Anarchy by James Treadwell

“Shawn’s not here.”
    â€œIs that Mr. Fitzgerald?”
    â€œHe had to go to hospital. Monday morning.”
    â€œOh. I’m very sorry to hear that.”
    â€œYou don’t sound like the sergeant. Marn said it was the sergeant.”
    â€œNo, sir. I’m Constable Maculloch. I’m Shawn’s replacement.”
    â€œYou’re a Mountie?”
    â€œI’m an officer of the Mounted Police, yes, sir.”
    â€œIn that place?”
    â€œMy assignment is the Hardy detachment, yes, sir. Just the same as your son. Am I speaking to Mr. Fitzgerald?”
    â€œThey’re gonna eat you alive up there.”
    â€œI appreciate the advice, sir. Would you mind telling me the name of the hospital where Shawn was admitted?”
    â€œThey won’t let you talk to him.”
    â€œI certainly won’t bother your son while he’s sick. I have a couple of questions for him but they’re not urgent. I can try another time. Sorry to disturb your family, Mr. Fitzgerald. My best wishes for Shawn’s recovery.”
    â€œHe got a lot worse.”
    Goose looked across over the town and the still black stripe of the inlet to the mountain ridge on the western horizon. Even the crows had gone temporarily quiet.
    â€œHe couldn’t even stay in bed. Sores got so bad, he can’t lie on them.”
    This wasn’t the first time someone had mistaken Goose for a good listener. She’d always blamed her looks before. She was blond and appley. By a mean-spirited genetic joke she’d inherited her dad’s improbably wholesome face unmitigated by any of her mom’s spiky glamour, which would have suited her much better, as well as being much more popular with the kind of boys she’d liked in high school. On this occasion, obviously, her face couldn’t be held responsible.
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that,” she said, briskly. “I’m sure he’ll do better now he’s in hospital.” Her next word would have been “good-bye” but she wasn’t quick enough.
    â€œNone of them know what it is.”
    They had lectures at the Depot about being a good listener. “Active Listening” it was called, which was about as much as she remembered. She knew she’d most likely have to work twice as hard as the guys to get the same evaluations, so she gave it her best shot, but she’d never really grasped what it was about, beyond biting your tongue so you didn’t tell losers to quit whining.
    â€œIt’ll be all right, sir. They’ll look after him good.”
    â€œWe wanted him to stay here. But the smell—”
    He’s going to cry, Goose thought, as the man cut himself off with a kind of fumbling choke.
    â€œPlease don’t distress yourself. Thank you for your time. My best wishes to your family.”
    â€œYou seen that girl?”
    Goose flushed and went very still. “Sir?”
    Bubbling sniffly noises. “You know what Shawn says?”
    She looked around. No one else was outside. People didn’t go outside unless they were in a car. “I’ve never had the opportunity to meet your son.”
    â€œSays she put a curse on him. That’s what he says. Says she gave him the evil eye. None of the doctors got an explanation.”
    â€œI understand your son must be very distressed—”
    â€œWhat’d you say your name was, missy?”
    Missy? “Constable Maculloch.”
    â€œYou got that girl still? The native girl? You still got her in jail?”
    Goose took a long moment to answer. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to reveal custody arrangements.”
    â€œYou go see her, okay? You go see her. Please.” The voice had gone hoarse. “I’m asking you as a father.”
    â€œMr. Fitzgerald, I’m afraid I can’t—”
    â€œPlease. You go tell her Shawn’s sorry for what he done. Real sorry. You ask her to stop