Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [96]
Despite the heat from the fire, I’m shivering in my wet pajamas, and my feet are hurting. Too, my knee throbs with some urgency, a warning that it will not put up with much more. I’m trying to think through my options, and the ugly truth seems to be that I have no enviable choices, only a slew of mystery doors to open, and the knowledge that behind each lurks something dangerous. The trick is in figuring out which risk is the most manageable.
“Stay here,” I say, then release Espy’s hand and take a step before she tries to stop me.
“What are you going to do?”
Rather than give her an answer, I gesture for her to remain where she is and walk out into plain view of the man by the SUV, the gun held tight in my hand. I move fast, closing half the distance before he realizes I’m there. When I see him begin to reach for something, I point the gun upward and fire a shot.
“Don’t do it!” I shout, still striding toward him. The rain’s coming down harder now, plastering my hair to my head and stinging the raw spot on my temple. The man hesitates, possibly because I must look like something out of a horror film. When his hand makes a sudden move, I shout again and pull the trigger.
His hand comes up just as he’s hit. The force of the impact staggers him. For a moment that might seem comical were it not for the terrified look on his face as he glances down at the small hole in his chest. He reaches up and touches the place with his finger. He raises his eyes, looking at me. Bile rises up in my throat before the man falls to the ground. I’m retching before I can even be sure he’s dead. It sickens me how easy it is to kill someone.
Once my stomach is empty, I call for Esperanza and head for the SUV where, for the second time in ten minutes, I go through the pockets of a dead man. Like the other, this one is carrying nothing of any value. But as I do a quick search of the SUV, I see one shiny piece of good fortune in the ignition.
Just seconds later, Espy joins me. Her expression as she takes in the scene is hard to watch, especially when her eyes come to rest on the gun that I hold with an ease born of necessity, and of years of hunting with larger guns with my father.
“Let’s go,” I say, sliding behind the wheel of the SUV. I fire the engine as she, after one final look at the dead man, climbs in and shuts her door. She’s silent while I turn us around and start down the driveway, headlights kept off, our way guided only by the dim yellow of the running lights.
It’s a Lexus. The odometer reads 234 kilometers. It’s 220 from here to Melbourne, which means it’s a rental, probably paid for with a pilfered credit card. Nestled in the dash is a satellite navigation system. On it are a few thin road markers and a single large dot in the center of the screen, the word destination along the bottom edge, and an address. Jim’s house. The sick feeling returns as I become fully aware of the terrible fact that Jim and Meredith are dead because of me—because I showed up on their doorstep.
I guide the truck along the narrow driveway until we reach the main road. There I hesitate as I consider our options. Laverton is to the east, and there’s a whole lot of nothing for a considerable distance to the west. I glance at the gas gauge and am relieved to see that it’s nearly full. The engine sounds loud as we idle, but that has to be normal, considering the precision engineering that went into the vehicle.
I look over at Espy. She’s watching out the passenger window, and she’s much quieter than I’m comfortable with. I’m not sure what to make of it, and I find myself wishing for the more combative Espy to resurface. Her silence speaks volumes about the gravity