If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [5]
“My name’s Sean Rogan. I can help you, but you need to own up to your actions.”
“Fuck you.”
Sean would have said the same thing when he was a teenager. Probably had.
“You’re not leaving here; I’m not letting you. We can dance around all morning, or you can make this easy.”
Sean looked from the kid’s eyes to his hands, assessing if he had a weapon or was going to bolt. Sean hadn’t wanted to draw his gun on an unarmed kid, but he didn’t know whether or not the kid was carrying.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“That’s why you have a fucking gun on me?”
“We’re going back to the Hendricksons’.”
The kid was trying hard not to shake, but Sean saw the telltale signs of fear. He didn’t want to face the Hendricksons anymore than the police.
“You don’t want them to know you’re the one who’s been destroying their property?” Sean said. “I get that. Believe me, I did some dumb-ass things when I was your age.”
The kid snorted.
“Even worse than arson.”
That got the kid interested. Sean didn’t elaborate, but said, “We’ll work this out, okay? If you’re honest with me, I promise, I’ll help make this right.”
The kid’s face changed, from caution to dark sadness. “You can’t,” he said quietly, looking down.
“You don’t know me, you have no reason to trust me, but I mean what I say.”
Sean mistook the downcast eyes as shame or consideration, he realized, when the kid bolted like a rabbit along the edge of the logging road.
He fired his gun into a nearby tree, hoping the sound would make the kid stop. It didn’t.
Sean went after him. Faster, he quickly caught up and was about to tackle him when the kid turned sharply right, off the road. Sean followed, picking up speed, about to tackle the kid, when he veered again to the left. Sean took two more steps forward as he turned, and the ground gave way with a startling crunch.
His foot broke through brittle wood. A sharp cracking sound cut through the forest. Sean was falling, the sensation startling him completely, though his reflexes had him reaching for something to stop his descent. Wood and dirt slipped through his fingers. He continued to fall, shouting for help even as the daylight disappeared and he plunged into darkness.
I’m going to die.
As he thought of his death, he thought of Lucy, and then he hit the bottom of the narrow pit, his left arm twisting painfully beneath him. He cried out, his body writhing, and an excruciatingly sharp pain hit him in the thigh. His head ached and he couldn’t see. The only thing he heard was ringing between his ears.
But then faintly, from seemingly down a long tunnel, a young man’s voice said, “I’m sorry. I had no choice.”
And then silence and darkness blocked out everything.
TWO
When I was ten, I wanted to kill my brother.
I pushed him off the roof because I caught him searching my room for money. I was half his size and five years younger. I may have been born with a vagina, but I’ve always had more balls than he ever did.
He only broke his arm. I went down to the front yard and broke his fingers for good measure. He’s lucky I didn’t cut off his hand like they do to thieves in some countries.
When I turned fifteen, my daddy’s best friend tried to force me to suck his dick. I shot him in the balls.
I don’t suck dicks.
Daddy took care of that problem. I didn’t kill the prick, but he’s dead.
Amen.
Before he got himself killed, Daddy always warned me that my temper would get me in trouble. I listened. Common sense taught me I had to control the Amazon inside. Can’t push my brother off the roof because he’s family, and blood is all we can count on. Can’t shoot someone in the balls because it’s messy, and messes are hard to clean up.
I hate messes. Yet time and time again, I’m forced to clean up other people’s shit. I never forget who created the problem in the first place. The threat of punishment keeps people in line. Revenge