Read Online The Purification Ceremony by Mark T. Sullivan - Free Book Online

asked.
        Griff massaged the skin below his left eye. “For me the kill is not the point. I go into the woods not caring at all whether I shoot a deer. I hunt for the process, the thinking, the becoming attuned with one of God’s great creations. The means, to me, are more important than the ends. How I hunt is more significant than what I take home.”
        “Yet you are a committed trophy hunter?” Kurant asked. Griff shook his head. “I hunt big bucks, not trophies. To hunt a big, mature buck is to engage in my art at its most demanding level.
        Requires all of my skill, hones my concentration, pulls out my best. It’s a process of self-refinement, like Zen archery.”
        “You make it sound spiritual.”
        He nodded. “In the hunt we celebrate our role in the beautiful and yet vicious cycle of life. I’m rejoicing in my predatory ancestry.”
        “You agree with that?” Kurant asked me.
        I felt dizzy. “That sort of thinking can go too far.”
        “Really? Why’s that?” Griff asked.
        I shrugged, unwilling to open that door. “It’s just how I feel.”
        From the far end of the table, Cantrell said, “Used to be people just loved the thrill of the hunt and the sight of a big buck in the woods.”
        “That’s what I hunt for,” Butch said. “I’m pretty liberal, but…”
        “He’s Gandhi, for Christ’s sake,” Phil interjected. “Except for the hunting.”
        “It hits me at a gut level I can’t explain,” Butch said. “Always has.”
        Kurant wrote all that down. He thought for a moment, then looked at Griff. “But if the process is the most important thing, what do you think about the Ryan incident?”
        Phil groaned. “That went down six years ago. Old news.” Cantrell stood up abruptly from the table. “I’ve had enough of this jabber. I’ll see about getting your lunches set.”
        As Kurant watched the outfitter disappear through the kitchen door, he said, “It’s not old news to me. I mean, Lizzy Ryan was killed by a trophy hunter just like you.”
        Lenore slurred her words. “Wasn’t she the one out in her backyard during deer season…?”
        “… wearing white mittens!” Earl finished. “Must have looked just like a deer’s tail twitching.”
        “The guide, what was his name?” Arnie asked, snapping his fingers.
        “Teague,” Kurant replied. “He and J. Wright Dilton, the hunter, testified they saw a huge buck running over the ridge. They followed the tracks, came over the rise and said they saw the deer’s tail. Teague said shoot. Dilton shot. Lizzy died in her backyard. And both men got off scot-free.”
        “Yeah, I read something about that,” Patterson said, stroking his beard. “The state’s fault. There were no laws then in Michigan making it a crime.”
        “She should have known better,” Lenore said. “I mean, didn’t her husband hunt?”
        Kurant nodded. “Devlin was known as one of the best.”
        “He must have lost his mind when they got off,” Arnie said.
        Kurant shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I heard he had a tough time of it.”
        “Wouldn’t you have?” Griff demanded. “First thing I was taught was never to shoot unless you’re sure of your target. If that had been a panel of ethical hunters, neither man would have walked out of that courtroom free.”
        “You trying to say we’re not ethical because we think Lizzy Ryan had some role in her own death?” Earl demanded.
        I said, “If you think because that woman wore white mittens in her backyard during hunting season, her killing was somehow excusable, then you stay at one end of the estate for the next ten days, I’ll stay at the other.”
        Cantrell came back in the room and glared at Kurant. “That’s enough. These people have a big day ahead of them, Breakfast’s at