A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(83)

“Didn’t they already fingerprint the keys?”

“I don’t know. Clint’s missing persons case was handled by county once you disappeared. I didn’t believe it was related to the Hartlages or Jorgensens.”

“I didn’t either.”

Mercy met his gaze. “But we’re both wondering if it’s related now. I want a look inside the Moody house.”

“Deschutes County was authorized to go into the Moody house to look for Ryan today. A car should still be there in case he shows up.”

“Let’s go.”





FORTY

I never forgot that summer.

My father had burrowed deeper inside himself. Us kids were told to leave him alone and stay out of his way. He stopped going to work, and my mother tightened the household spending. Meals were smaller. Meat was infrequent. We ate a lot of potatoes. She talked about finding a job. My father blew up when she suggested it. “No wife of mine needs a job! I can support this family!”

There was lots of yelling in their room that night, and the next morning her eye was black and blue.

My father started to wander at night. At first he’d pace up and down the hallways, and the boards would creak every time he passed our room. His mumbling continued. The only phrase I could make out was his regular “Stop talking to me,” even though he was alone.

Then he started pacing outside, and I’d watch from my bedroom window as he wandered our few acres. Sometimes he dug holes with a shovel. Sometimes he cleaned the pens. Sometimes he’d sit and simply stare at the stars. I would check the holes the next day. There was nothing in them; they were just random holes. Everywhere.

I wondered about the ghosts that tortured him.

Then he started to run. He started wearing shorts at night and running our long driveway out to the main road and back. He’d run for nearly an hour and be dripping with sweat when he stopped. I’d sneak out of the house and hide in the bed of the truck, spying on him from a wide crack in its metal side. I’m not sure why I watched; his actions were boring. But I wanted to know what drove him, why he constantly needed to move. Was something chasing him?

Several weeks after I walked through the Deverell house and saw the blood, I spied on him from my regular spot from the truck, slightly nervous because the moon was full and bright, and I felt exposed. That night he threw down his shovel as he finished a hole. He disappeared into the barn and came out with a large hammer. This was new, and I wondered what repetitive task he’d tackle. Instead he walked directly toward me.

I couldn’t move. I froze in place as my heart tried to pound its way up my throat.

He sees me.

He will hit me with the hammer.

I’m about to die.

Instead he got in the cab and the truck started. I lay flat, as close to the cab as possible, and tried to melt into the floor of the truck bed. My relief at not being spotted was brief, and I feared where he was taking me.

A few minutes later he turned off the paved road and onto a gravel one. The ride turned rough, and the moon highlighted the dust clouds rolling behind the truck.

He stopped, and I held my breath, clenching my eyes closed as if that would save me from being seen. His door opened and quietly shut, and I listened to his footsteps crunch on the gravel as he walked away.

Silence.

I opened my eyes. He’d parked under an outdoor security light and it was as if a spotlight shone on me. I scooted on my stomach to the crack in the truck bed and peered through just in time to see him enter a house. My heart still running a race, I slipped over the side of the truck bed and moved into the shadows of the trees and tried to slow my heartbeat.

I felt secure in the dark, and I crouched behind a thick trunk, keeping an eye on the house. I hadn’t been to this home before, but I knew where we were. We’d driven west from our home on the main road and the only turn my father had taken was onto this long driveway.

He’s having an affair.

The thought shot through my young brain. I knew what an affair was. He was in love with another woman. Relief for my mother swept through me. Maybe he’d leave her to stay with this other— The female scream from the house jolted every nerve I had.

In the silence that followed, I felt as if I were drowning, desperate for another sound to help me breathe again.

Instead I only heard the noises of the night. Crickets. Tree frogs. The leaves in a breeze.

A minute later he came out, leaving the front door wide open. He took ten steps and dropped to his knees, covering his face with his hands.

His piercing scream wasn’t human.

The hairs on my arms shot upright.

After a moment of silence, he tipped back his head and screamed again, his arms raised to the night sky, the hammer in his right hand.

He’s finally cracked.

He lurched to his feet and went to their garden hose on the side of the home, washed his hands, rinsed his hammer, and then aimed the hose at his face and let the water wash over him.

I held my breath.

He finally stopped and shook his head like a dog, water droplets flying everywhere. He threw down the hose and strode toward the truck.

It was too late for me to get back in the truck’s bed.

I watched as he drove away and exhaled, briefly closing my eyes. I would walk home. I preferred that to another nail-biting ride.

My legs shook as I stood up, making me put a hand against the tree for balance. I sucked in deep breaths and was relieved at being alone. I started to walk down the driveway to the road.