The Bone House - Brian Freeman [64]
'I got another call. Another witness.'
'Tell me someone saw Mark Bradley on the beach that night,' Cab said.
'You lead a charmed life,' Lala replied. 'This guy had a room on the Gulf side on the tenth floor. He says he couldn't sleep, so he was out on his balcony in the middle of the night smoking a cigar. He saw a man heading out to the beach from a ground-floor room below him sometime after two thirty.'
'Could he identify him?'
'No, the man's back was to him. But he said the guy was wearing a bright yellow tank top.'
'Did he see Glory, too?' Cab asked.
'Not exactly, but he spotted this same guy down on the beach a while later. He could see the tank top. He couldn't make out everything at that distance, but he's sure the man met up with a girl down there. And get this. He says the two of them were kissing.'
* * *
Chapter Twenty-One
The Camry dove into the black side door of the abandoned pickup.
Glass sprayed. The headlights shattered and went dark. The chassis crumpled like an accordion, sucking up the energy of the crash in a loud, tortured twisting of metal. The car swung into a dizzying spin but stayed upright, a mess of folded steel. Ahead of them, hammered by the impact, the pickup rolled bottom over top and spilled into the gully on the far side of the road.
Inside the car, Hilary felt her body snap forward, airborne. In the fraction of a second before the safety belt seized across her chest, the air bag exploded at two hundred miles an hour and began to deflate as she crushed against it. The balloon filled her face, and then she lurched backward, tossed between the seat and the strap like a rag doll. It was over as quickly as it began. The spin slowed. The momentum of the car bled away, and it drifted to a stop at an angle on the highway.
She heard a hiss of steam venting, but otherwise, the aftermath was oddly silent. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she blinked, opening them but seeing nothing. There was a chemical smell in the car. Pieces of the shattered windshield sprinkled into her lap like popcorn, and cold air blew through the gap and stung the abrasions on her cheek. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the air bag drooped over the dashboard. Outside, over the tented metal of the hood, she saw the outline of evergreens beyond the car and a slice of night sky.
'Hilary.'
It was Mark. His voice was strangled with fear and urgency. Her brain was rattled, and she momentarily forgot how to speak.
'Hil.'
'I'm OK,' she murmured.
'Don't move.'
She heard him struggle with his door, prying it open. When he spilled on to the road, his knees caved, and he grabbed the frame to steady himself. His shoes kicked through metal and glass as he came around the rear of the car. He yanked on her door, and she felt him unlock her belt, and she dissolved limply into his arms. She clung to him as he helped her out of the destroyed chassis. Her legs bent like rubber as they hit the ground.
'You have to sit down,' he said.
She didn't protest. They were near the shoulder, and he kept her upright for several steps until she could sink down on to the dirt. Her legs dangled over the ditch. Her hair was plastered over her face. He slid down next to her and supported her back.
Hilary put a hand to her cheek, and it came back wet. 'I'm bleeding,' she said.
'You have a cut from the glass. That's all I see. How are you?'
She took stock of herself. 'No serious damage, I think. What about you?'
'Same.'
She eyed the remains of the Camry, which was twisted into an unrecognizable heap almost to the windshield. On the other side of the highway, she saw the upside-down wheels of the pickup jutting out of the ditch.
'God, Hil, I'm so sorry,' he told her. 'If I'd lost you—'
'You didn't.' She added, 'Can you walk? We should see if anyone was in the truck.'
'I'll check.'
Mark pushed himself up. Hilary watched him limp past their car and skid down the side of the ditch near the pickup. She could see his head and shoulders as he examined the truck. When he climbed back to the road, he called across to her.
'It's empty.'