Come to Me Quietly(145)

“Sit!” Jared shouted, his own voice something he didn’t recognize.

Joe nodded slowly and shuffled over to the kitchen chair with his hands held up in surrender. He sat down, eyeing Jared with the pity he hated. The man’s movements were deliberate as he clasped his hands on his lap. “You don’t have to do this, Jared.”



But he did. He had to, even though involving someone else was never supposed to be a part of it. Jared hated scaring this man who’d only ever been kind to him. He’d just been left without a choice.

Keeping the gun pointed in Joe’s direction, Jared frantically ransacked the drawers in the kitchen, leaving them hanging wide open when he didn’t find what he was looking for. He groaned in relief when he finally did. The large drawer was crammed full of junk, pens and coupons and random crap. And a small twine of rope.

Jared crossed to the man and edged behind the chair. “Give me your hands.”



Joe hesitated.

“Do it!” Jared yelled, nudging him in the side with the barrel of the gun.

The old man gave in and dropped his arms to his sides. Jared crouched down low and balanced the gun on his thighs. His breaths came all shallow and severe as he began to wrap the rope around Joe’s wrists, securing them tight at the base of the chair.

“Jared, please don’t do this,” he begged.

Sweat beaded on Jared’s upper lip. He swiped the back of his hand over it. He blinked hard, trying to clear the fog clouding his mind. He cinched the rope and Joe yelped.

Shit.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jared promised through his agony, f*cking hating every second of what he was doing. But there was nothing else he could do.

Jared loosened the binding so at least it wouldn’t rub.

“You know that’s not what I’m concerned about,” Joe said.

Humorless laughter freed itself from Jared’s blackened spirit, from the deepest recess where his corruption lay. “You don’t need to worry about me, old man. I’m going exactly where I’m supposed to be.”



Standing, Jared dug the car keys from Joe’s pocket and fled into the garage. He smacked his palm against the garage door opener. The door slowly lifted just as Jared slid into the driver’s seat of the oversized four-door sedan. He tossed his backpack to the passenger’s seat and tucked the gun underneath it.

Nausea slammed him the second he was behind the wheel. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he floundered with the keys. Finally he managed to slip the key into the ignition. He turned it over, threw it in reverse, and gunned the accelerator. He backed out onto the street, shifted into gear. The car swerved as he rammed on the gas.

He just had to get out of this neighborhood. Away from the memories. Away from everything that mattered.

He didn’t want to do this here.

But those memories chased him, tormented him as he aimlessly roamed the streets. Where the f*ck was he supposed to go? Scrubbing his hand over his face, Jared tried to wake himself up, to focus, to see through the permanent daze that had taken him hostage.

For hours he drove as the anxiety ratcheted high, lifted, and spun. Paranoia was setting in. Soon they’d come looking for him, and he had to get this done. His eyes traveled the streets, searching for a place to hide, but nothing felt right. A choked cry locked in his throat when he realized he was circling back around to the neighborhood. Fucking drawn. Hysterical laughter rocketed from his mouth. Was this some kind of cruel, sick joke?

He avoided the intersection because he just couldn’t go there. He made a U-turn and then a quick right onto the street bordering the neighborhood. Jared cut left across the street. The car bounced and jerked as he forced it up over the curb, the tires spinning until they found traction on the dirt. The field was vacant, dark. Tall grasses grew up through the middle. The headlights sliced over the field, illuminating the place that had always meant so much to him, where he’d spent his days playing back when he was a child, when things were good and joy wasn’t a vague impression of the past.