The Overnight Guest(10)

“Go ahead,” Josie said, “shoot your foot off. I don’t care.” She turned her back on them and strode to the truck to wait for the sound of more gunshots. A boom erupted, and an excited squeal came from Becky.

Cutter snatched the shotgun from her hand. “My turn.” He loaded the gun and lifted it to his shoulder, but instead of aiming at the bucket, he pointed toward the trees, slowly moving the gun from left to right. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed just before pulling the trigger. There was a bang, a rustle of leaves, and then the dull thud of something hitting the ground.

“Eww,” Becky said. “You shot a bird. Why’d you do that?”

They were too far away to see exactly what kind of bird the bullet struck, but it was good-sized and black. Maybe a crow or a turkey vulture.

“Trash bird, anyway,” Cutter said. “Hey, you coming out later?” he asked.

Ethan cut a glance toward his sister. “Naw, I’m grounded.”

“When did that ever stop you?” Cutter laughed. He turned to Josie and Becky. “How about you? You want to come out and play tonight?”

“No, thank you,” Josie said, rolling her eyes. Becky blushed. Cutter laughed, but his face reddened beneath his brown tan.

Becky rubbed her shoulder where the butt of the gun recoiled.

“Now that’s going to leave a bruise,” Cutter said. “Maybe Ethan will kiss it all better for you.”

“Shut up, Cutter,” Ethan said, grabbing the gun back from him.

“Can I try again?” Becky asked.

Again, Ethan positioned himself behind Becky, and she cast a shy smile back toward Ethan. He rested his chin on her shoulder and helped her take aim. That’s when William Doyle slowly drove past them in his truck.

“Oh, fuck, it’s my dad,” Ethan said, grabbing his shotgun from Becky.

“Gotta go,” Cutter said, jogging toward his truck. “I’ll see you later.”

As William made a sharp U-turn, Cutter pulled away and sped off down the road. William pulled up next to Ethan’s truck, stepped from his vehicle, and slammed the door. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“We were just coming back to the house,” Ethan said as if there was nothing wrong.

“Jesus Christ,” William said through gritted teeth as he strode toward Ethan. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“It’s no big deal,” Ethan said. “We were careful.”

“Careful?” William repeated, a red flush creeping up his neck. “I’ve told you about letting others shoot your gun. It’s not safe. Josie, Becky,” he said, turning to the girls. “Get in my truck.”

“I’m sorry,” Becky said, tears filling her eyes. Josie clutched her hand.

“Jesus, Dad,” Ethan said. “You’re scaring her.”

“Give me the gun,” William said, lowering his voice.

“No,” Ethan said, clutching more tightly to the shotgun. “It’s mine.”

William looked as if he wanted to rip the gun from Ethan’s hands but knew that was how misfires happened. Instead, William strode to Ethan’s truck, opened the door, yanked the keys from the ignition, and stuffed them in his pocket.

“Josie, Becky, get in my truck, now,” William ordered, and the girls rushed to climb inside. Ethan shook his head and began to follow, but William held up his hand to stop him.

Ethan laughed and then realized his father wasn’t joking. “You want me to walk all the way home?” he asked.

“That’s the only way you are going to get anywhere for a very long time,” William said.

“We have to leave my truck here?” Ethan asked in disbelief.

“Damn right,” William said. “Your mom and I will pick it up later. Buckle up,” William said to the girls.

Ethan lifted his chin in defiance and looked his father square in the eyes. William’s fingers twitched, and for a moment, it looked as if he was going to hit Ethan. Instead, he brushed roughly past his son and stepped up into the cab of his truck.

William put the truck into Drive and drove about fifty feet down the road when an explosion filled the air. He hit the brakes and leaned his head out the window. Ethan was looking directly at them. In his hand, he held the shotgun, a grim smile on his face.

William swore under his breath and began driving again. Ethan cradled the shotgun in his arms and started walking. Josie and Becky turned to look out the back window and watched Ethan as they drove away, getting smaller and smaller until he was just a speck on the gravel road and then disappeared.

Less than eight hours later, William and Lynne Doyle were dead, and Ethan and Becky were missing.



5


Present Day

Wylie clapped a cold, chapped hand to her face and bit back a scream. A child. A child was lying in her front yard. She trudged through the snow toward him and instantly lost her footing, pitched forward, and broke the fall with her right arm. She felt the bone give and waited for the snap. It didn’t come.

The flashlight slid across the ice, spinning like a roulette wheel until it finally stopped, its beam illuminating the unmoving child. He glistened like an ice sculpture.

Wylie lay there, just a few feet from the child’s face, momentarily stunned. His eyes were closed, his thumb in his mouth. A small river of blood trickled from his head. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing.