Sleep No More (38 page)

Marsh? Was this the 911 caller? What did Father Kevin have to do with it?

Father Kevin.
Something... it finally clicked. This guy had been in the church sanctuary after she and Maggie had returned from Tidewater Manor. The profile of his nose was very distinct.

Bryce got up and grabbed Abby under the arms, hauling her to her feet. The world spun around her; dizziness caused her stomach to roll once again. She swayed and would have fallen, except Bryce grabbed her by the shoulders and steadied her.

"Walk," the guy with the gun said.

"Who are you and want do you want?" Abby planted her feet and refused to move. She wasn't going without a fight.

"Aw, for Christ's sake," the guy said. He slapped her across the face.

Abby staggered, but stayed on her feet.

"Hey!" Bryce lunged toward the guy and was met with a stiff backhand that sent him spinning to the ground.

"You two need to stop making things harder on yourselves. Now get moving."

Bryce's lip was bleeding. He swiped it with the back of his hand and got up off the ground. He put a hand on Abby's upper arm and urged her to start walking.

"No!" she said.

The guy extended his arm, putting the gun barrel against Bryce's temple. "Have it your way." He was about the pull the trigger.

"Stop!" Abby shouted.

She had to keep them alive as long as she could. Maybe they could somehow get out of this. She turned and started moving in the direction the guy had pointed.

She had no idea where they were. She scanned the area, trying to get her bearings, but came no closer to figuring it out. When she stumbled, Bryce put an arm around her waist to help her along.

Leaning close she whispered, "What the hell is going on?"

Bryce kept his eyes straight ahead and said, "We're going to die."

By the time Jason finished talking with Kitterman, Mrs. White had returned from shopping. He quickly explained the situation--telling her she'd have to wait for answers to her endless string of questions--and left Maggie in her care.

Just as he was going out the front door of the rectory, a text message came in.

It was from Bryce. Finally.

gone fishing

"What the...?" Why had he sent this now, after avoiding Jason all day?

And Bryce hated to fish. Jason had tried to get him interested, but had given up when Bryce turned twelve.

Bryce
hated to fish
.

Oh, my God.

Jason sprinted to the Explorer. As soon as he put it in gear and started moving, he called Kitterman. "I know where they are."

Bryce was about to piss himself by the time they reached the river. But he wasn't going to cry like a little kid while Abby's eyes were dry and focused.

Toby had thumped him in the head with his gun when Bryce had spoken to Abby. They'd been moving in silence ever since. Moving slowly. Abby seemed to be faltering more; a couple of times her knees buckled completely. When he'd caught her to keep her from falling down, she looked in his eyes in a way that told him she was buying time.

It was a good idea. Maybe Jason would figure out the text message and call the police.

Or maybe they were only delaying their deaths by minutes. Either way, it was a good move.

They played up her incapacity until Toby threatened to shoot her on the spot and make Bryce carry her body the rest of the way.

As they trudged along, Bryce realized the place Toby had dug the knife in his back was bleeding worse than he'd thought. There was a sticky trickle of blood creeping down the back of his right leg.

Reaching the river, Bryce saw Toby had an aluminum fishing boat tied at the old dock. Bryce had been so freaked since he'd gotten here, he hadn't even noticed Toby's car wasn't anywhere to be seen.

The normally sluggish river was running high and fast because of the spring storms. Toby was right; there was a damn good chance no one would find either of their bodies.

Toby had them walk out to near the end of the weathered dock. Because it was high tide, they were well out over the water. Bryce saw the cold brown water moving through the gaps where there were missing boards and knew that even if they dove for the river, their chances were slim.

"On your knees, Abby," Toby said.

When she didn't comply, he kicked the backs of her knees. She went down hard.

"You move and I shoot Bryce first."

"So you're the one who called 911 at the accident scene," Abby said.

"Nope," Toby said.

"Then why are you doing this? And why bring Bryce into it?"

"Shut the fuck up. You're wearing on my nerves," Toby said.

"Like I give a shit," Abby said.

Toby delivered a quick blow that sent her sprawling onto her back. Her head hit the dock with a thud.

The gun didn't move from Bryce's chest.

Toby reached down, grabbed her hair, and pulled her to a sitting position.

Her nose was bleeding. Bryce watched the deep red drops hit the weathered wood. Soon there would be so much more.

Toby reached into his pocket with his left hand. He pulled out Bryce's knife and handed it to him. "This whole fucking mess is her fault. Here's your chance to make her pay."

Bryce squared his shoulders and glared at Toby. He did not take the knife. "You're the one getting paid. I'm not going to do your work for you."

"Oh, I think you will," Toby said. "If you take care of business, I'm going to let you live."

"I don't believe you."

Toby tilted his head slightly. "Dude, it's this--or you're as dead as she is."

Bryce was breathing so hard and fast he was starting to get dizzy. "You'll kill me anyway."

"Nah, I told you, I like you. I'm giving you a chance. Water's high. Tide's going out. Her body might not be found. There's a good possibility you'll get away with it. It's a no-brainer, dude. You kill her. Or I kill you both."

Toby extended the knife to him.

"No."

Toby stepped closer and put the gun to Bryce's temple.

Bryce squeezed his eyes closed and felt tears run down his cheeks.

"Bryce, no," Abby said. "Don't do it. Make
him
kill me."

