Wanted (34 page)

“Ohmigod, ohmigod.” A sharp stabbing pain, along with liquid warmth, engulfs my forehead. I reach up and extract a shard of glass embedded into my skin, tossing it on the floor. Jack slumps sideways toward me, his seat belt holding him up. “Jack!” I scream, trying to rouse him with my voice as I undo my seat belt. “Jack! Wake up!”

When he doesn't respond, I pause only a second before checking for a pulse. My hand shakes as I try to locate the correct spot on his neck. For a few frightening seconds, I feel nothing. Panic claws at my throat, my neck, my heart—making it hard to breathe. Stop and get yourself together, Monroe! I scream in my head.

I close my eyes and concentrate on feeling a beat. An infinitesimal
bumpthump
grazes my fingertip, and I sigh with relief. When I try to remove my hand, a sudden twitch makes my left shoulder jerk, and I grip Jack's shoulder harder. Bonnie!

“Not now, Bonnie!” I screech. “Go away!”

No! You go away!
Bonnie wails, the first I've heard from her in hours.
Sugar? Wake up, baby! Is that you?

In my fright, I hadn't even considered that Jack could have gotten so scared by the accident that Clyde took over. Only… it doesn't seem like Clyde would be the type who would, I don't know,
allow
himself to become unconscious. With his eyes closed, I don't have a clue which guy is next to me. All I know is that I need to get us to the death memorial and I don't have much time to do it.

I strain to pull my hand away, but Bonnie fights back. I use my other hand and lift, finger by finger, until I pry my hand from his shoulder.

You might have won that victory, but this war isn't over.

Perhaps, but I won't be making that mistake again.

I'm about to ask her why she's been hiding when Jack gasps for air. I wait, hoping he'll snap out of it. When he doesn't, I let out my breath, not realizing I'd been holding it. I shake a few broken glass shards off my t-shirt and glance at the clock. 8:43.

I lunge for the door handle, ramming the door with my shoulder at the same time. The door doesn't move. My side of the car must have been pushed in from the weight of the deer. I try again, heaving all my weight against the door, but still it doesn't budge. “Noooo!” I shove and push frantically, bruising my shoulder and clawing at the handle, trying to get free.

There's a knock on my window, making me jump. A huge bearded guy peers in at me, his body taking up the entire width of the window. “Y'all okay in there?” he asks, his drawl thick as lard.

My body is catapulted into action. “I am, but my friend needs help!” I swipe away my tears and plead, “Please sir, get us out of here. We need to get out right away!”

Mountain Man attempts to open my door but he can't do it, either. “Hold on, sweetheart.”

I push Jack's shoulder with my fist in gunfire bursts, doing my best to prevent Bonnie from latching on. “Jack! Wake up! Wake up NOW!” I shout, hoping the volume of my voice will rouse him. This is no time to be unconscious.

Mountain Man plants his feet and pulls with all his might, producing a ghastly grinding of steel. Unbelievably, the door cracks opens and he pops his head into the car. “There you go, little lady.” His breath reeks like yesterday's booze, his face hasn't seen a razor in decades, and there are several gaps in places where there should be teeth. But to me, in this moment, he's a freaking superhero.

“Ohmigod, thank you! Can you please help us?” I beg. “We need a lift to Gibsland.”

Mountain Man wipes crumbs from the sides of his mouth. “Don't you think you oughta go to the hospital? The closest one's ten miles up the road, in Monroe.”

I'm stunned at the crazy coincidence, but we don't have time for small talk. “There's no time! I mean, we're heading to my mom's, and she's a doctor,” I add, pulling that out of my ass. “It'll be cheaper and quicker if we just go there.”

Mountain Man's face erodes into a mass of concentration, scratching his chin through his beard. “I don't know. Gas costs money, you know.”

A greedy Good Samaritan? “Look, I don't have any money on me, but there's an expensive watch in the gym bag back there.” I look around in desperation, trying to find other things to bribe him with. “Just drive us to my mom's house and you can have it. And the gym bag too, if you want.”

His eyes narrow into slits. “What's your ma's name and where does she live?”

