A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(69)

“What happened?”

He shrugged his thin shoulders, his gaze on the cards. “I wasn’t careful and tumbled down a steep hill. At the bottom I realized I couldn’t walk, and then my ankle doubled in size.”

Truman leaned forward. A simple accident like that with no one around could have killed the teenager. “And?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to just give up. I had to figure out a plan and conquer one step at a time. I knew I needed shelter, water, and food. I could crawl—but not good enough to climb out—so I found shade, and there was a bit of water running along the bottom of the ravine.” He wrinkled his nose. “Damn, that water tasted nasty. I always have something to eat in a pocket, so I was pretty well set. Just had to wait to accomplish the fourth step.”

“Wait until you had the ability to climb out?”

“Yeah, it was really steep. Mostly rock.”

“No other way out?”

“Nope. Both ends were blocked. I was lucky that I was in a low area and some water trickled through.”

“You could have died.”

“Believe me, I thought of that a lot. And I figured no one would even find my body, because the spot was so isolated. I was stupid to go near the edge in the first place.”

“How long were you in there?”

“Five days.”

“Holy shit!” Truman nearly dropped his cards. Could I have stuck that out?

“My ankle got better, but I fell while climbing out and sorta messed it up again and had to wait longer.” He ducked his head. “Not smart. It felt as if I stared at those ravine walls forever. I memorized every little indentation and ledge. The next time I tried, I mentally outlined the steps that would get me out and took my time. It worked.”

Ollie seemed so nonchalant about it. It had been just another day in his life.

“At least you didn’t have to cut your arm off.”

Ollie’s eyes widened at Truman. “Why would I do that?”

“Never mind. What happened to your parents, Ollie?” Truman asked.

“Car accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was three. I don’t remember.” His voice softened. “I didn’t grab any pictures when I left my grandfather’s house. I don’t remember their faces anymore.”

Truman silently organized his cards, his single handcuff clunking on the table. He’d learned Ollie hated pity. “Maybe I can try to find something when I get home. If the accident made the papers, there might be photos of them.”

“Maybe.” Ollie didn’t seem to care.

Truman wondered if the apathy was an act or coping mechanism. Is he too scarred to allow himself hope?

The two of them continued their game in companionable silence.

The quiet, simple hours soothed Truman’s brain. There was nothing he could do about his cases or officers out here; it’d all been forcibly swept off his plate, leaving him relaxed, with a clear mind. He thought and worried about Mercy but soon realized the worry was pointless and making him feel worse. Instead he concentrated on their reunion. It was inevitable, and he couldn’t wait.

Soon.

He was able to use the outhouse on his own, he could sit up, and he could read or play cards for hours at a time. He constantly stretched and tested his muscles.

Soon.

Ollie won the hand, and Truman scooped up the cards. “Would you like to go to school, Ollie?” The thought had been on his mind.

“I’m too old.”

“No, you’re not. No one is ever too old. Anyone can take classes at the community college in Bend. And they have every class imaginable. Geometry, world history, photography, geology. Heck, you could even take dance classes.”

Ollie’s look of disgust made Truman grin. “Don’t have the money.”

“Well, there are scholarships and grants.” Truman dealt the last cards, knowing he needed to speak carefully. “I’d help you out. Community college doesn’t cost too much.”

“I won’t take charity.” Ollie’s answer was firm, but a rare spark of hope flashed in his eyes.

“It’s not charity. I owe you my life a few times over, and I like to think my life is worth more than a few classes.”

Ollie shrugged.

The seed had been planted, and they played in silence for a few moments. “Tomorrow,” Truman stated as he took a card.

“Tomorrow,” Ollie agreed. “Before sunrise.”





THIRTY-FOUR

Mercy stopped counting the days.

She moved in a foggy haze. Head down, working on every minuscule lead in Truman’s case. Days blended into one another. Another week had gone by.

Truman’s parents and sister had come to town and were involved in the search. Truman’s kind mother had hugged her, and Mercy had briefly sunk into her maternal softness. It’d contrasted with the brittle shell Mercy had rebuilt after the night she’d cried in front of Bolton. The sight of Truman’s father made Mercy catch her breath; he was Truman in twenty years. His sister was a stunned walking zombie who gazed at her with eyes that looked just like Truman’s.

I’m a zombie too.

She left the family in the care of Lucas and the Eagle’s Nest Police Department. Being around them hurt her heart. She had her own sorrow to carry, and the weight of his family’s pain made her feel as if she were drowning.