I don't want to die. Oh God, I don't want to die.

He opened his eyes--and put out his shaky hand for the knife.

Father Kevin drank the last of the scotch, letting it linger blissfully on his tongue before swallowing. For a moment, he stared at the small revolver on the passenger seat of the church van. Then he picked it up. Somehow it felt lighter in his hand than when he'd handled it an hour ago.

He got out and left the van there, at a seldom-used boat launch less than a mile away from the accident that began to unravel it all.

He walked through the woods along the river until he found a quiet spot where the sun cast brilliant rays through the old trees.

He sat for a long moment with his hands over his face, his knees bent in front of him, his elbows on his knees. The brown flow of water before him had a hypnotic effect. He'd been fighting the memory of that night for days. Now he let it wash over him, one last time:

The dark narrow road unfolded in the beams of his headlights. The windows were down. Sweat trickled down his temples, teasing the flesh in front of his ears, feeling like the advance of a column of ants. It was after two a.m. His mouth held the taste of the scotch he'd been drinking since midnight. The moist wind whipped around him, swirling through the car like the breath of a demon.

Papers rustled on the floor of the back seat: church bulletins and prayer cards.

Knowing the curves that lay ahead, he shut off his headlights and put his death in the hands of God.

His eyes closed and he forced himself to keep his foot on the accelerator.

All sounds became more acute. The
slap-snap
of bugs against the windshield. The soft flutter of papers reminded him of butterfly wings... angel wings... the wings of death.

He began a whispered prayer--and heard a motorcycle engine, wound tight, racing
...

His eyes snapped open as he reached to flip on his lights. Too late--

Father Kevin gasped at the memory of the impact. His eyes opened to the reality of daylight.

Dear God, forgive me for taking that boy's life.

Oh, what a cowardly fool he'd been. He had thought the despair of that night was the worst he could possibly feel. He'd been wrong.

He tucked the revolver into the inside pocket of his windbreaker--he was dressed in secular clothing. He would not commit this sin in holy garments. Then he walked into the water until it swirled high around his calves, the pressure promising to draw him away with the current.

Then he knelt, his knees sinking deeply into the muddy river bottom, the insistent water tugging at his hips.

He closed his eyes and the weight of all he had done settled on his shoulders.

His sins were many. He knew this baptism would serve no purpose. But he wanted the Lord to know that no matter how flawed he'd been as a man, even in the disgrace of this final sin of his death, he was recommitting himself to Jesus Christ.

He gripped his rosary, bowed his head, and made the sign of the cross.

Abby was still blinking from the blow to her face. Her scalp throbbed from the man hoisting her by the hair. But she was not going to give him the satisfaction of showing fear.

She looked up to glare defiantly at him--and saw that Bryce had the knife in his hand.

"Don't," she whispered.

Bryce grimaced and raised the knife high.

His yell filled her ears. And the knife came plunging down in a flash of silver and pain.

T
he Explorer fishtailed as Jason made the sharp turn onto the dirt road that led to the shack where he and Bryce had cleaned the fish they'd caught while boating years ago. Its discovery had solved one of the negatives of fishing; Lucy refused to have fish cleaned at the house. Unfortunately, the second negative never disappeared. Bryce had always been bored out of his mind.

The shack had been abandoned long before they'd happened across it. And Jason had just discovered how much farther it was from town by road than by water.

Bryce's car was parked in the tall weeds in front of the shack. Three of the Civic's four doors were open.

Jason slammed on the brakes and the Explorer skidded to a stop.

The shack wasn't more than a rusty metal roof, a single room with half-walls and a plank floor. The top half of the walls had once been screened, but those screens had been reduced to a few scraggly, fluttering remnants. The old screen door hung askew, no longer a rectangle that fit its opening.

Bryce was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Abby. Nor the gray Impala Jason had expected to find.

That didn't mean Toby wasn't here. He'd used the river before. And Bryce had clearly felt threatened or he never would have sent the text message that led Jason here.

He picked up the gun he'd laid on the passenger seat, jumped out, and crouched low near the vehicle, scanning the area.

No movement in the woods or the shack.

He listened.

There was a siren, but it was still far away. A police helicopter thudded somewhere in the distance; Kitterman had said he was dispatching one, as well as water patrol, in case of a chase.

The absence of the Impala said that if there was going to be a chase, it would be on the water. Jason thanked God for Kitterman's forward thinking.

He carefully moved away from the Explorer. When no one shot at him, he started running toward the river.

The sirens got closer.

The sound of a gunshot tore through the quiet. Birds startled en masse from their roosts in the trees.

The river was still about forty yards away; Jason could only see a small sliver of brown water at the end of the path through the trees. He pushed harder, arms and legs pumping. His heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest. He pressed on, his lungs burning, fear rising like bitter bile in his throat.

Dear God, please let me be in time.

But that gunshot... Jesus, that gunshot. Neither Abby nor Bryce was armed.

The dock was off to the left of the path. Jason erupted recklessly from the cover of the woods.

There was only one person on the dock. A guy Jason presumed to be Toby aimed his gun at the water and fired... and again. The sound of repeated shots covered Jason's careless approach.

Jason's feet hit the long dock. The vibration made Toby stop firing and look over his shoulder.

He spun and pointed the gun at Jason. But Jason had already stopped and aimed.

He fired first.