I know enough about small towns to realize he'd know in an instant if I lie. “She's not from around here. She's visiting a friend who lives near the Bonnie and Clyde memorial. Do you know where that is?” I bite my lip, praying that he knows and that I haven't veered off track.

Mountain Man nods. “Course I do. Everyone does. It's a few miles up the road.”

I clutch my heart. “Thank God! Can you take us?”

“Hmmm… I don't know.” Mountain Man frowns.

I think about kicking him in the balls and running to steal his rusty old shitbox, but quickly reconsider. Even if I did, I still wouldn't know where to go.

Stop thinking and move, girl!

Bonnie's urging pushes me into gear. I turn and kneel on the seat, grabbing the gym bag.

Mountain Man whistles. “Niiice.”

Pig. Must have been looking at my ass. I swallow the taste of bile in my mouth and hold out the bag. “So here. Will you do it?”

“Yup. On one condition.” He picks something out of his teeth with a dirt-embedded fingernail, staring at my chest.

I pause, not liking where this is heading. “Name it.”

“I want the deer.” He nods toward the front of the truck.

Relieved it wasn't some foul sexual favor, I look toward the bloody pile of intestines lying next to a hoof. “Deal! Drop us off and it's yours!”

“First I got to load this sucker onto my car. If we leave it, someone else will come and take it.” He pinches one nostril and leans over, blowing snot out the other with a repulsive snort.

I can't believe my fate is in the hands of this moron. “I'll leave a note! Will that work?”

He thinks about it, nodding slowly. “I guess so. Okay.” Fast as an arthritic mule, Mountain Man strolls into action. I follow him to the passenger side and wait while he hoists Jack over his shoulder like he's a feed sack. “The name's Thorp. Write down ‘This here is Rufus Thorp's deer.'”

“Got it!” I flip open the glove compartment, hesitating only for a second before tossing the gun in my purse. I scrawl the message on an old envelope and glance at the clock.

8:49.

I run to the front of the car, slipping once as I step into a slew of blood and ooze. I shove the envelope into the dead deer's mouth, wondering if its painful grimace matches the one on my own face. Racing to Rufus's car, I arrive just as he tucks Jack's leg into the front seat. He shuts the door and I hop in back. “Floor it!” I shout.

Rufus nods and pats his pocket for his keys. He touches his flannel shirt pocket and looks around. “Let's see once… they gotta be here somewheres.”

“You're kidding me, right?” I stand and lean forward over the bench seat, my face between the two guys. I scan the seat, filled with tons of junk, but I don't see his car keys. “Look in all your pockets again!” I start whipping all his crap onto the floor—doughnut bags, coffee-stained Styrofoam cups, a half-empty roll of toilet paper, and a sticky
Playboy
magazine. Gross! “Where else could they be?” I screech, my heart pounding.

Rufus dangles the keys in the air. He licks his lips, looks at my cleavage. “How bad you want to get there, honey?”

The Hostess cherry pie I ate hours ago threatens to come back up. I glare at him. “We already made a deal for the deer!”

“I ain't driving 'til I see your bosom,” he says, staring at my chest.

My ears burn with fury. I reach inside my purse and grab the gun, leveling it at his face. “How do you like this view? Now drive the car or I'll blow your redneck head off.”

The smile drops off his face and he holds his hands up. “Whoa. I was just having some fun, is all.” He fumbles to get the key into the ignition, his hands shaking badly.

“Faster!” I wave the gun, but aim it toward the roof in case it's loaded. Don't need first-degree manslaughter on my rap sheet, on top of everything else.

“I'm going fast as I can.” Rufus gets the car going and pulls back onto the highway, spitting up gravel.

“And don't try anything sneaky. I'm watching you.” One glance at the clock and I nearly burst an artery. 8:52. “You got three minutes to get me there, or I'm shooting one body part for each minute you're over.”

Rufus sits up and presses the accelerator, wiping sweat off his forehead with an old rag. “No need for that. It might be more like five miles, I don't know for sure.”

“Three minutes,” I repeat.

He pats the dashboard and starts pushing his chest forward and back, as if trying to make the car go faster. “Come on, Bertha. Move it, girl.” The car chugs and chokes its way to sixty.

