He looked up the street once more. There was a pandemonium of sirens coming. He picked up the zippered bag and walked to where he’d left his vehicle. After he opened the trunk, he stuck the shotgun inside. He patted the top of the heavy-gauge aluminum box with his palm. Then he closed the trunk.

He wiped his boots in the snow to get the blood off. When he got in the Land Rover, he cleaned his face and hands with a sanitary wipe from the console. Then he left.

XXI

The men in the F-150 came. They watched Jack climb the motel stairs and pass by each room. They watched him stop and open the door. They watched him go inside.

I saw all of these things.

I didn’t leave.

I tried to warn him.

They drove north along Route 20 toward Ashton. Riding in silence. Snowflakes hitting the windshield. After a while Ava whispered, “Where’s Matty?”

Jack didn’t look at her.

“Are you hurt?”

He didn’t answer. He laid his head back onto the seat, looking at the road. Trying to take breaths. His coat was covered in gore—his hands streaked with it.

“Talk to me,” she said.

He turned his face on the headrest and gazed at her. A separateness engulfing him. As if he looked at her through several feet of water. Gleam of light, sharp cold. Blood driven by heartbeats throbbing in his chest. You cannot bear the truth.

“You’re his daughter.”

She looked at him. Just looked.

“You’re his fucking daughter,” he said.

She hit the brakes and turned off the highway onto a deserted plowed road. Fallen barn. Snow deep in the side ditches. She sped over jarring ruts and across a field and slid to a stop at the top of a ridge. A grim white plain stretched for miles.

Dead bracken. Wind moving in currents over the road.

She looked at him. Angry, afraid. “Where’s Matty?”

“Don’t you know?”

She shook her head, confused. “I don’t know—”

“Tell me where he is.”

She stared at him. Her volutions of hair snarled in kinks and twists. Her gaze fierce. Her eyes brimming. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t lie, Ava. Not to me.”

The car idled. She was about to cry. It meant nothing to him.

“Say something,” he said. “Tell the truth. For once.”

She shut her eyes.

He felt an awful burst of hate for her. “He has Matty! Because of you.”

“Don’t you say that,” she said. “Don’t you say it.”

“Where is he?”

She was shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

“You’re a liar.”

Gray light. A thin wail of wind. She opened her eyes but didn’t look at him. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry.”

“I told you when we met. I said to stay away from me.”