Hunter
Still had the scar on his chest from when he’d killed him, too.
Do I scare you, boy? his father used to say.
What were the fucking odds?
Tell Sarah—
Tell Sarah, the mountain—
Before he could stop himself, Hunter blinked in surprise. He regained his composure quick. He stood very still, very calm, at the end of the desk. He could become practically invisible when he wanted to. He watched. He waited to see what Sarah Powers would do.
He hoped, for her sake, that she didn’t recognize him.
But no, of course the day was just going to get weirder. Because instead of looking at Hunter, Sarah Powers fixed her attention on Ethan and said, of all fucking things, “I’m sorry, but is your last name Cross? This is going to sound crazy, but I think I knew your mother.”
Silence in the office, a startled hush. Hunter saw the way the girl Kyla was studying Sarah Powers, the recognition in her eyes. Unless he was much mistaken, she knew Sarah too.
What was going on here?
But then Ethan had a surprise of his own. After a moment’s consideration, he said, “I doubt it. My mom didn’t know a lot of people out this way. She moved out of west Texas when she was a kid.”
Hunter tilted his head. Ethan’s mother used to live in this neck of the woods?
Sarah must have heard the caution in Ethan’s voice. “Sorry, that sounded weird. It’s just… an impression I had. You look like her. In a good way, I mean. My car died when I was driving through east Texas, maybe ten years back. Your mom fixed it up for a song.”
Ethan still didn’t relax. Hunter didn’t either.
“What kind of car?” Ethan said.
“A Taurus. An ’87 Taurus. One of the originals.
It was an old hand-me-down that no one in the family had taken care of.
The thing overheated when I was driving back from a conference, and when the tow truck finally came, the driver said the only town nearby with a decent mechanic was a little place called Ellersby.
I’d barely started teaching courses and your mom must have seen broke written all over my face.
She had the problem fixed in ten seconds and hardly charged me a dime.
I’ve never left a mechanic feeling like I owed them more. ”
“What was the problem?” Ethan said.
“Something with the radiator fan, I think? Apparently, those early models had an issue with their fan motors. By the time I was driving mine, they’d started to fail left and right.”
“I see.”
“Your mom was a good person,” Sarah said. “How’s she doing? How’s the shop?”
Hunter tensed, curious how Ethan would handle this. They were skirting very close to the lie the boys had spent all morning rehearsing. It would be the first time Ethan would have to tell it.
Hunter might have to do some damage control.
Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know. My brother Carter runs the shop now that mom’s dead. I haven’t been home in years.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sarah said.
“It’s all right. We weren’t close,” Ethan said.
Hunter was so relieved he could have kissed the man then and there.
“I apologize,” a voice cut in. Fernanda, the imperious Mexican chick who’d been driving the Malibu. She nodded now, at the camera around Sarah’s neck. Fernanda said, “Is that a Nikon F3?”
Sarah looked surprised. “You have a good eye.”
“My family used to own a camera store. That model is… quite valuable.”
“They ran a camera store?” Sarah’s surprise brightened. “You must know something about a good picture.”
“I am not so sure of that.”
“I’ll be developing the film this evening—I have a little lab set up in my bathroom and everything.”
Fernanda smiled but said nothing.
“I’d love your feedback on some of these shots,” Sarah went on. “I’m trying to get better. Maybe make it more than a hobby.”
“I doubt I could help you much. It has been some time since I had anything to do with photography.”
Sarah hesitated, finally reading the room. She shrugged. “Well, stop by if you change your mind. If you knock and I don’t answer, I’m probably developing film in the bathroom. Just let yourself in. It’s not like I need to lock the doors around here, right?”
Hunter tilted his head. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but all these speeches of Sarah’s seemed forced and awkward, like she was trying to perform some rehearsed lines but couldn’t quite sell them. He was getting tired of it, fast.
Or maybe he just wanted to get out of here before Sarah had the chance to get a good look at his face.
Kyla said, “Why wouldn’t you lock your doors?”
A flash of movement in the window pulled Hunter’s attention away.
There was a vehicle up on the main road.
It was driving from the south, from Mexico, but now it slowed, slowed, slowed.
The vehicle was a minivan, a Kia or a Honda, plain and dowdy.
The sort of car no one ever paid much attention to.
Perfect for moving contraband in this part of the country.
The vehicle took a lazy left and started down the motel’s long drive. For somewhere so remote, the Brake Inn Motel seemed to stay awfully busy.
