Lucky Day (7 page)

“I said on your belly!” G. William yelled. “I ain’t countin’ to three, Billy. I will shoot you on
one
, you understand?”

Billy lay on his stomach, somehow managing to do so with an air of forbearance, as though he were humoring G. William, not obeying him.

Once Billy was on the floor, G. William allowed himself a long, relieved intake of breath. His throat burned, and would burn for days, he figured. Sweat caught in his eyebrows, dripped into his vision. His hands were slick.

Replacing the pepper spray on his belt, he wiped the now-empty hand on his thigh to dry it. He was afraid to transfer the gun, afraid Billy would take advantage.

He was on me in nothing flat. I didn’t even realize it. Jesus, what
is
he?

“Gettin’ bored here, Sheriff,” Billy said quietly.

“Shut your goddamned mouth!”

“Just sayin’. A real cop, hell, a real cop’d had me cuffed and in the car by now. Maybe you
are
slowin’ down.”

“Shut the hell up!” He fumbled for his handcuffs, making a hell of a racket as his hands shook them into ghost chains.

Get it right. Don’t come this far and get killed. This guy, he’ll kill you and bury you so deep, they’ll never find you.

He went to cuff Billy, then stopped. He pictured himself standing athwart Billy Dent, leaning down to slap the cuffs on, and Billy rearing up, knocking the gun away.

Hell, no.

“Put these on.” He tossed the cuffs to Billy. “Your right wrist.”

Billy stared at the cuffs, lying on the floor a few inches from him.

“Do it!” G. William coughed at the strain on his poor throat. “Now!”

With slow, creeping hands, Billy reached out for the handcuffs. G. William almost stomped in impatience. He was
caught
. There was no point dragging this out.

And then he heard a sound. From elsewhere in the house.

The boy. Jasper. The Billy look-alike.

Oh, Christ.
The sweat—just beginning to dry along his hairline—began again. He didn’t want to imagine the kid was involved, but thirteen…G. William knew of kids younger than that who’d begun lives of crime, and most of them hadn’t had a dad around to show them the ropes.

He’s stalling. Stalling for the kid.

“Cuff yourself. Now. Right hand.”

It took Billy forever. G. William backed into a corner so that he could watch Billy and also keep an eye out for Jasper. What the hell kind of house of horrors had he blithely walked into?

“Now what?” Billy asked, clearly amused at G. William’s panic.

“Now the other cuff to the table leg.”

Billy considered the table leg. “I can do that, Sheriff, but I gotta tell you—it ain’t terribly secure. Might be better if—”

“Do it!” G. William shrieked. There was a footfall from some other part of the house, and he imagined the kid coming at him with a shotgun.

Billy eventually managed to lock the other cuff around the table leg. He was right—it wasn’t very secure, but G. William just needed Billy relatively immobilized for the most dangerous part of this process.

He sidled over to Billy, wishing he could split his eyes so that he could watch two things at once. But he had to focus on Billy now, which meant Jasper could get the drop on him.

At Billy’s side, he kept the gun pointed at Dent’s head. “Stay still,” he ordered, and then had Billy—still prone—put both hands at the small of his back.

With a quick motion, he knelt down on top of Billy, pinning him with his bulk. All those cheesers and fries finally paid off.

In short order, he managed to get the cuff off the table leg and onto Billy’s left hand. Then, just to be extra safe, he used a zip-tie to bind Billy’s ankles.

“Ain’t no call for that,” Dent complained mildly.

“Shut up.” His head throbbed, and he realized he was grinning like a damn fool. Almost giddy in triumph. “Who’s the better man now, Billy?”

“This ain’t over.”

“Looks like it from where I am.”

As G. William stood, the room tilted as he went dizzy again. Hyperventilating? Panic attack? Who the hell knew. Spots flew before his eyes. His heart thudded, and his arms were going numb.

He wanted nothing more than to leave this place. Now. But Dent’s kid was still somewhere in the house. Doing God knew what.

G. William double-checked Billy’s manacles, then went off in search of the noise he’d heard before. Through the kitchen, he found a door leading down into a basement laundry room, and then—surreal—a pull-down attic-type ladder leading to some sort of hatch, a makeshift trapdoor cut into the ceiling.

His heart trip-hammered. His mouth, dry, tasted like old blood and shit.

Steadying himself with one hand, his gun still filling the other, he climbed the three or four rungs that put his upper body in the room above. It was a small space, maybe an old closet or pantry, now closed off from the rest of the house, accessible only by this hidden ladder.

There were tables and some lights, but the room was murky. Objects lay scattered on the tables, and in the middle of it all was Jasper Dent, holding a bulging backpack and frozen there, staring at something in his hand.

G. William aimed at Jasper’s center of mass and heard himself scream—in a voice high and piercing and crazy—“Drop it! Drop all of it! I swear to Christ I’ll shoot you!”

He’s just a kid!
a voice within him cried.

Just
Dent’s
kid. Who knows what he’s done?

You’re not going to shoot a
child
!

“I will shoot you!” G. William said again. “Drop
everything
.
Now.
”

Jasper turned slowly, his eyes wide. Hazel eyes. It was like looking at Billy in miniature, but for the eyes, and G. William’s panic almost pulled the trigger for him.

“Drop it!”

Jasper dropped the backpack. It rattled and jostled. Something spilled out, and G. William recognized the image of Cara Swinton, Dead Girl One. A mock
Vogue
cover on an iPhone case.

The kid still had something in his hand.

“Everything!”

Don’t shoot this boy!

I will
kill
him if I have to.

The eyes. Wide. Unblinking.

Terrified.

He’s frozen. He’s—

He’s faking. Like Billy. He won’t—

And then Jasper dropped the thing in his hands. It bounced on its side and skittered closer to G. William.

It was a driver’s license. A pretty blond girl.

Of course.

“I didn’t do anything,” Jasper said in a confused voice. “I don’t think I did anything.”

G. William found the space and the time to let himself breathe again.

“I’m sure that’s true,” he said.

He figured he would never forget the look in Jasper Dent’s eyes. He didn’t know what the kid had done or witnessed, but he knew none of the answers were good. They were the kind of answers that would take years to unpack, and even then there would always be another box tucked away somewhere, with a secret inside that moaned and thumped and demanded to be let out, no matter how much you tried not to think about it.

Poor kid.

His hands were still shaking. He lowered the gun, lest he shoot the kid after all. He thought it was quite possible that his hands would never stop shaking.

In a just and kind world, G. William’s sleep that night would have been untroubled and peaceful.

It was not.

There were dragons, in his dreams, as though some part of him knew the trials were not yet over, that there were battles yet to be fought. He slept fitfully, fidgeting, tossing and turning, groaning and crying out in his sleep.

But he did so in his own bed.

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Barry Lyga is the author of several acclaimed young adult novels, including
I Hunt Killers
, its sequel,
Game
, and his debut,
The Astonishing Adventures of Fanboy and Goth Girl
. He now knows way too much about how to dispose of a human body. Barry lives and writes in New York City. His website is barrylyga.com.