Chapter 4
What the actual fuck?
I don’t think, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m swinging the shovel, connecting it with his head.
“Shit. Shit!”
Why did I do that? The hit knocks him out, and I drop the shovel as his body goes limp in the passenger seat.
Obviously my decision-making is horrendous tonight, but I killed someone!
Or I thought I did? I should check if he’s got a pulse, not that it worked well the first time.
My hands were probably shaking too badly.
This time I put my whole hand on his neck because I have no idea where to actually check, and press in slightly.
Okay, definitely still beating. Shit, I should’ve checked there the first time and not his wrist.
Because he’s alive. How the hell did I miss that?
I’m a fucking idiot.
For a moment, I feel such extreme relief that I have to fight back tears again, because I didn’t actually kill someone. I’m not a murderer.
At least… Not yet.
Fuck.
The relief is quickly followed by an even more soul-crushing, completely overwhelming sense of dread.
I might not have killed this guy, but I did hit him with my truck hard enough that he was unconscious for who knows how long. And, when I thought I had killed him, I tried to cover up the crime. I moved the body, left the scene, and didn’t report anything.
I fucking kidnapped this guy instead of killing him.
The Salty Duck Bistro is on the Missouri side of Kansas City. Which means I drove across state lines to the middle of nowhere after buying a shovel with the intent to bury his fucking body.
Holy fucking shit.
I have to bite back a scream on the off chance anyone hears me, but I’m back to full-blown panic now.
The only thing worse than thinking I had killed him by accident… is now having to decide if I should do it on purpose.
“Goddamn it,” I hiss as I throw the shovel as hard as I can into the ground away from the truck, trying to release some of my frustration, but it doesn’t help.
Because if I’d killed him like I thought, there was a chance my plan would have worked if no one ever found the body. Or hell, even if they did, and I managed to not be connected. But now this guy is awake.
Or he was until I panicked and hit him in the head again.
Now that he’s alive, he’s going to be the one to turn me in, and I’ll absolutely be going to jail.
Unless I kill him, intentionally this time, and continue with my plan…
But, fuck, I don’t know if I can actually kill someone on purpose. Even if it’s my life and freedom on the line.
I wouldn’t say I’m an inherently violent person. I’ve never truly wanted to hurt anyone for no reason. And I don’t even know anything about this guy. What if he has a family? A wife and kids? He looks like he’s around my age, but some people I went to school with have kids already.
Ugh. This would be so much easier if I knew he was a bad person.
How am I supposed to decide if this guy’s life is worth more than mine?
Obviously I’m a selfish asshole for even considering the question, for deciding I have the authority for that kind of thing…
but it’s my future! The voice in my head is chanting that I should look out for myself now and go to therapy or church or something later.
He’s already passed out again. It’s not like he would even know what’s happening.
When I played football in high school and got a concussion, the doctor went on and on about how the real danger was in getting another one, that I could even die if I hit my head again.
This guy has now been hit in the head twice.
One more solid one is probably all it would take, right?
I direct my attention back at his expressionless face.
His eyes are closed, but he looks peaceful.
I realize that his jacket seems like it’s too big on him, which is probably why I can’t see any signs of whether he’s breathing or not, but he appears to be comfortable enough.
Maybe I can just hit him as hard as I can in the head with the shovel, and he’ll die right away, like this, at peace. He won’t even know.
I take a deep breath and pick up the shovel again.
I can do this. One quick hit and…
But what if I managed to fuck that up, too?
What if he wakes up again after I leave?
Oh my god, what if I bury him alive? That has to be one of the worst ways to die.
He would haunt me for sure. Especially if I don’t do it right and he escapes, then he’ll definitely turn me in, and I’ll go to jail forever.
Likely in a horrible federal prison because I live in a stupid city that’s on the fucking state line, and I crossed it.
The states will hand me over to the FBI, and I’ll never know freedom again.
I should just do it. Kill him, make sure he’s actually dead, ditch his body, and live the rest of my life as a free man.
I can totally do this.
I have to do this.