I start jiggling my knees, going over my plan of what I'll do when I get there.

First thing is finding out which guy is next to you, you man-stealing hussy.

Relax already, Bonnie. No matter what Clyde's feelings are for me, in a few minutes, I'm going to do my best to grant your wish to be with him forever—in limbo, of course.

Then you'd better find out now. Go on. Test it. Touch him. I can only use your mouth when you're touching something that belongs to me, remember? If Clyde's in charge, I'll be able to talk because he's mine. If I can't, it's your fella at the helm.

Good idea.

I'm an inch away from touching his shoulder when I stop. What if she grabs on to him and I can't let go? Then she'd have complete control of me and could do any ritual she pleased. How could I have come so close to blowing the whole thing only minutes away from the finish line? I look out the window and see rows of trees with no end in sight.

Nice try, Bonnie, but forget it. I'll drag whichever guy is here to the memorial and hope for the best.

As if on cue, Jack or Clyde groans and moves his head. His eyes flutter, trying to open against the bright morning sun. “Jack! Clyde! Wake up!” I push his shoulder with a closed fist, hoping to make it harder for Bonnie to grab a hold of him. “We were in a car accident, but you're going to be okay. We're almost to Bonnie and Clyde's memorial!”

“Okay,” he says groggily, not clear enough for me to figure out which guy it is.

“Good thing he's awake.” Rufus glances nervously at me in the rearview mirror.

8:56.

“It's been four minutes. Which body part you want to lose first?” I hold up the gun.

“No, please don't! I ain't good at math. We's almost there. One more mile, two at the most!” Rufus wipes a line of sweat off the side of his face with the toilet paper roll.

If he's messing with me, Bonnie's going to stay inside of me for the rest of my life. I refuse to even consider the other alternative—trading places. “It better be.” I hold the gun up. “It's a matter of life and death. Yours.”

He starts patting the dashboard again. “Give it all you got, Bertha.”

Jack coughs then, a deathly gurgling cough from deep in his lungs. He puffs up his cheeks and looks around, panic in his eyes.

Rufus points. “Spit that gunk out the winda. Mind the upholstery now.”

Jack leans out the window and spits. A mouthful of globby red saliva flies past me, specks of it sticking to the window. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he grumbles.

“Are you okay?” I need him to answer or look at me so I can see which guy it is.

Please be Jack, I beg. It'll make things way easier in the end.

Please be Clyde,
Bonnie murmurs simultaneously.

He coughs and holds up a finger, wincing in pain.

I stare at the side of his face, waiting for him to look at me. If it's Clyde, I'll know by the way his golden eyes stare into mine with that penetrating, lovesick puppy gaze.

Rufus bops the wheel with his palm, making me look at him. “Dagnabbit! I hear sirens. Someone musta called for an ambulance when they seen you on the side of the road. I bet you a hundred bucks that them docs are gonna steal my deer.”

If an ambulance is on its way, how soon until the police follow? Terror starts up deep in my chest as I do a final check for the ritual. I slide open the side pocket and see the poem, the slugs, and the lighter—everything I need—except the identity of the guy in the passenger seat.

I hold my breath, waiting for his response. “Jack, Clyde, answer me.”

“It's me, Jack.” Jack glances briefly at me before coughing again.

I nod, trying not to think about Clyde and how much I'll miss meeting him. Kissing him. No matter how wrong it was for me to have any feelings for him, I can't deny they were there. And worst of all, how horribly, stupidly ironic it is that the first guy I truly connect with and who seemed to really like me back is a half-dead ghost that will be gone forever in a few minutes' time. I've got no one to blame but myself.

Hurry! Do something to make Clyde come back!

Do you think I'm stupid? If Clyde is here, you're going to try to call out to him or trick me somehow so that you can stick around. But you and Clyde had your chance and you blew it. Jack and I deserve to live our lives—without half-dead spirits inside of us. Hopefully your final chapter will be swift and painless, which you'll have to admit is considerably better than the first time you two went down together.

You need him here or the ritual won't work.

For a second, I'm fraught with alarm, thinking Bonnie knows something that I don't. But then I realize she's going to say and do anything she can to stick around.