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Back Phantoms Save as PDF
Chapters (16)
  1. Title
  2. Chapter 1
  3. Chapter 2
  4. Chapter 3
  5. Chapter 4
  6. Chapter 5
  7. Chapter 6
  8. Chapter 7
  9. Chapter 8
  10. Chapter 9
  11. Chapter 10
  12. Chapter 11
  13. Chapter 12
  14. Chapter 13
  15. Acknowledgments
  16. Also by Christian Kiefer

In the room, in the darkness, from the floor, Chiggers mumbled in his sleep. What I thought of was squelch and volume and my voice screaming into the handset. Whiskey Dragon to Rosebud. Hot contact. Hot contact. God I would do it all again if it meant I would live.

Chapter 8

8

CHIGGERS LEFT FOR OREGON IN THE MORNING, PROMISING me that he would stop by again on Wednesday or Thursday of the following week, when his return to San Diego would bring him back down the interstate. Had it turned out that way, some of this story might have been different, but of course the stories we tell about our lives, the true stories, can only describe what actually occurred. We can act as if we might have chosen some alternate path, all the while knowing that, had any of us the ability to roll back time, we would, given the same information, make the same cowardly decisions all over again. And all the people I had a hand in killing would still be dead. And I would still be alive.

“You take care, man,” Chiggers said to me as I stood next to his Fairlane, the vehicle so covered in road grime that it was impossible to discern what color might lie beneath, the windshield fogged with grease and dirt and smeared insects.

“You too,” I told him.

We shook hands briefly and then went into a one-armed embrace, our hands still clasped, Chiggers clapping me on the back once, then twice, and then holding me there, not quite embracing now but close enough that his mouth was at my ear. “You still think about it sometimes, right?” he said.

“Sure,” I said. “Sure I do.”

“I still hear them sometimes.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Comin’ out of the dark. And I can’t tell if they’re gooks or our guys. You know? I sometimes wake up screaming like I’m still there. Scares the shit out of my mom.”

“I know,” I said.

“I still feel like they’re trying to kill me,” he said.

“Me too.”

He seemed to relax at that admission, and after a moment he released me from his embrace, his body sagging toward the car, be it in relief or exhaustion I did not know.