Redemption Road(96)

Elizabeth thought about it, then gave him what he wanted. She would help him or not—she didn’t really know. But this was not the time to worry or plan. Crybaby was dying or dead, and as much as she wanted to know Adrian’s heart, what she really wanted was to breathe and be alone and grieve for the places of childhood. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

She eased the door closed but stopped at the end, watching through the crack as Adrian stared long in the mirror, then soaped his hands again, the water running red and pink and then clear. When it was done, he spread fingers on the sink and lowered his head until it was perfectly still. Bent as he was, he looked different yet the same, violent and held together and still somehow lovely. It was a foolish word—lovely—but that, too, came from childhood so she gave it a moment. He was lovely and undone, every tortured inch a mystery. Like the church, she thought, or Crybaby’s heart or the souls of wounded children. But childhood was not all good, nor were its lessons. Good came with the bad, as dark did with light and weakness with strength. Nothing was simple or pure; everyone had secrets.

What were Adrian’s secrets?

How bad were they?

She watched a moment more, but there was no insight in the filthy room with the metal mirror and the dim, greenish light. Maybe he’d killed two men in the drive of his old farm, just shot them dead and left them there. Maybe he was a good man, and maybe not.

Elizabeth lingered, hoping for some kind of sign.

She left when he started crying.

*

When the door opened again, Elizabeth was beside the shuttered pumps in front of the old station, watching taillights fade a mile down the road. “Are you okay?”

Another car appeared in the distance, and Adrian shrugged.

She watched the lights swell and spill across his face. “You need to leave,” she said. “Leave town. Leave the county.”

“Because of what just happened?”

“That’s part of it. There’s more.”

“What do you mean?”

She told him about the discovery of another body on the altar, and of the graves beneath the church. It took some time. He struggled with it. So did she.

“They’re looking for you,” she said. “That’s why they went to the farm, to arrest you if they could.”

He used a thumb to massage one knuckle, then another, did the same with the other hand. “How old are the graves?”

“Nobody knows yet, but it’s the big question.”

“And the one on the altar?”

“Lauren Lester. I met her once. She was nice.”

“The name means nothing to me.” Adrian scrubbed both palms across his face. He felt numb and cold and disconnected. Two women murdered since his release. Nine more bodies found beneath the church. “This can’t be happening.”

“It is.”

“But why? Why now?”

Elizabeth waited for him to speak of conspiracy and the beer can, and how maybe this was part of some elaborate setup. To her relief, he said nothing. This was too big for that. There were too many bodies. “What about the guards?”

“Do you think I killed them?”

“I think you’re troubled.”

Adrian smiled because troubled seemed such a small word. “I didn’t kill them.”

“Should I take your word?”

She was small on the roadside, unflinching in the way any good cop should be. Adrian walked to the car and opened the trunk. Olivet was inside.

“Why did you bring him here?”

He dragged the guard out; dropped him on the tarmac. Elizabeth was alarmed, but Adrian was unswayed. He pulled the weapon from his waistband, sank into a crouch, and watched Olivet stare at the revolver as if to read the future. Adrian understood that, too, that fascination.

“I wanted to kill him,” Adrian said.

“But you didn’t.”

He saw her pistol from the corner of his eye and smiled because she’d come so far from the frightened girl she’d once been. The gun was unholstered, but low and steady. She was steady.

“Answer a question,” he said.

“If you give me the gun.”

“The men who died in the basement. Did they not deserve to die?”

“They did.”

“Do you feel regret?”

“No.”

“And if I told you this was no different?” He put the gun against Olivet’s chest and saw Elizabeth’s rise beside him.

“I can’t let you kill him.”

“Would you shoot me to save this man?”

“Let’s not find out.”

Adrian studied Olivet’s face, the fear and bruising and the sunken eyes. It wasn’t the daughter that saved him at the farm. It wasn’t blue lights or sirens. Adrian could have killed him and gotten away. Even now his finger felt the curve of the trigger. There was a reason though, and it still mattered.

“If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead already.”

Adrian lowered the hammer and placed the revolver on the ground. Elizabeth stooped to retrieve it, but he kept his attention on Olivet, leaning close until their faces were inches apart. “I want you to give the warden a message.”

“Yes.” Olivet tried to swallow, but choked. “Anything.”