Dylan’s pickup truck rattled along the gravel track, kicking up so much dust it was difficult to see what was coming up behind. He turned onto a paved road and hit eighty miles an hour on a straightaway heading east. The loose suspension bounced across the solid waves of asphalt. He checked the rearview mirror. Jessie’s hatchback had vanished from sight. To her credit she’d kept up for longer than he thought possible. He should have taken her car keys away before he left the house, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly.
He’d been sorting through his mother’s unopened mail when Aiden had pulled up in his patrol car with Jessie following close behind. Dylan had stepped out onto the front porch to greet them but had been uneasy at the way Jessie walked with her eyes down and her hands thrust deep into her pockets. He’d led them into the sitting room, but had not sat. He’d stood staring out at the gravestones beyond the back fence. His dog had gotten loose and had been running around the cemetery with his nose to the ground, trying to sniff something out. Dylan had slid the door open and called his dog home.
Aiden, I know you aren’t here to keep me company, so let’s just get this over with.
His mother had died in an instant. That was the word that Aiden had used. Instant. Dylan had fought the desire to laugh. There was nothing instantaneous about his mother’s death. He’d seen that train coming for years.
Aiden had left with a promise to check in on him later, but Jessie had remained where she’d been sitting since she’d slunk into the house. She’d watched Dylan’s every move. The only thing she’d managed to say so far had been sorry. He was thankful for her silence.
Normally prone to fidget, he couldn’t do much more than stand in the middle of the kitchen and stare at the walls. For the first time since he’d moved back home he had noticed that they’d changed color. They were blue. He could have sworn they were supposed to be yellow. He didn’t understand. His mother had always hated the color blue.
I knew about the wedding dress, he’d said. Mom had it hidden in a cupboard along with a bunch of bridal magazines. I think she’s been planning on marrying Tyler for years.
Do you think he ever asked her?
Maybe. It would explain why she had it with her.
Your poor mother.
He was so manipulative. He’d let her get close then push her away. She came off all tough, but she really didn’t stand a chance. I should have tried harder to stop it.
How were you going to do that? Near as I can tell, there was no talking sense to her.
I could have gone straight to Tyler. He’d shrugged. Maybe he would have listened.
And maybe he would have laughed in your face.
I wonder where he is.
I hope he bleeds to death.
That would be too good for him.
Do you think your mother found someplace for them to stay?
Dylan had pulled open the junk drawer where Sarah kept all her spare keys in a cigar tin. The ones to Lou Bartlett’s cabin had been missing. Jessie had come into the kitchen and stood next to him.
You should call Aiden.
Let Aiden figure it out himself.
Jessie had wanted to come but he wouldn’t let her get in his truck. Given all he’d lost, he’d figured he’d earned the right to deal with Tyler on his own. He’d crossed over Route 93 about eight miles north of Wilmington Creek and headed toward the Whitefish Range. The road had started to climb immediately. Now the sun-bleached tarmac slipped by in a rush, and sky and land bled together in a wash of color that fragmented around the edges. The road rose and dipped and the wheels briefly lost their grip. The truck came down hard and a sharp pain kicked up through his leg. He pushed down on the gas pedal and snapped round a corner like a whip. The back end scraped the guardrail, letting out a metallic scream so sharp he thought he saw sparks jump from the steering wheel. He downshifted, picked up speed, and flew across another rise. He was getting close now. He rounded a curve and took in the view. Jagged peaks erupted from the landscape. Below, rocks tumbled down to the lowlands where a stream threaded through the needle of a deep gorge.
For most of the way, the driveway wasn’t visible from the cabin. At the final turn, pine trees ringed a large mass of boulders. After that the land opened up into a high mountain meadow. Dylan didn’t even try to hide his car. He pulled up within sight of the cabin, blocking the drive at the narrowest point. His mother’s pickup truck was parked out front with the driver’s side door hanging open.
“Tyler,” he called. “You in there?”
Dylan stood watching the house. The shutters were closed tight and the front door was shut. Around the side there was some washing hanging out to dry. Stark white sheets fluttered in the breeze. Using his mother’s truck as cover, he made his way to the porch, poking his head inside one of the vehicle’s open windows as he passed. Blood had seeped into the creases of the driver’s seat. It was tacky to the touch. Keeping low, he stepped onto the small porch. A blood trail stopped at the base of the closed door. He moved to one side and banged on the wooden slats with his fist.
“Tyler, it’s Dylan. Open the door.”
Dylan leaned in and listened. The thick outer walls were constructed from the heavy trunks of pine trees. He could hear nothing beyond his own breathing. He tried again.
“Tyler, it’s just me out here. Open the door.”
There was the sharp sound of a metal latch being slid back. The hinges groaned as the door drew open a foot. Lana stared out at him, her hair loose and sticking to her damp forehead. Her eyes were raw, but alert. Tyler stood behind her with one hand gripped tight around her neck. Dylan looked past Lana and addressed Tyler directly.
“If I managed to find you, the cops can’t be far behind.”
“Go home, Dylan.”
The whites of Tyler’s eyes caught what little light there was. They were glazed over and webbed with fine broken veins. Lana was crying. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked. Dylan kept his eyes on Tyler.
“I’m not going anywhere without Lana.”
Tyler twisted Lana’s long hair in his fist and pulled her head back. He rested his right arm on her shoulder and aimed a gun in Dylan’s face.
“How about I just shoot you now?”
Dylan leaned in so the barrel was inches from his forehead.
“Let’s see if you’re man enough to do it while I’m looking right at you.”
“Fuck you, Dylan.”
