You're Next

Oregonian. ‘And…’ She slid out from under it a grainy Kodak from the seventies.

Mike’s father as a young man.

Their faces were remarkably similar, right down to the pronounced Cupid’s bow of the upper lip. The family resemblance was strong, if not undeniable.

The reality hit him, twisting his gut: The newspaper picture of him had shone like a flare on the horizon. It was how they – whoever they were – had picked up his trail after all these years. It wasn’t the green houses that weren’t green that had led those men to his door; it was his decision to swallow the truth, to play party to the fraud, to put his arm around the governor’s shoulders and smile for the cameras.

Guilt seethed. Had he listened to Annabel and his own best instincts, this whole threat would have been avoided.

The woman studied him for a moment, then continued. ‘When your father was in the hospital at the end, he confessed to abandoning you when you were four. He explained why he had to. That is your story, right? Abandoned at age four? Because if it’s not…’ She closed up the file and put it away.

Mike just looked at her, his jaw tensed, debating whether it was worth it to spill. That red-tabbed file was sitting there just out of reach, tucked into her well-worn briefcase, temptation incarnate. Could she really be the estate executor? Was she trustworthy?

‘Look.’ She grasped his forearm across the table. ‘I understand the pain you’ve suffered over this. I mean, the loss, waiting for a parent, searching for them your whole life, just wanting to know. I can only imagine. I have the answers for you. Your parents’ estate is waiting for you. I only need to confirm the story of where you came from.’

His breath quickened, her words working on him. Shep was out there watching, but right now it felt as though it were only the two of them, Mike Doe and Dana Riverton alone in the world. He wrestled himself back to calmness. He would not ask questions. He would not appear curious. He would let Shep follow her home and get an address, and they would proceed slowly and with caution.

He looked down, and she withdrew her hand swiftly and put it in her lap. But not before he saw, beneath the makeup foundation she’d pancaked on, the tiny jail tattoo on her thumb webbing. A tombstone with a number 7 on it – the number of years she’d spent inside.

On the edge of his finger was a small flesh-colored streak where her foundation had rubbed off. His heart racing, he cupped his hands so she wouldn’t see.

‘I’m afraid you have the wrong person.’ He rose, dropped a ten on the table, and walked away.

Chapter 24

‘Don’t you need, like, camo sheets?’

‘No.’

‘Dad, doesn’t he look funny in there, I mean, with my pink sheets?’

‘Shep’s fine, honey.’

‘You knew Dad when he was a kid?’

‘Yup.’

‘I thought no one knew him as a kid. I thought maybe he never was a kid. What was he like?’

‘Opinionated.’

‘Did he drink? Like, beer and stuff?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Did he smoke?’

‘He tried.’

‘Dad smoked!’

‘Not really, honey. I didn’t always act-’

‘Did he have girlfriends?’ ‘Dozens.’

‘Really?’

‘No.’

Mike smirked and headed down the hall to get ready for bed, leaving Kat and Shep. Kat cocked her head, eyeing Shep as if readying to paint his portrait. He looked ridiculous crammed into her bed.

‘So why are you here?’

‘I owe your dad.’

‘You do? For what?’

‘He saved my life.’

‘Like, pulled you out of a burning car?’

‘There are different ways you can save someone’s life.’

‘Like how?’

Shep blinked a few times wearily.

‘Ms C says there are no stupid questions.’

‘Ms C is wrong,’ Shep said.

‘Let him sleep!’ Annabel, passing in the hall, called out.

Kat waited for her mom’s footsteps to fade. ‘Like how?’ she repeated.

‘He expected more out of me than I expected out of myself.’

‘So you owe him forever?’

Shep laid back and stared at the ceiling.

‘I can do long division, you know.’

‘Is that so.’

‘And name the constellations. And the planets, in order. Except Pluto, which isn’t a planet anymore. How sad is that? One day you’re a planet, the next oh, well, sorry.’

‘Pretty sad.’ Shep lifted his shirt, pulled a Colt.45 from the waist of his jeans, and rested it on his chest.

‘Wow. Just… wow. Can I touch it?’

‘Sure.’

She crossed tentatively, reached out a finger, and poked the steel barrel.

‘Kat, we need you in bed with us now. I’ve got practicum tomorrow, which I’m already flunking, and if-’ Annabel wheeled around the corner, Kat looking up at her, finger extended, red-faced. Annabel’s own face tightened. ‘Please don’t let her handle that.’

Shep said, ‘Okay.’

Annabel pointed. Kat marched. Annabel followed. The master door closed, firmly. Raised voices hummed through the walls. A few minutes later, Mike was in the doorway, forearm across the jamb.

‘Nice dust ruffle. Matches your personality.’ Mike came in, sat.

Shep moved up against the headboard, laid the Colt across his lap. He nodded at the window. ‘Don’t worry. You can sleep tonight.’

‘I know.’ Mike took a deep breath, gestured through the wall at their bedroom, then at the pistol. ‘Sorry ’bout that. It’s been a rough couple days. We’ve never dealt with something like this.’

‘She hasn’t, you mean.’

Mike moistened his lips. ‘You don’t like her,’ he said. ‘Annabel.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Technically.’

‘She loves you,’ Shep said. ‘That’s all I need to know.’

Mike looked at his feet. Shep stared at the seam where wall met ceiling.

‘Look,’ Mike finally said. ‘How things were left. I never-’

Shep waved a hand. ‘The past don’t interest me. You need me now. So here I am.’

‘I didn’t know how to handle things,’ Mike said. ‘How to reconcile…’ He sensed Shep’s disinterest and trailed off.