N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(39)

And the worst part is that I’m not sure if I should even tell her. Suddenly, I don’t know a goddamn thing when a second ago, I was so sure of everything. That’s why I feel so protective of her. That’s why I feel so drawn to her when I’ve only felt that way about one person before. I’m trying to sort through too many colliding thoughts when my hand connects with something hard under the comforter beside me. Lenny notices the lump in the bed and crosses the room.

I feel the shape over the blanket and instantly know what it is.

“What the hell is that?” Lenny asks, pulling down the corner of the comforter.

“Wait, Lenny, don’t,” I warn, but it’s too late. I leap from the bed and cover her mouth because she’s screaming.

I don’t blame her. If it was the first severed head I saw, I’d probably be screaming, too.

“Everything all right up there?” booms the deputy from down in the foyer.

“Everything’s fine. We’ll be down in a minute,” I shout back.

“How about the young lady?” he presses. I hear slow, tentative footsteps on the stairs.

I release her mouth slowly. I whisper in her ear, “Answer him so he doesn’t come up here,” I instruct. “Can you do that?” She nods against my hand, and I release her fully.

She takes a deep breath. “I’m fine. Sorry, about the scream. A spider crawled across my foot, and I flipped out.”

The officer chuckles, and thankfully, the sound of his retreating footsteps follows. “My wife does the same shit. She hates spiders,” he says. “Finish up. Make it quick.”

After the downstairs door shuts again, I race to the closet and grab the largest suitcase I can find. I haul it from the top of the closet and bring it over to the bed, setting it on the floor. I gather the head up with the comforter and sheets and shove all of it inside the bag. The mattress is stained with blood. “Do you know who this is?” I ask.

Lenny is shaking, staring unblinking at the head. She nods. Her lip trembles.

“Who?” I order as I zip up the suitcase.

“It’s…his name is Don Sheffield. We called him Sheff. He is…was Jared’s business partner.”

“You got any bleach?” I ask. She points down the hall. I race to the second-floor laundry room and search for the bleach. When I come back, Lenny is in the same position as before. I douse the bloodstain with as much bleach as it will soak up then flip the mattress. I grab fresh sheets from the linen closet and cover it back up. I toss the comforter back over the top and grab Lenny’s hand.

“Why was there a head in my bed?” She asks, her hand shaking in mine as I tug her down the stairs to the front door.

“It’s not just a head. It’s a fucking warning.”

Oddly enough, it’s not the head that’s got me so rattled.

It’s figuring out the reason I feel so protective of her. The reason why I want her in a way I’ve only wanted one other person in my entire life.

Lenny Leary isn’t just Lenny Leary.

She’s the girl from the bridge.

She’s Poe.

And she’s alive.





Chapter Fifteen





LENNY





Again, I am way too sober for this.

We haven’t said much since getting back in the car, but something’s shifted in Nine. I’m sure of it.

After a quick stop to toss the head into the swamp, suitcase and all, we’re back on the road.

Because that’s what normal is for Nine.

“This is like a regular Tuesday for you, isn’t it? Tossing heads to the gators. Grenades. Shoot-outs.”

Nine growls and stares out the windshield. “Yeah, everything is like a regular Tuesday, except for you.”

“I’m the irregular factor here? That’s a thought.” I feel crazed and heated and confused. I’m rocking in the passenger seat, staring out the window.

Cope, Lenny. Cope.

I press my nails into my palms, but it’s not enough. I can’t process everything that’s going on right now. In order to deal and not break down in hysterics, I’m filing SEVERED HEAD in the back of my brain under the category TO BE DEALT WITH AT A LATER TIME.

I take a few deep breaths, and the panic subsides enough for me to stop rocking. Filing complete.

We pass a rundown trailer park and then turn onto a road that looks like Main Street USA lined with renovated Old Florida style bungalows. Each of the small houses is lined with a white picket fence like something you’d see on a family-friendly sitcom from the fifties, but this is in color and real and I’m finding myself smiling at the young boy chasing a golden retriever in his yard. The elderly woman setting a pie on her porch to cool. The older couple sharing iced-tea in their rockers.

“I worked in real estate for years, and even I didn’t know places like this existed on this side,” I say. “It’s really beautiful.” Realizing how that came out, I cringe. “Sorry, I sound like a snob.”

Nine stares out at the road ahead. “No, you sound like someone who hasn’t spent a lot of time over here. Ignorance isn’t hatred. You can fix ignorance with information.”

“How about hatred?” I ask, “How do you fix that?”