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Trevor made it through the doorway and into the hallway just as Caitlin fired the second shot, which ripped a chunk from the doorframe.
Her breathing was out of control. Chest heaving. She had to calm down.
Deep. Slow. Breaths.
She didn’t want to take her eyes off the doorway, but she took a quick peek at the bed.
No gun there. Trevor had grabbed the gun when he’d run, or maybe he’d grabbed it right before she’d come out of the closet with the shotgun, because he’d suspected she was up to something.
Or maybe it was somewhere else. What if the gun was under a pillow? She would love to know if he was armed, but moving to the head of the bed and looking for the gun would make her visible from the hallway and the bedroom immediately opposite. Trevor might be out there right now, waiting for her to show herself.
She stood quietly, hoping to hear any sound at all that might indicate where he was. But she heard nothing.
“Trevor?” she called. Now her voice was really wavering all over the place. She didn’t even sound like herself.
He didn’t reply.
“I didn’t want to do that,” she said. “I had no choice.”
Nothing.
Had she hit him? She had no idea. She glanced at the bed and the floor and the doorway. No blood that she could see. She couldn’t believe she’d missed at this distance, but he’d really moved fast.
She studied the damage to the doorframe. Looked like buckshot had done it. Buckshot from this distance would have done serious damage if she’d hit him.
“Trevor, do you need to go to a hospital?”
Thirty seconds passed without a reply.
“I’ll take you if you need to go. Or let’s call an ambulance.”
Then he finally answered from somewhere in the house.
“You didn’t have to shoot,” he said. “I would’ve turned the heater on.”
A joke. He was making a joke. She couldn’t believe it. It made him seem so normal. How could he do that—make a joke, like a regular person—when the other parts of him were so clearly insane?
“Did I hit you?” she asked.
“You ruined everything,” he said.
He sounded different. Possibly in pain. Maybe she had hit him.
“Let me call for help,” she said. Problem was, he had her phone.
“Jesus, I can’t believe you did that,” he said.
She moved as quietly as possible toward the bedroom window.
“Are you okay?”
Trevor said nothing more. If he approached the bedroom, she would hear squeaking from the floorboards.
She moved the curtain with one hand and saw that the window was of a very old style she had never seen before. It had a handle you cranked in a circle to swing the window open like a door. Would it make much noise? How long since it had last been opened? If she could open it quietly, she could slip into the darkness and run to freedom.
She grabbed the handle, but kept her eyes on the bedroom door, just in case.
“Trevor, are you okay?”
Still no answer.
She turned the handle slowly for one complete revolution—and it came off in her hand.
Five seconds after the shot, Marlin took a quick peek and saw that Becker still had his back pressed against the cedar trunk. He had never extended the gun around the tree trunk, which meant he hadn’t fired in this direction.
Marlin placed his M4 in the low-ready position just to the right side of the tree trunk and kept his eyes on Becker.
“That was dumb, Garrett,” Marlin said.
In response, Becker fired two more shots, but he was either firing into the ground or into the woods in the opposite direction—a scare tactic. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t fire at Marlin if it came down to it.
Marlin keyed the microphone clipped to his shirt and requested backup. Darrell repeated the message and asked responding units to identify. The nearest unit—Max, the state trooper—was approximately fifteen minutes out. Marlin was pulling him away from the search for Caitlin, but that couldn’t be helped.
“Garrett, you’re turning this into something really bad,” Marlin said. “There’s no need for that.”
No reply.
“I didn’t even come out here to arrest you,” Marlin said. “I just wanted you to tell me what happened at Red’s place.”
Nothing.
“It’s not too late to reel this back in,” Marlin said. “Just put the gun down.”
Ten seconds passed.
Then Becker said something Marlin wasn’t expecting. “I’m sorry, man. I lost my temper.”
“I understand,” Marlin said. “What happened tonight? What set you off?”
Garrett said something Marlin couldn’t understand.
“What was that?”
“I said I’m tired of it all.”
