Part 22 (2/2)
”If you could go back, what would you do?”
”Fight.”
”You'd lose,” he says, flatly. ”What were you, eighteen, right? Just graduated high school.”
”Yeah but-”
”But you were one person. Against many.”
”It was a trick.” I lean on the concrete and look down into the river. ”He wanted me gone so he could marry her mother and play this sick f.u.c.k game, trying to brainwash her or something.”
”You didn't know that.”
”I could've lived with it, you know. If she moved away from here, found somebody else, made her own life. I could live with that.”
”Could you?”
The river rushes below, the water frothing over rocks as it cascades away from town.
”No. I'd lose my mind over that, too. Every day was a struggle. When I was in the service, every minute I had to stop myself from going absent without leave and running back here. I knew if I came back, he'd make good on this threat. If I checked up on her, somehow he'd know. I thought he was using her against me as leverage to keep my mouth shut about my mother, but that wasn't it at all.”
”She insists on helping us,” Jacob says. ”If it was up to me, we'd already have you in a safehouse and move against your father on our own.”
”Dude,” I blurt out, ”who the h.e.l.l are you?”
”Me? I'm a math teacher.”
”My a.s.s.”
”Hey, I teach at the school. I'm there 192 days a year with in service time. Check for yourself.”
I walk most of the way across the bridge, and take a straighter path home. By the time I get back, I've been gone over three hours, I'm covered in sweat and my legs are like overstretched rubber bands. It's not my legs that make me trudge up the back steps, it's the invisible weight on my back. It feels like a dead elephant now.
This bulls.h.i.+t with the computer better work, or we're leaving. I'm taking Alexis and May and we're running and we won't stop. Maybe Canada. There must be someplace my father and his friends won't be able to reach us.
As I step into the kitchen, my father emerges from his office.
Speak of the devil.
”Howard. I was wondering when you'd get back. Come into the office.”
He walks inside and I follow. Alexis isn't here.
”I sent her off to run some errands for the rally this weekend. Only two days to go.”
”Yeah.”
”You're going to be there,” he declares, and it is a.s.suredly not a question. ”We're going to have to cover up those inane tattoos. I don't know what motivated you to mark yourself up like that.”
”Everybody in my unit got tats.”
”I suppose if they jumped off a bridge...” He sighs. ”Well, far be it for me to question military unit cohesion. In any case, we'll want to be properly attired for this event. I want the townsfolk to see my veteran son, of whom I am very proud,” he says with a flat sarcasm, ”and not a tattooed up thug.”
”Right.”
He slips a credit card across the desk, and a slip of paper. ”Take this, go to that store and get a proper suit. It's coming off my corporate account.”
Leery, I take the card and the slip of paper. There's an address. It's about two hours from Paradise Falls.
”We need to discuss your future plans.”
”Do we?”
”They need to involve leaving.”
”Oh?”
”Do you think I'm an idiot? I've seen you gawking at your stepsister. I know she isn't interested in you, but the last thing I need is the embarra.s.sment of you pulling some stunt to impress her or some idiotic nonsense like that. You never did learn any self control.”
I stare at him.
”Let's drop the pretense,” he sighs. ”Close the door.”
I turn and swing it shut. It locks with a click and when I turn back he has his hand propped on the desk, and in his hand is a sleek automatic pistol, a little pocket model, a .32 or a .380, aimed right at my chest.
”When you left, I'd have had to resort to other methods, make it look like an accident. Today I think I could just shoot you and it'd be a minor inconvenience, but one I'd rather not deal with. I find the idea of killing my own blood distasteful.”
”Not killing your own wife, though,” I say, very softly. ”Not the mother of your children. If you shoot me, you'd better use every bullet in that weapon and hope I drop before I make you eat it.”
He stays perfectly still, but a single bead of sweat grows on his forehead and slides down his nose. His jaw works and he adjusts his grip on the gun, his fingers flexing.
”Why? What did she do that you had to kill her?”
”We're not having this conversation. I'm offering you a chance to walk away. On your own terms, on your own time.”
”I'm not going to tell anyone about what you did.”
His lip twitches. I stare at him.
”I know you'll hurt Alex if I do. If you lay a hand on her, I swear I'll do s.h.i.+t to you that'll never heal, and everyone will know what you did.”
He s.h.i.+fts his arm, looks at the gun, at me.
”Ever hear of a dead man's switch?”
”I'm familiar with the term.”
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