

"She's okay. She's tough." Kevin limped towards the table, with Dick following him. He sat down next to Cindy just as Louise stood up, patting him on the shoulder like a child.

"No dear, don't get up again." Dick and Louise nodded at each other, and Dick took her seat.

Kevin slid the plate of food over to Cindy, set the plasticware on the napkin and spoke to her. "Did you want a drink?"

"What do they have?"

"The usual. Beer. Soda. Kool-aid." He smiled. "You want me to get you a Bud Light, sweetheart?"

She punched him playfully. "I'll have whatever you're having. But hey, don't you walk all the way over there again." She looked across the table. "Michael."

The boy was staring at the photographs of soldiers on the wall as he slowly chewed his food. He turned to look at her.

"Go get sodas for your father and me. Please."

"Okay." He got up, unfolding his nearly six-foot frame from the metal chair. He looked at them. "What do you want?"

"Get me something with caffeine in it," his father replied.

Cindy made a face. "I'll have root beer, Michael."

The boy nodded and ambled off.

"So, Cindy, your husband tells me you've been hiding in New York for a long time."

"Hiding?" Cindy glanced at Kevin. He shrugged. "Yes, Dick, we lived down there for a while. Now we're up this way again."

"What do you do for work, Kevin?"

"I'm retired."

Andy snickered.

"Retired?" Dick asked, with a quick glance toward Andy.

"That's right."

"How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Forty-six."

Dick glanced at Cindy, then back at Kevin.

"What did you do that you could retire so early?"

"Business consulting. Troubleshooting."

Andy snickered again.

Michael returned with the drinks.

Kevin turned to Cindy. "I'm going to go in the bar and have a smoke, okay?"

She frowned, but nodded.

* * *

He removed his sunglasses and sat on a stool at the end of the bar, turned slightly towards the room, back against the wall, needing to feel safe. There were a few other guys gathered at the opposite end, and he wasn't really interested in conversation. The group was spreading though, and he soon found himself sitting next to a vociferous character with a Green Beret perched on his salt-and-pepper brillo hair. He listened casually, puffing on a Camel, sipping his soda, as the man talked about his time in the service. He finished the soda and ordered a seltzer. Then he narrowed his eyes to stare at the newcomer with the familiar face who was joining in.

Somebody at the far end of the bar asked, "Weren't you in the Army in the sixties, Bill?"

The large pale man nodded, causing his multiple chins to jiggle. "I'll tell you, you don't know fear until you've looked down the barrel of a rifle at another man ready to kill you." He looked around.

The audience was mostly old men, many of them obviously veterans, with a few civilians thrown in. Kevin figured the majority were of his father-in-law's vintage, WWII, with a few Korean vets and a couple of 'Nam vets thrown in. Nobody younger. As he leaned forward to listen to Bill, the vet next to him gave him a nod.

"You know this guy?"

Kevin nodded. "As a matter of fact I do."

"What did he do, really?" The man looked around and lowered his voice. "I'd bet my ass he was never in-country."

Kevin shook his head. "He wasn't, he was in the Guard. Defending the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard from the godless communists."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You've got that look. You've been there."

Kevin shrugged, searching for something to look at other than the man's intense green eyes. "I was there."

"So was I." He offered a big, callused hand. "John Fitzsimmons. What do you say we unmask the pretender over there?"

"He's not doing any harm." Kevin shook the man's hand and focused on Bill for a minute, listening. Someone was buying him a drink, and he was talking about a battle.

"So there I was, lying in a hole, and one of the new guys gets shot, and I have to crawl the whole length of the trench, with tracers going over my head, you know, and I was so sure I was going to die."

A couple of the older men were nodding.

Fitzsimmons gritted his teeth. "I don't want to listen to this shit."

"He is going a little overboard." Kevin raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly. "Go ahead then. Tell him I told you to tell him to shut up. He knows who I am."

John got up and walked over to Bill. He tapped him on the shoulder and leaned close to his ear, then pointed towards Kevin as he whispered.

Bill turned even whiter than his normal color and looked over at Kevin, then closed his mouth abruptly and turned away. He walked out of the bar, and the group focused its attention on the two men who had apparently driven him out. Kevin wanted to melt into the woodwork. Fitzsimmons sat down again and lifted his beer once more, then glanced at the group.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

The crowd turned away as one, and Kevin heaved a sigh of relief.