“Tired of what?”
“Tired of getting blamed for everything. Tired of people not believing me. Tired of cops.”
“What happened at Red’s place?” Marlin asked.
“He’s an idiot,” Garrett said.
Marlin laughed loudly, and it was genuine. “No argument there. What did he do this time?”
“He just kept pushing me, man.”
“About what?”
Another long pause followed, and then Garrett said, “It’s a long story. My dad slipped off a roof and died. A lot of people back home think I pushed him, but I didn’t.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Hard to clear your name when there aren’t any witnesses,” Garrett said.
Also makes it hard for the cops to charge you, Marlin thought. Goes both ways.
“When did this happen?” Marlin asked.
“Last year,” Garrett said.
“What were y’all doing on the roof?” Marlin asked.
“I know what you’re doing,” Garrett said. “Stalling until backup arrives. I heard you on the radio.”
Marlin said, “Wasn’t like I was trying to keep it a secret. Eventually you’re gonna have to put your gun down and come out.”
Marlin was watching closely—waiting to see if Garrett would comply. Marlin knew from experience that reasonable people sometimes made poor decisions driven by stress, panic, anger, drugs, alcohol and a hundred other factors. Garrett had already made several bad choices this evening. Would it continue?
“Garrett?” Marlin called again.
“You’ll shoot me,” Garrett said.
“Not if you put your gun down and come out peacefully.”
“Okay,” Garrett said. “But I want to tell you something first.”
Still stalling.
“What is it?”
“You probably won’t believe me. Nobody ever believes me.”
“Try me,” Marlin said.
“I’ll tell you if you’ll forget about the stupid stuff I did tonight.”
Wanting to negotiate a deal. Was he about to reveal something about the shooting at the zoo? Or where he really found the gun? He might have valuable information.
“I can’t make any promises until I know what you’re talking about,” Marlin said.
“You know that girl that was taken from the Dairy Queen this afternoon?” Garrett said. “I think I know where she is.”
Caitlin returned to the closet and stood inside it quietly with the shotgun. She heard nothing.
She wondered how many more shells might be in the shotgun, but she couldn’t count them without unloading. If Renee’s grandmother used the shotgun for hunting—which seemed unlikely—there would probably be one shell left, because you are only allowed three shells, and there would be a plug in the tube that stopped you from loading more than that.
If, on the other hand, the shotgun was specifically for home defense, there wouldn’t be a plug, and the shotgun would hold more like five shells, so she would have three left. Which meant that—
Floorboards creaked.
Thirty seconds passed.
Then she heard another sound. Something she couldn’t identify. Had Trevor bumped against a wall? Had he dropped something? It didn’t sound close, though. She stayed where she was, with the shotgun leveled at the bedroom doorway.
Caitlin realized quite suddenly, and surprisingly, that she was crying. Quietly. Letting her emotions take over. She couldn’t afford to do that.
Deep. Slow. Breaths.
Now she heard another sound—and this one was unmistakable. A door opening and closing. And from the way the air pressure changed in the house for a moment, it had to be the front door or the back door.
No way. She wasn’t falling for it. It was a trick. He was trying to lure her out.
How should she respond? Pretend she bought it? How? What should she do? What advantage could she gain, if any?
She didn’t move for a full five minutes. Her arms were growing tired from holding the shotgun.
Finally, she couldn’t stand the tension anymore. She couldn’t go on like this all night.
“Trevor, I know you didn’t go outside.”
Nothing but quiet.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” she said.
“I always knew you were smart,” he replied.
“What are we doing, Trevor?” she asked.
“You have to go to sleep sometime,” he said. He did not sound wounded.
“Just leave, Trevor, okay? Don’t drag me into this any further than you have already. It’s not fair. I don’t deserve this. I never did anything to you.”
Laying a guilt trip on him. Worth a shot.
A minute passed. Then two.
Then she heard the door opening and closing again.
“Trevor?”
No answer.
“I’m not buying it,” she said.
No answer.