Chapters (68)
- Dedication
- Title Page
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Copyright
So he was going to have to move her from the bed to the car without anyone seeing him. Luckily, his cabin was far enough down the road that he thought he could manage that without being seen.
Yeah, except everything else had gone to shit so far. Why not that?
As he ran back to the cabin, he felt his eyes misting up with tears.
“Everything is against me,” he muttered to himself. “God hates me! Everyone hates me!”
As he ran, he wiped tears from his eyes. The cool night wind coming off Cape Cod Bay chilled his dampened cheeks.
“Not fair,” he said again. “Not fair!”
While he still wanted to kill the Big Baby, he wanted to do something even worse, if that were possible, to that asshole with the rifle who had ruined everything.
He stopped to dig a tissue from his pocket and dab the tears that continued to puddle from his eyes.
All he’d ever wanted was to be somebody.
No, not just somebody. He wanted to be somebody better. Somebody better than his brother and his sister. Somebody better than his judgmental father. Somebody who made a difference, somebody who would be talked about for years to come.
He’d come so close to that.
He felt an aching sadness wash over him. What he wished, right now, was that he was home. That he was curled up on the couch in the basement under a blanket, knees pulled up to his chest, in front of the TV.
He could cry all he wanted then.
But he couldn’t do that now. He had to keep moving.
A thought occurred to him.
Maybe they wouldn’t catch him for the things he’d already done. He’d harbored a sense of inevitability up to now, figuring that sooner or later the police would close in on him. It was the whole reason he’d brought Carol Beakman with him. A hostage had seemed like a good idea at the time.
But if he got in that van right now and drove through the night, he could be hundreds of miles from here by tomorrow. He could ditch the van, steal a car, and keep on going. Two or three days from now, he could be on the other side of the country. He could find a place to hide out while he figured out his next step. Figure out a way to change his identity. Alter his looks. Get some kind of job where you got paid in cash. It would be tough at first, but it sure beat the alternative of spending the rest of his life in prison.
Yeah, that was a plan.
But it raised another question.
What was he to do with the Beakman woman? Let her go? Leave her tied up in the cabin to be found by someone in a few days?