Silver Lake

The howl of wind blew through the barn, the doors rattling on their hinges as flakes of snow blew in through the few cracks in the wood planks that made up the outside shell of the structure. The sound of the blues was playing from the radio as the storm outside began to roll in. Turner’s truck was normally parked in the middle of the barn, but today Sam had borrowed it to go in to town and run a couple errands. Apparently she needed to see about some package she had ordered.

Meanwhile Turner was standing near the workbench he had set up in the barn, his expression neutral. He wore overalls and his work boots as he looked over what he was working on carefully in front of him. It had been a couple days since the shooting incident, and Turner had finally convinced Sam that he was okay to be on his own for a bit. His project had started out simply as him trying to find a new way to cope, just playing harmonica wasn’t enough in this case. He fell back on something he had done when he was far younger, when life was a lot less complicated and the most he had to worry about was whether he wanted to watch cartoons or play with action figures.

Normally the latter won out, mainly because his parents would capitalize the TV most of the time. That was what lead him to start making things to go along with his action figures, it had started out simply enough with some cardboard and tape. After some practice though, he was making some pretty neat things from foam board left over from school projects and hot glue. That was what had inspired him to start work on his latest project, the intricacies involved in making it work helped to keep his mind off the things that bothered him.

What sat on the table in front of him was a model of a biplane that seemed to be hybrid between an American Pietenpol and a British SE5, it was just about finished though it needed some finishing touches and a decent paint job. It had been difficult to get the scale right, he’d mostly had to go off of screen images from some of the movies that Sam had in her collection that featured biplanes. With some cursory sketches and a couple pictures for reference Turner had managed to work out the sizes on the wings well enough. The plane was constructed out of a foam board insulation left over from the renovations he’d done to the roof of the barn, as well as a few barbeque skewers and popsicle sticks.

The servos he was using had been cannibalized from an old model ship that he’d found in the loft storage of the barn, it only took a little tweaking to get it’s motor to spin a prop instead of a propeller. The work was helping him to work through things rationally rather than emotionally, every part was important for the model to be successful, each bit of construction had to be planned out. Running through the shooting in a sort of slideshow made it easier for Turner to come to terms with what he’d done, and now that he knew he was capable of defending himself with lethal force he honestly felt a little better. At least, that’s what he told himself...

As Turner added a couple fishing weights to help adjust the plane’s center of gravity he recalled the first time his father had talked to him about the concept of shooting someone else. At around fourteen years old it stuck pretty well. He had gone hunting with his dad before that, he’d taken his share of shots on rabbits and coyotes. The concept of shooting another human being was far from his mind though, as he had had it drilled in him that you never EVER pointed the gun at anything you didn’t intend to destroy. His father’s words to him resonated even to this day, the baritone raspy voice of his old man was clear as crystal in his memory.

“You’re old enough, I think, to hear a few things.” His dad had said, Turner gradually tuned the music in the background out while he focused on balancing the model a bit more. He could still remember the smell of the grass by the creek in Eustace, Wyoming. It had been a warm spring day when his father and him had a talk. “You know what hunting is all about, feeding your family is important. What’s more important is making sure you’re still around to feed your family, understand?”

At first Turner hadn’t understood what his old man had meant by that, but as his father would go on to explain to him, at some point he could very well possibly have to kill, to ‘Destroy’, someone so that they didn’t hurt him. His father had made it clear that doing so wasn’t always the answer, that words had their place, but when the chips were down if he ever had to make that call it was better to be judged by twelve than carried by six. At which point his father had to explain the concept of juries and pallbearers in greater detail in order for his metaphor to make sense.

As Turner finished working on the balancing of the plane he paused to look at his hands, they didn’t look any different than they had before the incident. They didn’t look any more sinister or evil, they were just the same. The same hands that had renovated the barn, the same hands that had made the very model he was working on, the same hands that held Sam close at night… And now, the same hands that had taken someone’s life. The man took a deep breath as he placed both hands on the workbench, it took him a second to realize that he was literally shaking in his boots. He quietly reached over and turned off the radio, his hand trembling as he felt his knees start to wobble.

His chest felt tight, a couple seconds later he was sitting on the ground against the workbench. Turner’s eyes ran hot as he started to tear up, there was no one in the barn with him, he didn’t need to hold back. Even if he did, he wouldn’t have. There, alone in the barn, he sat curled up against the workbench sobbing again. He couldn’t stop himself, he didn’t even try. Time passed, though how much time it was was a mystery to him. Turner thought he had gotten everything under control, but the truth was he was far from it.

The door to the Barn opened after what felt like hours, prompting Turner to look over, bleary eyed. He wiped his eyes as he saw a pony standing there, they closed the door and started walking towards him. With his eyes cleared he could see the form of Doc Meadowbrook, the look on her face was one of concern. It had been a while since he and her had talked, in part because now he talked with Sam about most of the stuff he used to talk to the Doc about.

“Sheriff send you?” Turner asked, the mare nodded as she walked closer and sat across from Turner on the floor.

