his mom, and dad, and brother. So he drifted around for a few years, coming back to Safe Haven after his folks had died, building this bunker where he separated himself from the world.
“You could have stopped them,” Fran said. “Even while you were hiding here. All you had to do was mail the damn film to one of the networks.”
Wiley told her the truth.
“That film cost me everything. My freedom. My family. I wasn’t going to give it away for free, unless I got something in return. I was scared. But mostly, I was greedy.”
Fran stood up, her face twisted with contempt.
“I hate you. I hate you so much.”
Wiley didn’t contradict her. He hated himself, too.
He watched her as she walked away.
Mom came into the kitchen, but she didn’t say anything. She walked to the sink and went at her fingernails with soap and a scrub brush.
Duncan said, “Mom?”
She didn’t answer.
He tugged her shirt.
“Mom? I need to pee.”
“I’ll be done in a few minutes, baby.”
“I can go by myself.”
Mom didn’t turn around. She kept scrubbing. “No. I don’t want you alone with that man.”
“He just saved the sheriff’s life, Mom. And he’s hiding us.”
“I don’t care. Wait until I’ve finished.”
Mom scrubbed even harder, so hard that Duncan wondered if the blood was coming from her. He took one step backward. Two. Three. Then he sneaked out into the hallway, Mathison hanging on his shoulder. The bathroom door was open, and the sheriff’s brother was wiping his hands on a towel.
Duncan stared at him. His dad’s parents died before he was born, and his mom’s parents when he was just a baby. It was weird to think that he actually had a grandpa.
“Is it okay if I call you Grandpa?” Duncan asked.
“I haven’t earned the right for you to call me that.”
“Your name is Warren, right?”
He glanced down at Duncan and cleared his throat. “Yep.”
“Is that what people call you?”
“They call me Wiley.”
“Why?”
“My brother stuck me with that nickname when we were kids. Because I was always sneaking around, trying to be crafty.”
“Like the cartoon? Wile E. Coyote?”
He cleared his throat again. “Kinda like that.”
“You clear your throat a lot.”
“I haven’t used my voice in a while. Now how about we stop with the questions and go get some guns.”
“Okay, Wiley.”
Wiley hung up the towel and Duncan followed him back to the storage room. Wiley stopped by his brother, examined the bandage, and grunted. Then he went on to the back wall, by all the guns. Like the tools in the purple room, all the guns were on a pegboard. Wiley had about thirty of them.
“You ever shoot a gun before, Duncan?”
“Just one. A shotgun. I shot a vent, Wiley.”
Duncan liked saying the name Wiley.
His grandpa removed a gun hanging by its trigger guard.
“This should be easier to handle than a shotgun. It’s a Hi-Point 380 Polymer. Hi-Point is the maker, 380 is the caliber of the bullet, and it’s called a Polymer because some parts are made out of composite plastic, so it’s lighter.”
He held the gun out to Duncan. Duncan shook his head.
“Mom doesn’t want me to touch guns.”
“Why not?”
“Because I could die.”
“Do you know which end the bullets come out?”
Duncan pointed to the barrel.
“Don’t aim that end at your head,” Wiley said, “and you won’t die.”
That seemed sensible to Duncan. He took the gun.
“It feels like a toy.”
“It’s not a toy. It’s a deadly weapon. The first rule when using firearms is to treat the weapon with respect and always assume every gun is loaded.”
Duncan nodded. “Did you ever get shot?”
“No.”
“I did.” Duncan proudly showed off his bandaged leg. “With a shotgun. It hurts, but not too bad. Josh said he doesn’t think the pellet is still in there. He’s the one who put the bandage on.”
“Is Josh your friend?”
“Yeah. He went out with my mom a while ago. I think he’s going to go out with her again. They look at each other a lot, you know, like they’re going to kiss and stuff. He’s going to take us muskie fishing. Do you fish?”
“Not for a long time.”
“Maybe you could come with us. I mean, if you want to. Do you want to?”
“I’m not very good company.”
“Maybe you’re just out of practice.”
“I wasn’t good company even when I was in practice, Duncan.”
“You should come with us anyway. It will be fun. Is that a Desert Eagle?” Duncan pointed at a large handgun near the top of the pegboard.
“Yep. How’d you know that?”
“Grand Theft Auto IV,” Duncan said. “Mom won’t let me buy it, but I play it over at my friend Jerry’s house on his Xbox 360.”
Duncan gave Wiley the Hi-Point, and Wiley unhooked the Desert Eagle from the wall and handed it to him, butt-first. The gun was cool-looking but heavy.
“It’s too big for my hand,” Duncan said.
“You’ll grow into it.”
Duncan extended his finger, but he couldn’t reach the trigger.
“Did you ever kill anyone?” he asked without looking at his grandpa.
Wiley crouched down, so he and Duncan were face-to-face. He didn’t look angry, but his face was very serious.
“When you ask a man a question like that, Duncan, you need to look him in the eye.”
Wiley’s eyes were light blue, just like his. Duncan stared right at them.
“Did you ever kill someone, Wiley?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Bad guys?”
“Some were bad.”
“Did you ever kill any good guys?”
Wiley cleared his throat. “I have.”
“Why?”
“To cover up some bad things I did.”
“Couldn’t you have just shot him in the leg or something?”