“What? Did you think I was going to turn around and make it easy for you?”
Tyler tightened his grip on the gun.
“That’s how you managed it with John. How did that make you feel? You’re the one that’s always going on about honor.”
Tyler pressed the gun against Dylan’s forehead. “Shut up.”
Dylan didn’t move. “And now you’ve dragged Lana up here so you can play happy families. This isn’t how it works. You love someone. They love you back. You can’t make that shit up.”
Tyler raised his voice. “Lana, open the door.” He shoved her forward. “I said open the door.”
He kept his gun aimed at Dylan as they stepped out on the porch. Lana wore no shoes and her skin was so flushed she looked feverish. She misjudged the step and nearly toppled over, crying out when Tyler tightened his grip on her hair. He was bare-chested and bleeding heavily from a wound to his stomach. The gauze was soaked through with blood. Dark stains seeped into the waistline of his jeans and spread down his thigh.
Dylan glanced at the bandages wrapped around Tyler’s torso.
“Looks like my mother should have aimed a little higher.”
The sun was high in the sky, casting a harsh light that caught hold of everything. Perspiration was streaming down Tyler’s forehead and chest. He moved with difficulty, his lips twisting into a grimace as he pulled Lana to him. He’d taken hold of her neck again.
Dylan took a few steps back and they followed him farther out into the open.
“Let Lana go so we can talk this through.”
“Dylan, I want you to get in your truck and get the hell out of here.”
“And do what? John and my mom are dead, and you might as well be. I loved you like a brother, Tyler.” He spread his arms. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Sarah’s dead?”
Dylan practically spit. “You don’t have the right to feel bad about my mother. Not after the way you treated her.”
“When I left she was alive. It had nothing to do with me.”
“She jumped in front of a train. It had everything to do with you.”
Tyler had no answer.
“She was wearing a wedding dress. Did you promise to marry her?” He took a step closer so the gun’s barrel was pressed to his chest. “Is that why she had it with her? Were you going to be my daddy?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then let Lana go.”
“I can’t.”
“Why’s that? Does she love you?”
“Yes.”
“She hates you.”
“That’s not true. Tell him, Lana. Tell him what you said earlier.”
Lana started to speak but stopped. Her mouth snapped into a stubborn line. Tyler shook her so hard that she nearly fell to her knees.
“Tell him.”
She kept her mouth shut.
“If you have to hold a gun to Lana’s head to get her to say she loves you, it doesn’t count.”
Dylan took a step to the right and Tyler circled around with him. Dylan now had a clear view of the driveway. There was the slightest sway of the trees ringing the boulders and a flash as something reflective caught the light. He steadied his voice.
“You do know they’re coming for you? You killed a cop. You’re going to prison.”
Tyler’s hand was shaking so much he could barely hold the gun steady.
“I didn’t kill that cop.”
“No one is going to believe you.”
“I won’t go to jail.”
“Are you hoping someone will take you out of your misery, or will you do it yourself?”
Lana closed her eyes. She was muttering prayers under her breath. She was limp in Tyler’s grip, so close to collapse it appeared that he was all that was propping her up.
Dylan scanned the terrain beyond Tyler’s wide shoulders. He wasn’t imagining things. They weren’t alone. Someone was moving amongst the rocks to the left of his truck.
“What do you say? Are you ready to take one for the team? Should we pray for your soul?”
Tyler started crying. “I want you to tell Jeremy that I’m sorry.”
“If I really believed that, I’d call him right now.” He caught Tyler’s eye. “I’m asking you as a friend. Let Lana go. It will just be you and me. You know me. You trust me. We can talk this through.”
“No.”
“There’s still time to make this right. You let Lana go and it shows you’re sorry.” His voice cracked. “Don’t you see that?”
“Come on,” he said, jabbing the gun into Lana’s ribs. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit. We’re going back inside.”
Lana knocked Tyler’s hand away and started swinging her arms wildly.
“Let go of me. I hate you. You hear me, Tyler? I hate you.”
Tyler tried to keep hold of her, but she twisted from his arms and stumbled away, falling to her knees and crawling. Dylan jumped on Tyler before he had a chance to shoot. There was a sickening crunch as Tyler head-butted Dylan square in the face. The cartilage in Dylan’s nose splintered and blood poured down his chin. Locked in each other’s arms, they hit the ground fighting.
The gun went off in that same instant.
A crack.
A scream.
And all that pain that followed.
Dylan lay on his back, gasping for air. His ears were ringing and the acrid taste of sick pooled in the back of his throat. He reached over and wrenched the pistol from Tyler’s hand. As he pressed it to Tyler’s head, he squeezed his eyes shut and felt for the trigger. The metal crescent curved around his finger like a ring. It was a perfect fit.
“Do it,” said Tyler.
Dylan tossed the gun to one side and said, “Do it yourself.”
There were voices. Footfalls. Shouts. The static of a police radio. Dylan stared up into the cloudless sky, catching hold of that blue he loved so much.
Macy Greeley knelt next to him, long wisps of red hair escaping a ponytail. Her skin glowed white. She put an ice-cold hand to his cheek.
“Dylan, can you hear me? Help is on the way.”
She shouted instructions into a police radio she held in one hand while applying pressure to his wounded chest with the other. Blood gushed up between her fingers. It sprayed a fine arc of arterial red across her white T-shirt. He lay back and searched the sky for another hint of that blue. A helicopter hovered overhead, blocking out the midday sun.
“Hang in there.”
He gazed up into her pale face. She had freckles. They reminded him of summer. He closed his eyes.
It was going to be okay.
He was safe.
This time he was really going home.