Chapter 7
Cade
I hear him before I see him.
Boots, deadweight on the sun-baked dirt, moving fast but not hurried. The cadence is straight out of a training manual. There’s a voice with them, too, echoing through the skin of the barn like it’s got nothing to fear from walls. I go still, every muscle burning cold as my brain does the math.
Is this man going to try to kill me? Did she tell him about me?
I’m lying flat against the floor in what’s left of the barn’s intact front section, the Gatorade jug pressed into the curve of my hip, the Tylenol cradled in my palm. The light through the wall is warped, blotted out by a shape coming up on the near side.
“—said there was something in the barn,” the man’s voice carries. “What exactly was it you thought needed your attention out here, Sadie?”
I don’t hear a reply at first. Then, after a hitch, the woman answers, “Flint got worked up. Could’ve been anything. I told you, Clayton, I looked. There wasn’t anything.”
Sadie. That’s her name. And for some reason I can’t put my finger on, it feels important. Or sentimental. Or something.
“Why you running to keep up with me?” Clayton sneers. “You got something to hide in here?”
“No, sir,” her words come out barely audible.
“Yeah, right.”
Sadie says nothing else.
Clayton, the sheriff and husband, I assume, doesn’t keep pressing her. He’s probably good at this. He lets the silence do the work, lets the woman sweat or stew or whatever it is she’s conditioned to do.
Then he starts up again.
“House like this,” he muses, “you can hear a mouse shit in the walls. Don’t need a dog to know when someone’s up to no good.”
There’s a pause, another inhale through gritted teeth. I picture her jaw set, the fine lines creased at the corners of her eyes, the way her hands probably ball up at her sides.
But it’s not fear I hear. It’s something meaner. Resentment, maybe?
My own hands flex, a phantom memory of a rifle grip in my palm. I drag the Gatorade closer and run my thumb along the cap, making it into a makeshift weapon if need be.
I could use this. I’ve killed with less.
The man’s steps crunch closer. Maybe thirty yards, less. I scan the lines of sight between the feed sacks, the way the light and dark slice the space. I could get the drop on him, if I needed to. I could get in close and, even on a bad leg, take a decent chunk out of his windpipe.
But something in the back of my skull tells me not to. I’m not in any shape to do a second round. And if I kill a sheriff, they’re all coming for me.
And maybe her, too. Not that it matters.
Still, it has me up and moving, my supplies tucked under my arm.
I pull myself deeper into the barn, past where the roof’s gone to shit and the sky slashes the floor with gray light.
The pain in my calf is excruciating, arcing up my thigh and into my spine, but I make the move clean.
I wedge myself behind the collapsed beam, out of sight from the door, and go silent.
From here, the man’s voice is closer, but still not in the barn. He’s standing just outside, talking to Sadie like he’s giving a debrief.
“You got to keep the dog in check,” he warns. “You want to keep him, you manage him. I won’t have it raising hell every time a wind gusts.”
“Yes, sir.”
I wince at her response, my stomach feeling sick.
“You know, the judge called me this morning,” he drawls. “He wanted to know if you’re keeping up with your therapy requirements.”
“You have to drive me to town—”
“Hmm.” Another boot scuff. “Right. Well, you need to find something virtual, because I ain’t got time to be chauffeuring you around town.”
“Okay, I’ll need my computer back.” Her tone is deathly calm, not a single tremble.
“I’ll get it down for you this evening.” Clayton pauses for a moment. “You’re lucky,” he says, quieter now. “I’m the only reason you’re not in a cell right now. Only reason you get to wake up every day in this house. If you can’t handle that, you tell me now, and we’ll revisit the arrangement.”
Her answer comes out, a hair above a whisper. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” he says, and there’s an ugly fondness there, like the way some guys talk to their favorite hunting dog. “You’re smart. You don’t try to make yourself into something you’re not.”
I want to hate him. But mostly I just feel the exhaustion of having heard it all before, in different places, with different weapons, but always the same math underneath.
He moves away from her, toward the barn, his footsteps louder. I flatten myself tighter to the darkness, silent as a corpse.
The door squeals on its rollers. A cold rectangle of day slices through the barn, bright enough to paint every dust mote gold. He enters, boots heavy on the hard dirt.
I don’t breathe. Don’t move.
He paces through the front section. He walks the long axis of the barn, checking every corner and crevice probably. I track him with my ears, not my eyes. His weight, his steps, the way he lingers at the edges of light before moving on. He doesn’t come all the way back to the collapse.
And I don’t understand why. He didn’t do a thorough search. But maybe it was just for show. Or maybe he wants me to know he was here.
I push the paranoia away. He just did it to fuck with Sadie.
He leaves, shutting the door with a bang.
I stay where I am. Every muscle is taut, ready for something else, but nothing happens. The only sound is the wind through the cracks and my own unsteady breath.
Outside, the conversation has shifted. I catch pieces, not all.
“You finish the work I left for you?” That’s him.
“Yes.” Her voice.
“You eat today?” Flat, impersonal.
“Yes, sir.”
Another silence.
“I’ll be out late tonight. We’re going to Slicks. You’ll have dinner done and put away in the fridge waiting for me.”
“Of course,” she says.
“Good.”
The porch creaks as he passes, then fades into nothing. I listen for the truck, the engine turning over. I listen until the only sound left is the wind and a dog barking in the far distance.
I wait another few minutes, then shift my body fully upright, using the beam as leverage. It takes everything I have. The world swims for a second, black at the edges, then comes back into focus.
And the barn door rolls open again. I peer out, but don’t move toward it.
Sadie appears at the opening, alone. She carries something wrapped in a paper towel, and sets it on the dirt just inside, not looking anywhere but at her own boots.
I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. She just leaves the sandwich and turns, walking back out into the heat and letting the door roll back shut.
I don’t call after her. I just sit in the silence and stare at the food, thinking about what kind of story gets you house arrest in the middle of nowhere, what kind of man leaves fingerprints on a woman and still expects her to be grateful, and whether there’s any point in running when every road leads back to the same rotten barn.
The sandwich is white bread and peanut butter. I open it, hands shaking, and eat it in three bites.