"Stinking rubbernecks," muttered Fitzsimmons. "Let me buy you a drink." He leaned forward and spoke loudly to the barkeep. "Another one of whatever he's having, okay?"

The bartender placed another glass of soda water next to Kevin's two-thirds-full one.

"So what'd you do over there?"

Kevin cleared his throat and took a drink. "Sniper."

"No kidding. Army or Marine?"

"Marines."

"Were you any good?"

"I was young, but yeah, I was pretty good."

"I was in the Army."

"Yeah, I saw the hat."

The man chuckled. "I guess I don't bother to keep it a secret anymore."

"Uh-huh."

"So what'd you do after?"

Kevin shrugged. "Different stuff. Knocked around the world a little, you know?"

The other man nodded. "I know. I've gone through four marriages." He laughed. "Every one of them has a piece of me." Then he sighed. "I tell you though, there's nothing worse than those fakers. Those guys that want people to think they were there. It's bad enough to have gone through it, to come back and have everybody hate you, without having to lose what little dignity you have left to some idiot who was never there."

Kevin stabbed out his cigarette. "I better get back to my wife."

"You part of this funeral thing?"

"Yes, sir. My father-in-law died."

"Your wife taking it okay?"

"So far." He got to his feet. "It was nice talking to you."

"You too. Semper Fi and all that." The older man raised his glass and Kevin nodded.

When he got back to the table Cindy was listening patiently to Dick as he explained how her mother needed to get out of that big house and settle into a retirement community.

Kevin sat down as Cindy cleared her throat. "Thanks for letting me know, Dick." She looked around the room. "I'll see if I can track her down."

Kevin got to his feet as Dick left. Cindy turned to him. "I need to find my mother. We should give her a ride back to the house and make sure she's okay."

He was on his feet once more when Cindy returned with her mother in tow. "I think Mom is getting a little tired. Can we go now?"

At that moment, Bill walked boldly up to them and said, "Can I talk to you outside for a minute, Mr. Markinson?"

Kevin frowned. "You must have me confused with someone else."

"No, I don't think I do."

Kevin let his eyes wander for a moment, looking at Cindy and her mother, standing there with her mouth hanging open. When he returned his gaze to the pale man in front of him, Bill had unbuttoned his coat, and he could clearly see the Glock semi-auto resting in a holster on the man's hip.

"We can do this here, in front of your family, if that's what you want. Or we can take it outside." Bill had a smirk on his face now.

"Cindy, stay here. Keep the boys inside. I'll clear this up and be right back." He touched her shoulder, then leaned heavily on the cane and headed towards the front door.

As they stepped out into the heat, Kevin hesitated to allow his eyes to adjust to the bright sun. Bill stepped up beside him.

"So what are you, Bill, a cop?"

"Yes."

"What do you want with me?"

"There's a felony arrest warrant out on you from New York State."

Kevin continued walking now, putting some distance between himself and the building with his family in it. "Where'd you get that idea? Small town New Hampshire cops always keep up with the latest from New York?" He wasn't watching Bill as he talked, he was scanning the horizon, checking the streets and the parking lots. There were no cop cars in sight. Was this man stupid enough to be trying to do this alone?

"Would you stop right there, please?"

Kevin stopped, half turned, keeping his right hand clear, waiting for an opportunity. He looked at the cop now, expecting to see the big gun in the man's hand, but it wasn't. "Look, Bill, you're mistaken. I'm not who you think I am." He saw the man reach, and steeled himself, ready to draw if he thought he could, but Bill took a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket.

"Look familiar?" Bill unfolded the paper, revealing a fugitive poster. Kevin made a show of squinting at it, even though he knew what it was. "The U.S. Marshal's Service faxed this to me yesterday. I talked to some broad on the phone, Sally somebody, who said she was looking for you, and would I check out your father-in-law's funeral."

Sally Barnard. Kevin knew the name. The photo on the poster was grainy, taken a couple of years ago, but the description was pretty good. "So this is where you got the name Kevin Markinson?"

"That's right."

"It's not me you know."

"Course it's you."