I wind up this time to add a bit more power since my panicked hit obviously wasn’t enough to kill him. I’m holding the shovel like a baseball bat and I’m just waiting to swing. Come on, you can do this.
My heart is racing faster than it ever has before. But my stupid body won’t move. I seem to be frozen instead of inflicting the blunt force trauma I want to be.
Come on. One swing. You got this.
I drop the shovel.
Fuck!
I can’t stop picturing a random woman with two kids wondering why their dad hasn’t come home.
Killing anyone is obviously awful. I never in a million years thought that I would be seriously considering taking another person’s life at all, but for some reason, I can’t move past the thought that it would be so much worse if there are kids relying on him.
Ugh, why is now the moment I decide not to be a selfish asshole?
But I know why. I saw how hard my mom worked growing up and raising me all by herself.
How hard Grant and Eric’s mom worked after their dad passed away.
I have no idea what we all would have done if our families didn’t help each other out the way we did.
We even lived with them for a while. My dad was just a dick who didn’t want kids, but still, I can’t shake the thought that I could be the reason another woman becomes a single mother.
I need to know this guy’s situation before I decide if I can actually kill him.
He has to have a phone, right? I haven’t heard one going off, so that’s got to be a good sign that no one is depending on him. Unless it’s on silent.
With a renewed sense of direction, I search his pockets, careful not to be too rough and potentially wake him up before I know what to do with him, and find his phone.
But it’s dead. And it’s a newer model than mine with a different charger. Fuuuck.
I need to know more about this guy before I can make this big of a decision. Which means I need a phone charger. Which means…
I guess I’m going to take him home with me?
Is it still called kidnapping when it’s a grown man I’m planning to trap in my basement?
My stomach is in knots, and I feel like I’m one wrong move from throwing up for the entire drive home. I have the heavy flashlight in my cupholder as a backup in case he wakes up and I need to hit him in the head again, but at one point, I swear he starts snoring.
The transfer into the house seems the most likely opportunity for him to bolt, but I have no idea how to prevent him from running if he wakes up.
Stupid detached garage. My over-a-hundred-year-old house, which I thought was so fun and unique when I bought it, now looks so fucking outdated as I pull into the driveway and park right next to the steps that lead up to my back porch.
It’s got to be after ten p.m. now. The older couples who live on either side of me are never up this late, so I doubt anyone will see me back here, not to mention the privacy fence at the back and all the hedges separating the side yards.
I’ll just be really fast, and it’ll be fine. It has to be.
I’m normally not the best at locking my door, so I say a quick prayer to whoever’s listening that today wasn’t the one time I decided to actually lock up, and run around the truck.
The man appears to still be asleep when I open the passenger door, so I scoop him up in another bridal carry and hurry up the stairs to my back door.
All I can think about is how hopefully he’s not pretending to be passed out with plans to use this moment to break free and escape. But so far so good as I continue supporting his weight up the steps until I’m able to awkwardly twist the handle.
Thank fuck it isn’t locked.
After kicking the back door shut, I immediately head to the basement door, repeating the same clumsy maneuver to open it. I take him down into my unfinished basement, one step at a time, before carefully setting down his flimsy form on the floor.
The space is creepy for sure, but at least we’re headed into fall, so it shouldn’t get too hot or cold down here. Not that it really matters if I end up killing this guy, but whatever.
I look around the completely empty basement, confirming there’s nothing that he could use as a weapon.
I’ve only been in this house for a few months, and the apartment Grant and I were sharing in Phoenix before he moved here didn’t have much room for storage.
All of my childhood belongings are still with my mom since that seemed easier than renting a bigger trailer to drive here, and I liked the idea of starting fresh.
The space is open with uneven concrete floors and an old utility sink I’ve never used next to the original laundry hookup.
The last owners moved the laundry to a closet upstairs, and it was one of the things I liked most about this particular house when I bought it.
I thought I wouldn’t have to go down into the creepy basement much, if ever. Joke’s on me.
Never considered its suitability for containing a prisoner, but with no exterior door and only one small window at the top of the wall, it’s not the worst place to keep this guy while I figure out what to do with him.