Kyla and Fernanda froze at the sight of the van, fear printed in their eyes. Fernanda murmured to Kyla, “That is one of Frank’s.”
Sarah’s face lit up. “Do you know Frank?”
Everyone in the room, even Ethan, stared at her.
Fernanda said, “Do you?”
“Of course. What are your names? I’ll tell him you said hi.”
Kyla tensed. “You’ll do what?”
“Tell Frank you said hi. I’m working on a little project for him, actually. Research.” Sarah tapped a finger to her lips: mum’s the word. “I have a call set with him this evening, after dinner.”
“A call?” Kyla said. “I don’t see any phone lines around here.”
“Frank gave me one of his satellite phones. He wants nightly reports. You know how he is.”
Whether they did or not, Kyla and Fernanda were gone. No more words: the two girls booked it out of the office without looking back.
The gray minivan was twenty yards away.
Sarah glanced between Ethan and Hunter. “Was it something I said?”
When Ethan didn’t reply, her eyes finally turned to Hunter. They lingered on his face just a second too long.
Hunter turned away, quick, and let himself behind the motel’s desk.
A hook board loaded with keys was mounted to the wall, and after a moment to consider the layout of the motel, Hunter helped himself to the key to room 9.
He came back around the desk, hefted their heavy duffel bag.
Metal rattled inside: the Remington shotgun they’d brought from Ellersby.
Glancing to Ethan, registering the boy’s surprise at the key in his hand, Hunter said, “The twins were going to give us a room anyway, right?”
He didn’t wait for a response. Hunter stepped outside, heard Ethan mumble some sort of goodbye to Sarah Powers.
The gray minivan had nearly reached the parking lot.
Hunter ignored it. He made his way around the motel’s covered porch, up the building’s left arm and across the main body and then down the right.
At the very last door, directly across the parking lot from the office, he unlocked room 9 and let himself inside.
He found the switches for an overhead light, for an old-time grille heater.
The room was exactly what he’d expected: a queen bed, a long armoire, a wardrobe, a little table with an easy chair in the corner.
Straight across from the front door was a hall that led to a bathroom and another door that let onto the back porch.
There was a turquoise coverlet on the bed. Bland brown carpet on the floors.
It would do.
Behind him, Hunter heard the minivan pull to a stop outside the office. One of its doors opened, but before the driver could even step out, Sarah Powers exclaimed from the porch. “Stanley! What a surprise!”
Oh Christ, Hunter thought. As if his headache couldn’t get any worse, he glanced around in time to see Sarah Powers snap a photograph of Stanley Holiday, Frank O’Shea’s right-hand man. What was he doing here?
But then Hunter froze. Really, truly clenched up.
He froze because there was a face watching him from the back of the van. A young face. A girl’s face. The face of a teenage girl with a terrible round scar on her forehead. The scar was a round white disc, the size of a quarter. Even from this distance, he recognized it. He would know it anywhere.
Charon’s coin, his father used to call scars like that. From when death sends you back with a refund.
There was no way this teenage girl in the back of Stan Holiday’s minivan could have survived the damage that had caused that scar. Hunter knew it for a fact.
Yet here she was, staring at Hunter, looking just as frozen with fear as him.
And then Ethan finally made his way along the motel’s porch, breaking Hunter’s gaze.
The boy stepped past Hunter into room 9, looked around, then frowned as Hunter closed the door and locked it and crossed the room to check the lock on the back door as well.
Ethan turned on the brass lamp on one of the bed’s nightstands.
He looked at an old alarm clock and checked the time against his watch. 5:47.
“How do you know her?” Ethan finally said, and for a long, sickening moment, Hunter thought he meant the teenage girl in the van.
“Know who?”
“The lady from the office—Sarah—how do you know her?”
This wasn’t much more of a relief. Hunter tossed the duffel bag on the bed. “Who says I know her?”
“Your eyes. They got real wide for a second when she came inside. They never do that.”
Hunter closed the curtains of the room’s sole window. “Never seen her in my life.”
“You sure? Now you seem nervous.”
“Aren’t you nervous? Something’s wrong with this place. Can’t you feel it?”
Ethan ran his thumb over the coarse fabric that upholstered the easy chair in the corner. “You’re upset by more than just the motel.”
“I already said I don’t know her.”
“Fine. Fine.” Ethan shook his head, puzzled. “It’s just… she was full of crap. That Sarah woman—she was lying through her teeth from the moment she stepped into the office.”