“This one is great, too. Soloman loved you.” Dad bought the horse the year they moved to the farm. He said he had to give her something to keep her busy. Otherwise, she constantly begged to go here or there, and he didn’t have the time or money.
“He’s getting used to riding beside the river. Doesn’t spook like he did at first. You’re right, by the way, bareback is a totally different experience. We’re both getting used to that, too.”
Birds chirped in the tree above where Mom rested in her grave. A slight breeze cooled my tired body. I tilted my head back and soaked in the sunshine. The warmth made me drowsy.
Just as I was about to doze off, Mom whispered, “Be careful,” then brushed the hair from my eyes. I smiled, happy to feel her touch. Or was that just the wind?
At the end of our conversation, I poured her teaaround the base of the roses I planted near her tree. The plant had grown to over three feet tall in just two months. The blooms made a perfect centerpiece for the table; I picked one stem every night and put it in a vase with fresh water.
On my walk to the house, I hoped there would be enough sunlight to have dinner on the back porch with Mom. At the end of the summer, the sun began to set earlier every night. Winter was coming and I needed to start preparing.
RED AND BLUElights flashed from the middle of the driveway. The SUV door closed, and a police officer strolled to the front door. He took his time getting to the steps, gazing from left to right, surveying the yard around the house.
With one hand rested on his pistol he seemed to be on guard, as if someone had tipped him off to the killer who lived on this property.
From my vantage point behind the closed barn door, I watched him through a crack where the trim had rotted away after last year’s wet winter. He climbed the stairs and turned in a circle, investigating the open space between trees along the driveway.
Once his gaze landed on the barn, he stopped. I couldn’t make out his facial features through the fallingdusk, but I swear he smiled.
Even though I had been certain I was incognito, I still flattened against the wall, out of sight. Metal garbage cans lined the wall beside me, and buckets hung from the rafters. Careful to lace my way between them without making a sound, I held my breath.
Thoughts rambled around my head and exited in the form of questions to the universe.Why is he here? Who called the police? Do they know what I did?I shook the absurd ideas away.No, that’s impossible. Isn’t it?
The screen door to the house opened with a squeak—I made a mental note to bring the WD-40 in from the pumphouse—then he raised his hand to knock on the door. When no one answered, of course, he backed away and let the door slam behind him.
Not expecting the sound, which resembles a gunshot, I jumped. Buckets clanked together above my head, and I tripped into the garbage cans. Angry that I made such a ruckus, I cursed under my breath and kicked the stall door. Chickens stirred; their clucking added to the noise.
“Shit.” I shimmied to the stall, closed the door with a thud, and huddled in one corner. The same corner where I hid when my dad hit my mom. My view was blocked by walls; I had no idea if or when the cop would enter the barn.
Did he hear all the noise I made?My heart beatfaster at the unknown.Where was he? Is he coming to get me? Does he know what I did?Adrenaline pumped through my veins, and I grew hot.
The officer must have heard the commotion; he pushed the sliding barn door open and called into the darkness. “Jake Knight? Are you in there?”
Shit. He knows my name. Of course he does, jackass. Why else would he be here? He knows you’re a murderer.
“Son, come on out. I just want to ask you a couple questions. I tried to reach your parents, but no one has seen them all summer. Just looking for some answers.”
He knows.I lifted up on my toes just enough to peer over the stall wall into the large open area of the barn. The police officer had pulled his pistol and held it at arm’s length in front of him. Slow, methodical steps told me he was on guard, expecting me to attack.
Rusted latches held the stall door to the pasture closed. The last time Soloman used this stall was almost three months ago. Lots of things have changed since my parents died. The barn had quickly become off-limits to the animals; if I couldn’t enter it to care for them, neither would they.
My hands shook as I twisted and jimmied the latch. The more it rattled, the more I panicked. Finally, it clanked open. I pushed my way through the small opening and ran into the night.
A shot rang out from behind me. My shoulder erupted with pain, and I screamed. A second shot sounded just before the outside of my thigh burned. I was hit. I had always wondered what it would feel like to be shot. It hurt more than I imagined. All the animals my dad had killed while hunting must have gone through the same experience.
Trees provided cover as I ran toward the road. Even though bears were often spotted in the area, they were my last concern with the officer on site.
The Pass, as locals called this area of the Kenai Peninsula, offered many reasons to stay on alert, including cougars, moose, and giant mosquitos. Being chased by the cops was not on the list. Until now.
I had a choice to make: either run next door to the Madison place where they had an underground bunker I could lock myself inside or hide in the woods. Choice two didn’t seem feasible, so I decided to go to the Madison property. It would take at least thirty minutes to go the back way.
Last time I went to scope out the hiding place, because the police showing up was an absolute concern, the bridge had fallen into the riverbed. It was possible to climb into the ravine, but with such short notice I didn’t think to grab any climbing equipment; I might not have made it out on the other side. Therefore, I had to take the road.
Weeds had grown tall over the trails; I hadn’t taken care of them like Dad would have demanded if he had been around. When I slacked on any of the chores, like clearing the underbrush, he would remind me how useless I was.If I make it out of this, I’ll clear the trails over the weekend, I promise.I hated it when my dad was right.
Once I reached the main road, the pavement slapped the bottom of my shoes with every extended step. Only another half mile until the curve before the Madison’s.
It didn’t take long to lose my breath; I wasn’t in the best shape, even though I had lost twenty pounds over the summer. Stamina was never my strong point. Throbbing in my thigh caused me to limp. Running with one arm holding the other became awkward and slowed me down.
