Page 24 of Absolution

I unlock the car and almost fall into the driver’s seat, sweaty and spent, at a loss as to what to do now. My bag lies next to me, filled with useless items meant for another kind of life. A gun. Shirts and pants, a couple of suit jackets, a second pair of black, neatly polished shoes. My phone.

After several attempts, I manage to start a very reluctant engine to get some warmth back. Shaking everything out of the bag, I take the gun and put it in the side pocket of my pants after making sure it’s secured, pull off my ruined shoes and put on the undamaged ones. I dismiss the rest of the stuff. I have better clothes on, and I can’t bother with the weight, walking all the way back.

The phone is dead. I put it in the charger, but I’ll have to recharge it fully at Kerry’s and we can call for help. Well, she can call for help. I’ll have to think of something else, because I don’t want to be seen again. I’ve never left this amount of traces behind me. People who have seen me several times, a whole house full of my fingerprints and DNA. I’m used to being a shadow, of staying under the radar and my spine crawls with the knowledge that I’ve made myself vulnerable.

I look around me, at the blocked road. If I’d had a chainsaw… But I’ve never dismembered anyone I’ve killed, I’ve never even dreamt of it, and I haven’t had any reason to pack one when I go on a mission.

Twitching back to the present, I realize I can’t sit here. I turn off the engine, grab the phone and charger and heave my aching body out of the car as my heart sinks. Staring at the key, I wonder if there’s even a point to bringing it, but then I shrug and pocket it.

It takes more than thirty minutes to get back, and I’m sweating profusely as I enter Kerry’s front yard. I stop flat at the sight. To my right lies an oblong pile of snow. A thick, human-sized, snow-covered pile. All my senses sharpen as I walk up to it.

It’s our missing pick-up owner. Guess the filthy little grocery store is closing. I grab his shoulder and turn him. He’s frozen stiff, like a massive lollipop. Well, that’s that. It’s not hard to guess what happened. He left us, nearly got crushed under the tree, turned back… Then I don’t know. A thirty-minute walk killed him? Heart attack? I have no fucking idea.

Bad luck. But he wouldn’t have had better luck if he’d have made it back to us. I’m really fucking happy he didn’t.

I sigh and turn toward the house. The phone has come to life, low on battery, but at least it works. It hasn’t found a network, though, and it fills me with dread that slowly turns to anger. I don’t do dread; I don’t like the feeling.

Kerry

It’s the longest wait of my life. I rock back and forth as I cradle Cece in my arms, staring at the clock every second minute. When forty minutes have passed, closing in on fifty, I am nauseous with worry. Finally there are steps outside, almost an hour and a half after he left. I carefully put Cecilia down on the couch and dart up to open the door, but Christian rips it open and then slams it closed, his eyes dark and his face a mask of fury.

“What happened?” Anxiety creeps through my body like a tingling spreading from my chest, radiating through my limbs. “What happened?” I repeat, breathless with worry when he doesn’t answer.

“No car,” he grits out.

I shake my head, I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand. “Why?”

“Because there’s no way in hell to get it past the fucking fallen tree!” he roars, making me jolt.

I look at him in despair, my mind a jumbled mess.

“It gets even better.”

“What?”

“I found Ray’s pick-up.”

I don’t answer, dread rising in me with the ominous feeling that I won’t like what’s coming next.

“Whe—”

“It’s under the fucking tree! Well, part of it. And your friend is lying dead outside.”

He shoves his hands through his hair, his ski cap falling to the floor.

“What?” I have to sit down as nausea rises in me. My head spins and I close my eyes. “What happened? What do we do?”

“Where does the side road lead to?”

“Just to an abandoned house. It’s a dead end.”

“Fuck!” His voice has a dark edge to it that sends flutters through my stomach. “Is there no fucking signal out here?” He holds up a phone, pulls a charger out of his pocket and puts it in a socket next to the living room window, then he turns, waiting for my answer.

I chew on my bottom lip. I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to prove to him what a fuck-up I’ve been.

“When—” he growls, “did you lose your fucking mind? You have a brain. I know it. How the fuck did you choose this dump?”

Tears flood my eyes as I look at a sleeping Cecilia. “Can we please not fight?” My voice is hoarse, barely carrying the words.

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