He hadn’t wrapped his head around Derek’s death and never would. As his sneakers scuffed along the sidewalk, a figure watched from across the street and caught his eye. False alarm. It was a grim reaper posed with a scythe, beside a pumpkin glowing on the front steps. For unknown reasons, the grim reaper unsettled him. Its gaze seemed to follow Leland through the neighborhood, eyes shifting as he moved. Down the block, three women led a group of young children from door-to-door, the kids trick-or-treating early this year to beat the cold.
Or perhaps the parents didn’t want their children outside after dark with a vicious murderer running loose.
He quickened his step and hurried away from the macabre Halloween decoration. The road concluded at a dead end, but a trail worn by generations of children arrowed through the trees and led through a park. The shortcut saved him ten minutes of walking time, and he needed every second if he hoped to survive the cold. Leland’s ears grew numb. His nose ran like a waterfall, and he was out of tissues. Before he crossed the soccer field, he plucked two leaves from a tree and combined them into a makeshift Kleenex. Then he tossed the leaves away and jogged with his shoulders hunched over.
The trees rustled behind him. He swung his head back and saw nothing but shadows pooling on the grass. A crazy image flashed in his head—the grim reaper coming alive, uprooting itself, and stalking Leland with its deadly scythe. He laughed the idea off, his own voice unsettling him. Yet he kept glancing over his shoulder as he traversed the pitch.
The park ended at a chain-link fence. A parking lot littered with potholes and scattered trash bordered the park. This was where kids drank after the police chased them off the railroad tracks. He planted one foot inside the links and grasped the top. With a grunt, he swung his leg over and hopped down. The landing drove the air from his lungs and buckled his stiff knees. As he hurried across the parking lot, another car rolled past.
He paused when the black sedan turned into the lot. Though sunset was a few hours away, headlights blinded his eyes.
Leland altered his angle, wary of the car, but the driver swung around and blocked him from leaving. His head shot up when the doors opened. Leland recognized the two thugs climbing out of the sedan. These were the men who guarded Troy Dean. Leland’s confusion turned to alarm when Dean stepped out of the backseat and strode at the teenager with ill intent in his eyes.
“I heard someone talked to the cops.”
Leland swiveled and ran for the fence. Footsteps pounded the blacktop behind him as the gang members closed in. All he needed to do was reach the fence, hoist himself over, and retrace his steps. Nobody in the neighborhood would lend a hand. But the high school was three blocks past the neighborhood. That was his best chance.
Leland’s chest heaved with exertion. He sensed the thugs behind him. No matter how fast he ran, they gained an inch with each stride. Hopping over a curb, Leland leaped onto the fence and clutched the links. He swung one leg over the bar before someone grabbed him by the belt loop and ripped him backward. The teenager cried out before his back slammed against the macadam. Air fled his lungs as sneakers stomped his shoulders and ribs. He covered his head and pleaded as the gang members beat him down.
The sky spun overhead. A heavyset thug with a goatee and tattooed neck ripped him to his feet and threw him against the fence. Leland squirmed and kicked out, but they were stronger, and he was outnumbered. While the two bodyguards held him against the links, Dean hurled a fist into Leland’s stomach. The boy coughed and wheezed as Dean grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back.
Leland’s eyes widened when the switchblade flicked out.
“Barton Falls is ours. Nobody talks to the cops without me finding out.”
Dean’s eyes boiled with unhinged fury. The gangster placed the blade against Leland’s throat and pressed inward, just enough to break the skin. Blood trickled down Leland’s neck and dotted his windbreaker.
“What did you tell the cops?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
Another punch buckled Leland’s ribs and left him breathless and sucking air.
“You told them where we sell.”
“No.”
“And you gave them my name.”
“I swear, I didn’t!”
Blade in hand, Dean angled the knife across Leland’s throat.
“I could bleed you like a stuck pig, and nobody would stop me.” Dean’s eyes flicked over Leland’s body and stopped on his chest. The gangster turned the switchblade and clutched it in his fist. He stuck the tip against Leland’s sternum and made a stabbing motion. “Or I could stab you in the chest like I did your friend.”
Leland froze.
Dean grinned.
“That’s right. I murdered your buddy.”
“Why? Why did you kill Derek?”
“Because he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. What is it with you backwoods druggies? I provide a service, and you repay me by turning us over to the police.”
Dean nodded at the two guards. This was it. They were going to kill Leland.
He closed his eyes a second before Dean whipped his forehead against Leland’s face. The bridge of Leland’s nose shattered on impact. Blood flooded from the boy’s nostrils as Dean loomed over him, cackling like a maniac. The guards released Leland. His legs failed to support him, and he crumbled to the blacktop and lay on his side, curled in a fetal position.
Dean placed his sneaker on Leland’s neck.
“Tell one person we did this to you, and it will be twice as bad next time.” He waited until Leland nodded. Then the gang leader stepped back and laughed at the broken teenager. “There’s plenty more where that came from, bitch.”
The three men turned and strode toward the black sedan.
