Page 111 of The Vanishing Place
“He killed him, Effie.” Concern flooded Asher’s face. Then he reached his arm out, like in his deranged world, he thought it might comfort her. “The police have been looking for your dad for two years. He’s wanted for murder, Effie.”
She stepped back, the calm thumped from her with such force that she found it hard to stand.
“You’re lying,” she said.
Her legs shook as she pictured him. Dad. The swings. That day. The blood—gummy like tree sap. The black hole—where his tooth was missing.
We can’t stay here.
“You’re lying,” she said again.
“Effie, your dad’s dangerous.”
I hurt him real bad.
Asher reached out and Effie snapped her arm away.
“It’s not safe for you to stay here. You’ve got to—”
“I don’tgotto do anything you say.” Her fingers tingled. “You’re nothing to me.”
Asher looked at her. A pitying adult expression, like he thought age made him smarter or some shit. But age just turned boys into men. And men were idiots and liars.
“Effie, your dad cracked the man’s skull open with a crowbar.”
“You’re lying.”
“He beat him,” said Asher. “And left him for dead.”
His face contorted into a look of sympathy, and Effie wanted to punch it.
“You don’t know what you’re—”
The snap of branches silenced them, and they both turned.
Dad was there, standing on the other side of the clearing.
He stepped from the bush and staggered toward them. His right hand was clasped around the shaft of a heavy gardening shovel. It swung at his side, the steel end thumping against his boot as he moved, splitting the silent air. Effie slipped her hand into Asher’s, his skin clammy, and started to inch them away. Dad kept walking—the wrong Dad, with the wild, desperate look in his eyes.
“You need to run,” Effie whispered. “Run, Asher.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“He won’t hurt me.” She turned her head, pleading, “Please, Asher.”
But his fingers tightened around her hand. “I’m not leaving.”
Effie tried to shove him, to make him move, but there was not enough strength in her.
“Please,” she whispered.
But Dad was on them before the plea left her lips. He grabbed Asher’s arm and started dragging him away.
“You deserve to rot in hell,” Dad spat.
Effie followed them, tugging at Dad’s arm, but he shoved her off—a giant swatting a fly—and she fell to the ground. He turned, a fire burning behind his eyes, and growled at her through gritted teeth.
“Stay,” he hissed. “Don’t follow us.”