“Well, the Sheriff and the Territorial Garrison. The Lieutenant and his troops conducted the official investigation, but considering what I heard the outcome wasn’t really in doubt.” Meadowbrook said with a nod while she looked around the barn, briefly her eyes fell on the model resting on the bench before she looked back at Turner. “It was a good shoot, by all their accounts, even your own…” Turner looked at the floor quietly. “The stallion you shot had already taken a shot at the Terries clearing the building.”

“I know.” Turner said as he wiped his eyes and wiped his hand on his pant leg, his eyes were bloodshot and ached, but the tears didn’t stop. “I know… I know it was ‘justified’. Everyone keeps telling me I did the right thing, I told him to drop it... More than once… He still didn’t listen.”

“There wasn’t anything you could’ve done differently, Paige.” Meadowbrook said as she watched the Deputy lean his head back against the workbench and gasp slightly. “I talked to Sam in town today, she’s worried about you. I’m worried about you…. I want you to talk to her, or me, no matter what? Don’t bottle it up.”

“Talk to her about what? Huh? What it felt like when the gun kicked back against my shoulder? How… How his blood steamed up in the snow…” Turner sounded angry, but the expression on his face was pain. Deep emotional pain. Meadowbrook had never seen such a look on his face before, a desperate sort of agony. His voice rose in volume as he continued to talk. “How scared his eyes were as the life drained out of him?! Is that what you want me to talk about?! How I did that to another living, breathing person and then everyone says it was Justified before the body’s even cold!?”

“You don’t think it was justified?” Meadowbrook asked quietly as she watched Turner put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes again. The man sighed after taking a couple deep breaths, then looked back at Meadowbrook.

“I… I had to do it, I know that…. I just…” Turner trailed off as he sat there, after a couple minutes of silence he stood back up and wiped his eyes again. “That stallion, he was a kid… Y’know? He probably had dreams, probably thought he was invincible… Hell, I did when I was his age.” Meadowbrook stood up with him, her expression somewhat neutral, as neutral as she could make it at least. “I dunno, I just wonder… What if I’d waited a second longer? What if I’d told him one more time. Fuck… I don’t even know his name.”

“Walnut Swirl…” Meadowbrook’s tone was calm as before, she watched the man’s face as he took a deep breath and leaned back against the workbench. “His name was Walnut Swirl.” The man sighed quietly and looked at his model airplane sitting on the bench, his expression becoming a bit of a frown. “You put your badge on in the morning willingly that day, you took your life in your own hands… He did the same thing when he picked up that automatic.”

“Doesn’t change what happened though, no matter how much I rationalize it.” Turner muttered as he turned back towards his model plane and held it up to examine it a bit closer. “I’m… I’m honestly not sure if I can ever put the badge on again, Doc… This job, it’s what I worked towards for so long, and now… Now I don’t know if I can do it anymore.”

“So?” Meadowbrook said with a raised eyebrow, catching the Deputy by surprise. “Quit, don’t quit… Put on the badge, don’t put on the badge…” The mare approached the workbench and examined the model plane after Turner placed it back down beside the other building supplies. “I’ve learned many things in my long life, so allow me to impart onto you some advice of my own.” The mare picked up the model and looked it over for herself, she had never seen a plane before. Only heard of them from stories Turner had told her.

“It’s not the stethoscope that makes me a good doctor, and it’s not the badge that makes you a good deputy. It’s this… Right here.” Meadowbrook tapped Turner’s chest with an expression of certainty written across her features. “You’re smart, you’ve got good instincts, but all of that is wasted if you haven’t got a good soul to use them.” The mare smiled faintly as she put the model back down on the bench and gave Turner a strong hug. “Trust me, Paige. That’s one thing you have in spades, this wouldn’t be tearing you up if you didn’t.”

Turner stood there silently, his expression somewhat uncertain as he returned the embrace that Meadowbrook had flung upon him. The Deputy quietly let go of her and looked at his model biplane, things were shaping up, all that really needed to be done was hook up the arcane battery and take her for a test flight. The man quietly picked up the plane and hooked up the battery, then grabbed the controller that had originally been used on the old model ship he’d used for parts.

“If that’s the case, then I wish I didn’t have such a strong soul… Because it’s making me feel like shit.” Turner’s tone was flat, but a humorless joke was better than nothing in Meadowbrook’s eyes. She walked with him as he walked out of the barn, pushing the door open and looking around. “Storm’s going to be picking up soon, won’t have long for this.”

He closed the door and walked about thirty feet away from the barn. Meadowbrook stood next to him in the knee deep snow as he held the plane in one hand and tested its controls with the other. When he was satisfied with the results he took a deep breath and pushed the throttle up to a decent speed. The engine revved and whined as Turner tossed it into the wind, then took control of the plane completely. It was a little difficult to control at first, Turner hadn’t done anything remotely like this in over ten years or so, but he hoped it was like riding a bike.

