Racing the Light (Elvis Cole #19; Joe Pike #8)(19)

They opened the trunk and lifted out something large and heavy. Then an arm dangled free, and Jared realized they were lifting a body.

The men carried their burden to the edge of the slope and heaved it over the side. Jared heard one of the men grunt with their effort, and the snapping of brush as the heavy weight rolled downhill. The two men immediately returned to their car. They did not turn on their headlights. Their taillights did not glow. Their dark car disappeared into the shadows of the canyon, and they were gone.

Jared stood motionless. His heart slammed and he did not breathe. His head buzzed with a high-pitched whine. He wondered if the person they’d thrown into the brush was still alive. He wanted to see and help if he could. They might need help. They might be dying.

Jared did not move.

Jared spoke aloud.

“Go see. Help.”

He tried to move, but his body was filled by the whine.

“Jared. Do something. Find a ranger. Get help.”

The whine became a maelstrom of rushing thoughts.

The police might blame him. They might think he was responsible and lock him in a hospital and fill his head with chips and chemicals.

Above him, the water tank creaked.

Jared lurched sideways, and shouted.

“Leave me alone! I didn’t do it. I didn’t see it. I’m not even here.”

Jared stumbled back to his camp, and peered down at the empty road.

A whisper came from beside him.

I imagined it. There’s no car, no men, no body. It’s all in my head.

Jared nodded, agreeing.

“That’s right. I imagined it.”

The whisper was behind him.

Doesn’t matter. You’re sick. You’re a head case. You’ll be in trouble.

Jared clenched his eyes and pressed his palms to his temples.

“But I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t.”

Tell the police.

“I can’t! I’m scared!”

Do what’s right. You know what’s right.

Jared sat in the rocks and wrapped his arms over his head.

“Stop talking. Stop shouting. I can’t think.”

You’re pathetic. You’re worthless. You’re psycho.

“I’m scared!”

You saw what happened. You’re a witness.

“They’ll drug me. They’ll blame me and lock me up.”

The dead need you, Jared. Are you going to help?

Help?

Help?

“I need quiet. A quiet moment, is all. Please.”

The voices grew silent. Across the park, coyotes sang and yipped and yodeled.

Jared fell asleep again, but his sleep was plagued by terrible dreams and did not last.





PART TWO


   The Boy in the Box





11





Elvis Cole



A thin mist filled the canyon the next morning. The cat was in the kitchen when I went down. He was lying on his side in the middle of the floor with the hindquarters of a gopher nearby. He often brought home bits of squirrels, birds, and snakes. Once he showed up with an eighteen-inch rattlesnake. The snake’s head was missing, but the body coiled and uncoiled as it died. The cat dropped it at my feet and seemed proud. He was a generous cat.

I got a couple of paper towels and picked up the gopher.

“Yum. Thank you.”

The cat rolled onto his back and looked at me upside down.

I said, “Listen. Lucy and Ben are coming. I want you on good behavior, okay? No growling or hissing.”

He rolled right-side up and stretched.

“No body parts.”

I tossed the gopher, cleaned the floor, and went onto the deck. I warmed myself with twelve sun salutes, then knocked out a hundred push-ups, two hundred crunches, and two sets of sixty dips. The deck’s corners where the rails met were perfect dip bars. The PT left me tight, so I stretched again and worked through a series of tae kwon do katas, kicking and punching and spinning from one end of the deck to the other, back and forth until my muscles burned and sweat speckled the deck. The physical effort was intense, focused, and left me rippling with energy. The endorphin rush was excellent.

I showered and dressed, put on a pot of coffee, and inspected the guest room. After my last guest, I had stripped the bed, vacuumed the room, and put fresh sheets and pillowcases on the bed. The bed had not been touched since, but I stripped it again. When I was in Ranger School, a sergeant named Zim inspected our area with microscope eyes. If he found a thread out of place, he upended our bunks, raked our belongings out of our lockers, and screamed like a maniac as we scrambled to make our area Ranger Ready and Good to Go. I put on fresh linen, squared the corners, and tightened the spread. The spread was so taut when I finished an ant could have used it as a trampoline. Sergeant Zim would have been proud.

I tackled their bathroom next. When the bath was good to go, I shut the light and checked the guest room again. The room didn’t need to be checked, but I found myself in the door. A framed photo of Ben and me at Lake Arrowhead stood on a chest. I used to keep it on a shelf in the living room, but I had moved it. In the picture, Ben was still small. We were standing in shallow water at the edge of the lake with me holding Ben overhead, both of us laughing. Lucy had taken the photograph. I wondered if the picture would make her uncomfortable. I thought about moving it back to the living room, but after a while I told myself I was being silly and left it.