Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- 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
- PART THREE
- 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
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Eddy thought about that. “Brother, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
Danny smiled. “It’s easy enough. Just put one foot in front of the other.” Now both Danny and Eddy watched the yellow tape dance around the trailer. “Look, I can’t help you stay clean, Eddy, but you have to try. If you don’t, what you’re doing now will straight-up kill you. Or it’ll get you killed.”
“I know. I understand. I appreciate this.” Eddy held up the bag.
“Then don’t let it go to waste.”
Eddy opened the door and slid out, still holding the bag tight. “You guys better not have fucked up all my shit in there. I’m particular about how I keep my things.”
Danny really laughed this time. “Yeah, we could all see that. Good luck, Eddy. Remember, one foot in front of the other . . . and steer clear of those ghosts . . .”
Eddy stepped back so Danny could pull away, and knew that the deputy wasn’t talking about ghosts at all . . .
—
EDDY WAITED UNTIL DANNY WAS LONG GONE, and then put the bag on the trailer steps—he still hadn’t gone inside yet—and circled back out into the yard.
He avoided the yellow tape twisting and turning on the rebar, giving it a wide berth.
Caution, motherfucker, caution.
But here he was all the same.
He couldn’t remember where most of this junk had come from, except the old Admiral fridge. He’d grown up with it, but it had sat out here in the grass for years, getting rained on and occasionally dusted with snow. A knot of snakes had taken up in it once that Eddy had to burn out with some gasoline, and he put a couple of bullet holes in it one spring, goofing around. It was originally white, but now all discolored, like a tooth gone bad. Like Eddy’s own teeth. It even smelled bad, like it was still giving off the stink of spoiled food.
Memories. Ghosts.
But when he opened it, the door pulled back smooth, because he’d kept the hinges well oiled. And although the inside was dirty and filled with debris, it was all stuff he had carefully arranged there: paint cans and glass bottles and oil filters. He knelt to the bottom of the fridge, where he’d hollowed out a hole into the soil beneath it that he’d covered with some wood and greasy aluminum foil, and reached inside.
He found it easy: a Glad freezer bag still heavy with a quarter pound of meth, still all glassy and yellow—big, chunky shards—as well as the plastic-wrapped phone hidden underneath it that Injun fucker Apache had given him.
He thought it was funny: the freezer bag in the old broken fridge.