Page 10 of The Overnight Guest

“No,” Ethan said, clutching more tightly to the shotgun. “It’s mine.”

William looked as if he wanted to rip the gun from Ethan’s hands but knew that was how misfires happened. Instead, William strode to Ethan’s truck, opened the door, yanked the keys from the ignition, and stuffed them in his pocket.

“Josie, Becky, get in my truck, now,” William ordered, and the girls rushed to climb inside. Ethan shook his head and began to follow, but William held up his hand to stop him.

Ethan laughed and then realized his father wasn’t joking. “You want me to walk all the way home?” he asked.

“That’s the only way you are going to get anywhere for a very long time,” William said.

“We have to leave my truck here?” Ethan asked in disbelief.

“Damn right,” William said. “Your mom and I will pick it up later. Buckle up,” William said to the girls.

Ethan lifted his chin in defiance and looked his father square in the eyes. William’s fingers twitched, and for a moment, it looked as if he was going to hit Ethan. Instead, he brushed roughly past his son and stepped up into the cab of his truck.

William put the truck into Drive and drove about fifty feet down the road when an explosion filled the air. He hit the brakes and leaned his head out the window. Ethan was looking directly at them. In his hand, he held the shotgun, a grim smile on his face.

William swore under his breath and began driving again. Ethan cradled the shotgun in his arms and started walking. Josie and Becky turned to look out the back window and watched Ethan as they drove away, getting smaller and smaller until he was just a speck on the gravel road and then disappeared.

Less than eight hours later, William and Lynne Doyle were dead, and Ethan and Becky were missing.

5

Present Day

Wylie clapped a cold, chapped hand to her face and bit back a scream. A child. A child was lying in her front yard. She trudged through the snow toward him and instantly lost her footing, pitched forward, and broke the fall with her right arm. She felt the bone give and waited for the snap. It didn’t come.

The flashlight slid across the ice, spinning like a roulette wheel until it finally stopped, its beam illuminating the unmoving child. He glistened like an ice sculpture.

Wylie lay there, just a few feet from the child’s face, momentarily stunned. His eyes were closed, his thumb in his mouth. A small river of blood trickled from his head. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

With a groan, Wylie pushed herself to her knees using only her left hand. She flexed her fingers and bent her elbow, quickly scanning her right arm for any major damage. It hurt, but Wylie didn’t think it was broken. She crawled forward until she was right next to the child.

She wasn’t sure what to do. Should she try to move him? He obviously had a head injury, but what if he had a spinal injury too? She needed to call for help but would an ambulance be able to get all the way out here in this storm? She didn’t think so.

“Hey,” she said, wiping a film of ice from his pale cheek. He didn’t react. She pressed her finger beneath his nose. Was he breathing? She couldn’t tell. Wylie inhaled deeply, tried to gather her wits. She had no medical training but knew that she had to get the boy inside and warm, or he would freeze to death.

She slid her arms beneath him and was relieved when his body shifted easily. He wasn’t frozen through. She began to slowly get to her feet. He weighed thirty pounds maybe, much lighter than she thought he would. She positioned him so that they were chest to chest, his head on her shoulder, his thumb still firmly between his lips.

Her sore arm supported the back of his head while her healthy one held the bulk of his weight. The trick would be getting him back to the house without falling.

She was only fifty yards from the front porch, but it felt like a million miles. Inch by inch, she moved her feet forward, clasping the boy’s cold body against her, pausing each time she felt the ground shift beneath her. Tas crept along at her hip, stopping when Wylie did.

Wylie looked over her shoulder. The road was no longer visible. The miles of fields beyond the road, swallowed by the storm. Where had the boy come from? Nothing could survive out here for long.

Wylie tried to push the thought away and focused on the earth below her. Despite his slight frame, the boy was dead weight, and Wylie’s uninjured arm began to ache. She resisted the urge to sprint toward the house. She would never make it without falling. Instead, she focused on taking a step with each breath.

The welcoming twinkle from the house was a guidepost. The snow was coming down now in dizzying whorls and frosting them white.

“Hang on,” she whispered into his ear. “We’re almost there.” Did he move? Or was that just Wylie shifting his weight a bit as they trudged forward?

Dreadful thoughts kept creeping into her head. The boy’s cold cheek was pressed against her neck, and she feared she was holding a dead child in her arms. What if help couldn’t come? She could be snowed in for days. How in God’s name could she sit in a house with a child’s body until help arrived?

Only ten more yards, and they would be at the front door. The instant Wylie’s foot transitioned from gravel to the concrete walkway, she knew they were falling. With a cry, she pressed the boy to her, clasping his head tightly in hopes of protecting it from the impact.

Somehow, she was able to land on her knees and kept the boy from hitting the ground. The concussion of bone on cement sent spasms through her legs. Tears of pain and frustration sprang to her eyes. She didn’t know how she was going to be able to get to her feet.

Tas looked at her, his eyes laden with judgment.Hurry up, he seemed to be saying.You’re not going to give up when we’re so close, are you?

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