Six Years

his gun.

Uh-oh.

Stocky said, “Jed, what are you doing?”

“It’s my gun. I own it legally. And we’re on my property, right?”

“Right, so?”

“So this murderer you’re after . . . ,” Jed began.

Now I was a murderer.

“He might be armed and dangerous. We aren’t letting you guys go after him without backup.”

“We don’t need backup, Jed. Put that away.”

“This is still my property, right?”

“It is.”

“So if it’s all the same to you, I’m staying right here.”

The obvious scenario suddenly didn’t seem so obvious. Jed was intent on killing me for two reasons. One, he thought that I had something to do with Todd’s murder. That was the reason they had grabbed me in the first place. But now, two, dead men tell no tales. If I surrendered, I could tell the cops what had happened tonight, how they had kidnapped me and fired shots at me. It might be my word against theirs, but there’d be the bullet at Cookie’s house matching his gun. There’d be the phone records of Cookie calling me. It might be a tough sell, but I bet Jed didn’t want to take the risk.

But if Jed shot me now—even if he fired as I tried to surrender—it could be viewed as either self-defense or, at worst, a jumpy trigger finger. He would shoot and kill me and say that he thought I had a gun or something like that and, really, I already killed one man, according to Stocky and Thin Man Jerry. And all of these Vermont buddies would back Jed’s story and the only guy who would contradict them—yours truly—would be worm food.

There was more to consider. If I surrendered, how long would I be jammed up with the police? I was getting closer to the truth. I could feel it. They thought that I killed someone. Heck, I sort of confessed to it. How long could they hold me? A while, I bet.

If they nabbed me now, I’d probably never have a chance to confront Natalie’s sister, Julie.

“This way,” Thin Man Jerry said.

They started walking to me. Jed lifted his gun, keeping it very much at the ready.

I started to backpedal. My head felt as though it’d been encased in molasses.

“If someone is in those woods,” Stocky shouted, “come out now with your hands up.”

They moved closer. I slid backward a few more steps and ducked behind a tree. The woods were thick. If I could get deep enough in them, I’d be safe at least for a bit. I picked up a rock and hurled it as far as I could to my left. All eyes turned. Flashlights came on and shone in that direction.

“Over there,” someone yelled.

Jed led the way, gun pointed.

Surrender? Oh, I don’t think so.

Stocky moved next to Jed. Jed hurried his step, nearly running, but Stocky put up an arm to stop him. “Move slow,” Stocky said. “He might be armed.”

Jed, of course, knew better, didn’t he?

Thin Man Jerry didn’t budge. “This thing says he’s still over here.”

Again he pointed in my direction. They were forty, fifty yards away. Staying low in the thicket, I quickly buried the phone—my second lost in the past three days—under a pile of leaves and hurried away, trying to make as little noise as possible. I started moving backward, deeper into the woods, again trying my best not to make any noise. I kept a few rocks in my hand. I’d throw them if I needed to distract.

The others gathered back around Jerry, all moving slowly toward the phone.

I picked up my pace, getting deeper and deeper into the trees. I couldn’t see them anymore, just the flashlights.

“He’s close by,” Thin Man Jerry said.

“Or,” Jed added, seeing the light, I guess, “his cell phone is.”

I kept moving, kept low. I really didn’t have a plan here. I had no idea what direction to take or how far the woods went. I might be able to escape them, might be able to keep moving, but eventually, unless I found a way out of here, I didn’t have a clue how I’d get out of this.

Maybe, I thought, I could double-back to the house.

I heard voices mumbling. They were now too far for me to see them. That was a good thing. I could see the movement stop. The flashlight was lowered.

“He’s not here,” someone said.

Stocky, annoyed: “I can see that.”

“Maybe your tracker is off.”

They were, I guessed, right on top of where I’d haphazardly buried the phone. I wondered how long that gave me. Not much time, but probably enough. I rose to keep running and then it happened.

I’m not a doctor or a scientist, so I really can’t tell you how adrenaline works. I only know that it does. It had helped me move past the pain from that blow to the head, from my jumping through a window, from my landing hard on the ground. It helped me recover from running face-first into that tree, even as I felt my lip fatten, could taste the bitter blood on my tongue.

What I do know—what I was learning at that very moment—was that adrenaline is not limitless. It was a finite hormone found within our bodies, nothing more. It may be the most potent surge we know, but the effects, as I was quickly experiencing, were only short-term.

That surge eventually peters out.

The pain didn’t so much ebb back in as announce itself with the thrash of a reaper’s scythe. A bolt of pain ripped through my head, knocking me to my knees. I actually had to cover my mouth with my hand to prevent myself from crying out.

I heard another car coming up the drive. Had Stocky called for backup?

In the distance, I could hear voices:

“It’s his phone!”

“What the . . . he buried it!”

“Spread out!”

I could hear rustling behind me. I wondered how much of a lead I had and how well that lead would stand up to flashlights and bullets. Probably not very big or well. I once again considered the idea of surrendering and taking my chances. I once again didn’t like it.

I heard Stocky say, “Just back off, Jed. We can handle this.”

“It’s my land,” Jed replied. “Too much land for you two to cover.”

“Still—”

“My property, Jerry.” There was snap in Jed’s voice. “You’re on it without a warrant.”

“A warrant?” It was Stocky. “You serious? We’re just worried about your safety.”

“Me too,” Jed answered. “You got no idea where this murderer is hiding, right?”

“Well—”

“For all you know, he could be in the house. Hiding. Waiting for us. No way, bro—we are staying out here with you.”

Silence.

Get up, I told myself.

“I want everyone to stay in sight,” Stocky said. “No heroes. You see something, you scream for help.”

I heard murmurs of agreement, then flashlights sliced through the dark. They were spreading out. I couldn’t see people in the dark, just the bouncing beams of light. It was enough to know that I was really screwed.

Get up, dumb ass!

My head reeled in agony, but I managed to get to my feet. I stumbled forward like some kind of stiff-legged movie monster. I had made it about three steps, maybe four, when the flashlight sliced across my back.

I quickly jumped behind a tree.

Had I been spotted?