Excerpt
Prologue
Bill Summers didn't usually take walks at night, yet here he was at two-thirty in the morning, in the middle of nowhere. The sound of crickets filled the air, cool for late August. Fall was coming early.
The forest surrounded him, and by the time he reached the pond's edge, he knew what he would do. The answer was in his car a mile back, in the glove compartment.
He had been driving up county road 203, a narrow two-lane that weaved through southeastern Ohio. The road markings were barely visible, being torn away by time and the elements. Potholes had gone unrepaired. 203 was a bad road all right, and these days most people just took the interstate to get where they were going.
Bill had ignored the warning signs and drove without caution for eight miles until he parked halfway off the road. It hadn't broken down; it wasn't a flat tire. He wasn't even worried that another car might come along and hit it. He knew that out here at two-thirty on a Wednesday morning, he was the only man who existed. No one would be coming through for another four hours.
He held his emotions in as long as he could, the tightness at the base of his throat trying to keep them down. When his eyes filled with tears he slammed his hands against the steering wheel. He was being weak when he should be strong—again. He shouldn't be sitting here; he should be doing something, and he knew what that something was. You could call it revenge, you could call it justice, you might even call it redemption, but there was no other word for it—it was murder.
He thought the fresh air would do him some good, so he got out and started walking. The sound of his boots crunching into the gravel was amplified in the stillness of the night. He depended on the rhythm of his steps for his sanity, trying to clear his mind of what had already happened tonight.
By the time he reached the path, his mind stopped racing. She had led him down this path not long ago and now, without realizing it, Bill was going back to this place. This had been her secret place. He had been going here all along.
When he reached the pond, he turned 360 degrees. Everything was dark blue or black, and strangely motionless—there was no wind moving through the trees, and the water was stagnant. It seemed like this place had been frozen in time since he had last been here. There was one thing missing, though—Julianne. He had known, of course, that she would not be here, but he had come anyway. He didn't know where else to go. He needed a place to sort everything out, and this was perfect.
He sat at the water's edge, tossing stones into the pond. With each plunk, he got closer to convincing himself that there was no other way. He’d thrown only ten before he stood and headed for his car.
In the driver's seat now, Bill opened the glove box. He knew that once he touched it, this whole thing would seem more real somehow, and that by picking it up he would be putting a plan in motion that he wouldn't allow himself to stop. He knew if he thought about it too much, he would chicken out and then regret it. He’d been there before. He would have to do this quickly, without deliberation. He only hoped tonight would be like closing one’s eyes and ripping off a bandage, and that in the end, he would find it really hadn't been that bad after all.
He wrapped his fingers around the nickel-plated .38 snub nose and took it out of the glove compartment. He felt the weight of the gun in his hands, and opened the cylinder. There were five bullets in it. He tried to line it up so he would have five consecutive shots and realized he wasn't even sure which way the revolver rotated. He'd never owned a gun, never liked them, and never paid much attention to them.
And now he would use one to take another man's life.
He tried to imagine the bullet entering Dale's chest, and the wound it would cause. The dark red glistening wound. He imagined the satisfaction he would get from seeing his surprised look, and from seeing him drop to the floor.
He would never be completely satisfied, however. There was still one thing that none of this would change—Julianne was gone now, and there was nothing he could do to bring her back.
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