Chapter 25
25
It was a lot harder to keep someone alive than to kill them. Night after night, Timothy had been besieged by nightmares. They were disturbing and too-real, constantly r e playing the moment he drew his gun and pulled the trigger.
Just the way he’d practiced in a vacant field.
There hadn’t been a victim in the field, though. In the midst of those disturbing dreams, Timothy almost wished there had been. Maybe it could have been a bird. Rabbit? He didn’t know. Something alive to hit home just how violent killing a living being could be. The blood. The sound of the bullet hitting flesh. The cry. The gasp. The look of surprise followed by nothing.
Maybe if he’d witnessed that firsthand, he wouldn’t have drawn that gun so fast. Or he wouldn’t have let the guy’s derisive comments about him bother him so much.
But then again, maybe the opposite could’ve happened. He might have discovered that he could commit murder. That he did have a conscience that could go walking at will.
All Timothy knew, as he parked on the edge of a parking lot in front of a no-name convenience store in rural Missouri, was that if he hadn’t shot that guy, he wouldn’t be doing what he was doing now—which was robbing stores for dollars.
Doing whatever he could to scrape up enough money to be able to pay for Audrey’s life.
So far, his new career of robbery and breaking and entering had garnered uneven results. The most he’d been able to get was four hundred and five. The least had been two.
It turned out that a lot of people didn’t have much cash on them. They didn’t keep it in their vehicles either.
On a positive note, so far he hadn’t been caught and he hadn’t been killed. He also had close to eighteen hundred dollars. If this store had over two hundred, he was going to give up his dream of bringing Kane almost three grand and settle for the two he’d asked for.
Anything for the nightmare he was now living to end. He couldn’t survive much longer when he was struggling so much both awake and asleep.
After the older lady who’d walked in when he’d arrived glanced his way and then hurried to her older model Nissan and drove off, Timothy knew it was time to head in. He hadn’t showered in two days, and he knew he looked like it. No doubt he smelled like it too. The nervous sweat he’d begun to wear like his old favorite hoodie was his constant companion.
After checking his gun and pulling his ball cap low, he exited his vehicle and strode in.
He had a system now. Walk in, turn to the right toward the beverage cases. Use that time to check for cameras and customers. Open a refrigerated section. Hold the glass door open while he stared at bottles of water or soda. Finally pick one out, like it mattered.
Only then turn to gauge the clerk’s age and manner.
Then he’d begin making plans.
Sometimes, he bought the soda and left, because there were too many people or the clerk looked like he’d shoot Timothy before he’d give up a dollar. Other times he left because it was obvious that the cameras weren’t just for show. They were no doubt recording him, and the store had a direct line to the cops.
But if that didn’t look to be the case and the store was vacant, he knew it was his chance.
“Can I help you find something?” the clerk called out.
Timothy, still with his hand on the open glass door and staring at the soda, jerked.
Then noticed that the clerk had moved away from the counter and was halfway down one of the aisles. He’d upset his routine.
“Yeah,” he said after realizing that the store clerk was studying him. Like it was his job to memorize faces. Timothy knew then that the guy would be able to identify him in a heartbeat.
So he pulled out his gun. “I’m going to follow you to the cash register and you’re going to open it. Hand me what’s inside.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, son.”
Son? “I’m not your son, your buddy, or your friend.”
“What are you then?”
What was with this guy? “I’m either going to be the last person you ever see or just a bad memory. Take your pick.”
Finally, finally the thirtysomething clerk looked like he was taking him seriously. “Settle down. I’ll get it. Follow me.”
Maybe it was his paranoia, but Timothy was sure he was walking into a trap. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”
“Yeah. I get that,” the man said, edging away. “Easy, now.”
When he turned and started for the counter, Timothy watched. Felt the sweat pouring off of him as he stared at the guy’s every move.
Inhaled when the man turned a key and the drawer opened.
And then the guy smiled. “Hope this will get you what you need,” he said. Just as he lifted a stack of money with one hand and his gun with the other.
Instincts clicked in. At last. Timothy fired. Not to kill. Aimed for the guy’s shoulder.
Of course he missed. He wasn’t a killer, and he wasn’t well trained. He’d hardly been trained at all.
Which meant he hit the guy’s midsection.
The man groaned as he fell to his knees. Hate and shame filled Timothy’s soul as he strode to the counter, grabbed the wad of cash that had fallen out of the clerk’s hand, and pocketed the rest that he could find.
Just as another vehicle pulled up.
He grabbed some chips from the counter, ducked his head as the couple inside the other car continued arguing about whatever they were arguing about. He hurried out to his car, started the engine, reversed, and drove out. Maintaining the speed limit. Focusing only on the cash stuffed in his pockets as he headed toward the state line. He needed to get out of Missouri before the couple called the cops and the guy got to the hospital and then eventually identified him.
Before the young arguing couple remembered the guy holding an armful of chips and a sandwich and a pop.
Before Kane called again and wondered what was happening.
Before he had a chance to count the money and pray it was enough to take him north.
Hours later, sitting in his vehicle at a busy rest stop on the outskirts of Crittenden County, Timothy finally took the time to count his spoils.
And realized that he’d shot a man for eighty-seven dollars, a turkey sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap, two bags of chips, and a Mountain Dew.
His total was still far too short. There was no way he was going to hit another store either. Instead of getting easier, it was only getting harder. Far too hard to make less than a hundred bucks.
With a sinking feeling, Timothy came to terms with his life.
He had no choice.
He was going to have to go back to his original plan and kill the Amish girl.
Because if there was anything he’d learned since he’d been in Crittenden County, it was that it was much easier to kill someone than keep them alive.