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Back Atlanta Burns Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication Page
  4. CONTENTS
  5. PART ONE: SHOTGUN GRAVY
  6. Sometimes she wakes…
  7. CHAPTER ONE
  8. CHAPTER TWO
  9. CHAPTER THREE
  10. CHAPTER FOUR
  11. CHAPTER FIVE
  12. CHAPTER SIX
  13. CHAPTER SEVEN
  14. CHAPTER EIGHT
  15. CHAPTER NINE
  16. CHAPTER TEN
  17. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  18. PART TWO: BAIT DOG
  19. CHAPTER TWELVE
  20. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  25. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  26. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY
  28. PART THREE: THE FARM
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. PART FOUR: KISSING FIRE
  38. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  43. PART FIVE: BAIT GIRL
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  46. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  47. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  48. EPILOGUE: THE MESSAGE
  49. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  50. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

And then the woman descends into the kind of crying that’s like a waterfall—once you go over, takes a long time to climb back up. It’s all hitching sobs and shaking shoulders and murmured words of shame through blubbering, spit-slick lips.

Atlanta doesn’t know what to say. Part of her wants to hug her mother; another part of her wants to cuff her upside the head.

Instead, she just goes and makes a call.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Atlanta sits across from the girl with the thousand-yard stare. Neither says much of anything. The girl’s hand trembles over a manila folder. She starts to slide the folder to Atlanta, then stops abruptly and pulls it back.

“We should talk payment,” Jenny says. “Before you . . . before you see this.”

“Sure. Okay.” Atlanta looks around, at Jenny’s kitchen. Well, her family’s. Atlanta walked the long trek over here, across town in the heat, up Gallows Hill, and into the nest of McMansions that form this neighborhood. Atlanta can see that this kitchen is as big as, if not bigger than, the entire downstairs of her own crooked farmhouse. It’s all shiny granite and fingerprint-free stainless steel, lit by a light fixture that looks like a dangle of crystal teardrops. Above her hangs a pot-and-pan rack featuring cookware clean and spotless and surely never used. It’s then that Atlanta comes to a number, and a crazy number, at that:

“A thousand bucks.”

Jenny hesitates, but then nods. “I can make that happen.”

Holy shit. Okay.

It won’t buy out the mortgage, but it’ll cover a couple payments. Time to print up some business cards that say Pet Detective on ’em.

“You think your dog was murdered,” Atlanta says.

“Sailor.”

“What?”

“Sailor. Her name was Sailor. Like Sailor Moon.” Jenny clears her throat. “She was a Norwich terrier.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Here.”

She again slides the folder to Atlanta. This time all the way. But the hand lingers, still shaking. Staring out with those empty eyes. Sandblasted by trauma and sadness. Grief-struck as if grief were a hard-swung baseball bat.

Atlanta opens the folder, and it’s then she understands.

Way the toilet flushes, it’s like a vacuum on a rocket ship. A powerful voosh and Atlanta’s puke is taken away, leaving behind a sparkling porcelain bowl once more. A bowl rimmed by a puffy taupe toilet seat.

Heated, if one likes. There’s a button and everything.

She doesn’t. Instead she leans back against the wall, hair matted to her forehead.

The folder. That dog.

In her mind’s eye, flashes of white and red. White fur. And then blood. All that blood.