Page 32 of Running to the Mountain Man

The sickening grin communicates that there’s so much more I don’t know. “We did make it look like abandonment, didn’t we? Poor little Louisa. She doesn’t even know yet. And by this time tomorrow, she’ll think her best friend shot her father to death.”

I seem to separate from my body when it happens. I take aim. My finger squeezes the trigger. I feel as if I’m not really here but watching myself do these things.

The bullet seems to soar in slow motion.

It hits him in the chest, just below his left shoulder.

The Prophet drops to the ground, face down in the muddy creek.

And just like that, I’m back in my body.

I fucking shot a man.

I scream, but no sound comes out. My hands shake. My throat burns.

The Prophet lies there, his breathing labored. Blood begins to pool in the mud from under his torso.

I did that.

A twig snaps. Leaves crunch under running footsteps. Shouts of “Over here!” echo over the hills.

My life as I know it is over when I hear, “Police! Put your hands up!”

I drop the gun and fall to my knees.

Chapter Sixteen

Barrett

I’m like a caged animal trying to get to her.

I heard the gunshot.

Then the sirens.

I saw them take her away.

My truck followed them like it was possessed by a demon.

Once in the little town of Darling Creek, the ambulance veered right to the small hospital. The cruisers went left, to the sheriff’s department, with me on their tail.

And now, I’m here, watching them bring Goldie inside through the back entrance to the jail. The sight of handcuffs on her made me want to kick down every door. Smash out all the windows.

But I have to collect myself.

The nondescript brick structure isn’t at all like what they show in the movies. It’s a one-story office building with two lowcubicles and desks that look like they haven’t had an update since 1996. One of those desks is occupied by a desk sergeant who looks way more interested in filing paperwork than letting me see my girlfriend.

“Listen. It’s really important that I talk to her and tell her not to answer any questions.”

The sergeant lets out a long sigh. “She can invoke her right to silence at any time if she is in fact under arrest.”

“Up until twenty-four hours ago, she was in a cult. She doesn’t know a single thing about civil rights. Do you understand what I’m saying? Surely, as a woman, you understand.”

She pauses, looks up from her computer, and gives me the kind of heavy-eyed stare that says she does not appreciate me playing the feminist card.

“Have a seat before I put you in a holding cell. You’re making me nervous.” Her monotone gives no indication that she’s the least bit nervous.

I sit, and my leg automatically bounces up and down on its own.

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