"What's that say, 'armed and dangerous'? Do I look dangerous to you? Dear God, I'm just an old man attending a funeral with my family. If I was this guy, this Markinson guy, would I take this kind of risk, do something this stupid?" Kevin was counting on the man looking at the poster again as he spoke, and he took that opportunity to get his hand on his weapon. If Bill had backup, backup that Kevin hadn't seen, this move would get him shot. But Kevin was counting on Bill's ego, and he hoped that would mean he was doing this on his own. Kevin slipped the pistol out of his belt, but kept it behind his back as Bill looked up at him again. Kevin could see the doubt in the man's eyes.

"If you had just left me alone," Bill was saying, "I wouldn't have bothered."

Kevin brought the weapon around, the big Colt .45 feeling heavy but familiar in his hand. His eyes were moving. He had to know if anyone had seen him.

Bill gulped.

"Where's your backup, Bill?"

The man tried to go for his gun, but Kevin waved him off. "Don't do it. I'm armed and dangerous, remember?"

"What are you going to do now?"

"What do you think I should do? Oh wait, I'm a cop killer." He tucked the cane into the crook of his arm, switched the gun to his left hand and took Bill's gun with his right. Then he motioned towards the side of the building, towards the dumpster. "Move." Bill was shaking. "Don't worry. I'll tell you a secret, Billy boy." He leaned closer to the man as he followed him. "I'm not a cop killer. You really can't believe everything you read." Kevin was thinking as fast as he could, but had no idea what to do with the idiot. A roll of duct tape would come in handy about now.

If he killed the man, he'd be looking at yet another murder sentence. A cop killing that he actually committed, no less. If he didn't kill the man, Bill would tell the world where Kevin was. That was not a good alternative either. Even if people thought he was an idiot, if Bill repeated the story often enough, somebody would investigate it.

It took him a minute to realize Bill was actually whimpering. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You gonna kill me?"

"I already told you, I'm not a cop killer. Give me your handcuffs."

"What?"

"Cuffs, Bill, where are your cuffs?"

"Holster on my left."

"Get 'em out."

"Okay." The man was sweating heavily now, huge patches spreading down the sides of his shirt.

Kevin took the handcuffs. "You got keys?"

"Yeah."

"Hand 'em over."

"Right."

"Did you talk to anyone about this?" Kevin asked as he slapped the cuffs onto Bill's right wrist.

"No. I called the number for that deputy, Sally Barnard, but she wasn't in. They were going to have her call me."

"That reminds me. Cell phone."

Bill handed him the phone. Kevin patted him down to make sure he didn't have any other weapons. "You were just going to be a hero, right? Do this on your own?"

Bill looked away.

"So." Kevin sighed as he attached the other end of the handcuffs to the rail on the front of the dumpster. "What are we going to do now?"

"I don't know."

"You think New York will pay for extradition?"

"What?"

"You know how these things work. The state with the warrant has to pay for transporting the prisoner back. They might not want to do that."

Bill looked confused.

"Your department will just get mad at you for the extra paperwork."

"Really?"

"And then they'll kick me loose." Kevin knew this wasn't true. Any state, even if it was as far away as California, would pay for extradition on a charge like this––the murder, the felony escape, the assault during the escape.

Bill frowned.

"Of course, that's only if I am who you think I am. You know you're mistaken about me, right?"

Bill raised his head. "Right. Mistaken."

"So you're not going to follow up on this, are you?"

"Oh, no, no sir, I won't."

"You won't bother me or my family again."

"Of course not."

"Good choice, Bill." Kevin kicked the magazine out of the Glock, emptied the bullets, reinserted the mag and handed the weapon back. "I don't want to see you around, Bill."

"Right. Yes, of course." Bill nodded as he tucked the gun back into its holster.

Kevin tossed the keys into the dumpster. "Who should I call for you, to come let you loose, what town are you with?"

Bill shrugged.

"You work here?"

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "I'm not really a cop. I'm a dispatcher."

"You're not a cop? What the hell were you thinking?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe if I brought you in, if I could fool you, then maybe I could get a job on the force. I did the part-time academy, but all I could get was this dispatcher's job. I just wanted to be a real cop. I saw that poster, and I knew Cindy when she was in school." He looked at the ground.

Kevin almost felt sorry for him. He shook his head and turned away.

"I have to get out of this, you can't leave me here."

Kevin dropped the phone in the dumpster next to the keys. "I'll call 911 when I'm away from here."

Bill looked over the edge of the dumpster. "Okay."

Kevin turned once more, heading back to the building, back to his family.

THE END