Part 17 (2/2)

They came to the turnoff toward his parents' farmhouse.

”Stop here. Don't pull in.”

Prime pulled off into the gravel. Casey took the keys, opened the trunk, and together they levered the corpse into the gra.s.s. They were on the edge of his father's land, in the patch of trees where Prime had met Johnny Farm Boy the year before.

Casey tossed the keys back at Prime.

”Dump the car in the quarry. Roll down the windows. Pop the trunk. Push it over the edge. Roll it fast enough that it doesn't snag on the way down.”

Prime looked at her. ”Have you been planning this?”

”Of course not!” she said. ”But I do read mysteries. Go.”

Prime pulled away and in his rearview mirror he saw Casey dragging Ted Carson's corpse into the trees. The quarry was right across the road, but the entrance was off Brubaker. Prime had spent a lot of time exploring the quarry; he knew it well.

The gate was chained shut, but when he got out he saw that it wasn't locked. The chain was just draped over the two ends of the gates. He pushed it open and drove the car through. He hoped no kids were hanging out drinking beers. He drove past the two prime spots for drinking. No sign of anyone. Then he drove the car to the overlook. The topsoil was gone, and the granite was white in the moonlight. Prime killed the headlights, dropped the car into neutral, and rolled down all the windows. He popped the trunk, then tossed the keys back onto the front seat.

Then he got behind the car and pushed.

At first, the car wouldn't budge, and he had a moment of panic. What if the car was stuck? Then it s.h.i.+fted and began to gain momentum. The car rolled, faster, faster.

He gave it one last push and it sailed into the abyss.

He ran to the edge.

The car splashed into the water. Bubbles erupted around it. Slowly it sunk. Prime watched the taillights disappear, and then waited until the roiling was smooth, until the car was totally submerged and on its way to the bottom.

The quarry was one hundred meters deep. No one would find that car.

Prime exhaled. They were halfway done. He turned and ran across the white stone. It gave way to green-black lichen, and then he was in the weeds, which smacked him in the thighs.

The road was deserted. He paused, listening. Nothing.

He ran across, pausing at the ditch.

”Casey?” he called.

Had a police officer come by, asked her what she was doing hauling a corpse? Had Ted Carson come back to life and throttled her?

Prime stuffed down a nervous laugh.

He heard the sc.r.a.pe of a shovel on dirt.

He pushed through the row of wild blackberries. There was Casey, digging into the earth of a clearing among a half-dozen trees. The corpse lay beside her, motionless, still dead.

There was another shovel on the ground. Prime picked it up, and he realized that Casey had raided his parents' barn to get tools. There were two shovels and a pickax.

”Is the car gone?” she asked.

”Gone.”

”Good.”

”Casey,” Prime started.

”What?”

”You're doing a lot for me.”

She stopped digging and stared at him. ”For us.”

”I'm sorry, Casey, that I've disappointed you. I'm sorry we had a child without-”

”Shut up, John,” she said.

”Casey,” Prime cried. ”I'm not who you think I am.”

”I think we've learned things about each other tonight that have pushed the limits,” she said.

”No, I'm not John Rayburn,” he said. ”I'm not from... this world.”

She stepped out of the shallow hole she had started. Prime stepped in and picked up where she'd left off.

”What do you mean? You're some kinda alien? What?” Her voice was shrill.

”No! I'm human. I'm from another Earth, like this but different.”

”What do you mean?”

So Prime told her as he dug Ted Carson's grave. Prime started from the beginning, when he first met his own John Prime and was tricked into giving up his life. He told her about Oscar and Thomas. He told her about all the times he'd almost died. He told her about his schemes and ideas. He told her how he'd stolen this life from Johnny Farm Boy.

When Prime was done, he was a foot and a half deep. She still stood outside the hole, staring at him, shovel in hand.

”When?” she asked after a moment.

”What?”

”When?” she repeated. ”When did you exchange places with my John?”

”A year ago.”

She raised the shovel. ”Was it before we...”

”Yes! G.o.dd.a.m.n, yes. It was before he even talked to you. It was at the church dinner!”

She exhaled, dropped the shovel. ”Then you're my John. He was never my John.”

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