The biplane banked and circled around, diving and climbing as Turner messed with the controls. For the first couple minutes things seemed to go okay, the biplane looked down right cool, like something out of a movie… At least, it would if not for the lack of paint. The engine was barely audible, he could barely hear it even when the wind died down from time to time. Despite his earlier success Turner was still pretty rusty, as evidenced when the biplane nosed over and planted itself firmly into the snow after he gave it a little too much power and not enough elevator control. Quietly he walked towards it, all the while Meadowbrook watching as he picked it up and dusted it off… It seemed fine, the foam construction and the snow had cushioned the blow.

“At least it works…” He said as he looked over the plane, Meadowbrook could still see that he was feeling a great deal of stress. Despite that, he seemed to have reigned it in enough to test out his model. She had to admit, watching it take off had been rather odd. She’d only ever really seen birds and pegasi fly, or the occasional paper airplane… “Look, Sam is probably going to be home soon if you want me to give you a ride back to town… I feel bad that you had to walk all the way out here.”

“Thank you, but I think it’d be best if you just stayed home for now. I’m sure I can convince Sam to take me back to town.” Meadowbrook said as she and Turner began walking towards the house and away from the barn, Turner still had his model in hand.

Once inside Meadowbrook began to take stock of the house, she had only visited a couple times before. Meanwhile Turner put his model away and went into the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror and turned on the sink, the pressure of the running water and the sound it made as it splashed down in the basin was mesmerizing. He stood there for a second, looking at his reflection. Tired eyes stared back at him, eyes that hadn’t slept well in four nights. A good deal of stubble had formed on his cheeks, he just hadn’t had the motivation to shave lately. After a couple seconds he blinked his eyes and splashed water on his face, trying to wake himself up a bit more.

He quietly shut off the sink as he stood there, water dripping off his face as he stared into the haggard face of someone he hardly recognized as himself. After a couple moments he sat down on the floor, leaning up against the bathtub. His hands were shaking again, his breathing labored as his chest once again felt like he was being stepped on. He briefly considered going to the kitchen and grabbing the first bottle of alcohol he could find, but quickly he dismissed that urge. That had been how his mom had handled her problems, how so many people in his family had handled them… He wasn’t going to start down that road, he had already strayed too close before.

Alone, in silence, he sat on the floor with his knees up against his chest. The man stared at the back of the wooden door, the grimly familiar burning sensation of tears running down his cheeks. He was home, warm, safe and sound with people who cared about him… What about Walnut Swirl, the stallion he’d killed, what about those that cared for him? Where were they while Turner sat there still breathing, still living. His mind wouldn’t leave him alone, he couldn’t make it stop. He rationalized over and over again, logically he had made the right call, he had done everything right.

“God…” Turner said as he looked towards the ceiling. “God, I… I need your help.” The Deputy looked back at the floor. “I don’t know how to make sense of this, I don’t understand…” He leaned his head against the wall and rubbed his brow. “This job, it’s the only thing I’ve had that kept me going for the longest time. Now, I’m not sure I can ever do it again.” He sat there quietly, as if waiting for some answer, but no answer came. “I’m not alone anymore, thank you for that… That still doesn’t seem to help with dealing with this… Granted, it’s only been a few days…”

“I don’t want this part of my life to be over… I like this job, even after this…” Turner continued, his eyes watering as he wiped his face and listened to the buzz of the fluorescent lights above. “Is that wrong? I love what I do, even after taking someone’s life… Is… Is there something wrong with me?” The Deputy’s question once again went unanswered, at least in the traditional sense. He sat there in silence for an eternity, his thoughts gradually straying to darker and darker reaches of his mind.

“How can Sam stay with me now…?” Turner asked aloud, speaking to noone in particular. “How can she look at me the same way? It won’t be long until she realizes that I’m a shitty person, and she’d be right… I hate me too.” Turner quietly looked down at his hands again, opening and closing them. He felt more distant from himself in that moment than he ever had before. “How can I love what I do after this? What kind of fucked up person am I?” Turner heard the door knob turn, slowly it opened inward to reveal that both Sam and Meadowbrook were standing outside the door. He could tell from the looks on their faces they had heard almost every word…

“Paige…” Sam said as she wiped one of her eyes and walked closer, it was clear she had probably been listening through the door. He hadn’t even heard her enter the house, yet here she was, crouching down beside Turner and resting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t hate you, and I don’t think you’re any kind of fucked up.” Turner looked at the floor quietly as the woman held him closer, he could feel her trembling as she did so. “You… You need help, more than I can provide on my own or even with Meadowbrook’s help... That’s what you’re going to get…” Turner didn’t know what to say, so he just leaned his head against Sam as he tried to quell the maelstrom of emotions whirling inside of him once again. Somewhere all the uncertainty and fear, all the anger at himself and self loathing, all the anxiety and panic… Hidden away, sequestered from the darkness, was a glimmer of hope that maybe… Just maybe… He could come away from all that had happened in more or less one piece.