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Albert’s finger hovered over the Messenger app icon for the longest moment, wanting to tap it, but afraid of what he might read. Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer.
He tapped it, and he began to read, and then he began to smile.
Hi there, Chuck.
So good to hear from you. It’s been a long time. Maybe you saw me on television recently and that’s why you got in touch. Either way, I appreciate it. I’m hearing from a lot of people lately, and it makes me wish we had all been able to stay in touch better than we did. I wish I could get some of those years back. But it’s not too late, right?
I remember you saying that sometimes we come to a crossroads in life and choices aren’t easy—but if you listen to your heart, it will guide you. Do you remember saying that? I have an important meeting coming up soon—this Sunday at noon—and it’s a bit of a crossroads for me. This time, I’m going to follow my heart, just as you suggested. I hope our paths might cross again sometime soon.
Yours,
Sylvia
He read it a second time, almost afraid the words would change, but they didn’t. They stayed the same. And even though Sylvia had written her message knowing investigators might see it, he knew exactly what it meant.
A crossroads. Just like in the movie. A literal crossroads. She was saying she would meet him there.
The same intersection in the desolate Texas Panhandle where Chuck Noland met the woman in the Ford truck at the end of Cast Away. Chuck had driven out there to return the one package he’d left unopened on the island. The one with the wings logo on it. The same wings that inspired the design of the raft that saved him. He wanted to say thank you to the person who’d sent it. And when he met the woman—well, it was left unsaid, but good ol’ Chuck’s life had gone in a fresh new direction.
A crossroads. The crossroads. Sunday at noon.
Three days from now. Actually, two days and twelve hours.
The Texas Panhandle.
That wasn’t far from here. Not far at all.
He slowly began to type a reply, choosing his words oh so carefully.
“See there?” Larkin said from behind the Impala, laughing. “I can’t resist it.”
Lauren’s voice was in Marlin’s earpiece immediately. “John?”
“All good,” Marlin replied. “Subject fired again. Hit the truck.”
“Where is he right now?”
“Same,” Marlin said, trying to limit his answers so Larkin couldn’t follow the conversation.
“Hiding behind the Impala?”
“Right.”
“And the Impala is on the west side of the garage, facing due north, correct?”
“Affirmative.”
“I don’t want to wait for SWAT,” Lauren said. “I want to get you out of there now. You up for that?”
Marlin knew it could be quite some time before SWAT arrived from Travis County. Did he really want to stay hunkered down behind this truck until they got here? And did he want to present a complication once they arrived?
“I could be persuaded,” Marlin said, keeping his voice low.
“Is there anything between the garage door—meaning the overhead door—and the Impala? Shelving, cabinets, anything like that? Anything stored there after the Impala was parked?”
“Nothing at all,” Marlin said. “All clear.”
“How far would you say the driver’s side of the Impala is from the west wall?”
“About six feet.”
“Bobby, you on board with this?” Lauren asked.
A moment passed. Then Garza said, “Ten-four.”
“John, sit tight,” Lauren said. “I need to go get the SUV.”
Marlin knew what Lauren was planning. She would park the SUV in front of the garage and use it for cover. Then she would hunker behind it, prop her M4 on the hood, and fire directly through the garage overhead door, estimating where Larkin was located. The bullets would cut through the aluminum garage door like paper. Lauren would lay down cover fire, giving Marlin time to exit safely. If Lauren happened to hit Trevor Larkin with the barrage, that would just be a bonus that would end the standoff.
A moment later, Garza said, “I’ve got the girl. No injuries. I’ve cleared the house. We’re in the back bedroom, northeast corner, and will stay here until further notice. Be advised that she found a shotgun and fired twice at the male subject. She doesn’t know if she hit him, but I haven’t found any blood.”
The lack of blood didn’t necessarily mean anything.
“What kind of ammo?” Marlin asked.
“Double aught.”
Could a gunshot wound explain Larkin’s heavy breathing? Maybe, but Marlin wasn’t going to make another mistake by jumping to conclusions.
Marlin wasn’t sure if there was any value in engaging Larkin at this point, but there was still the possibility of extracting additional information, and now would be the time to do it, before Lauren returned.
“I’m not your enemy,” Marlin said. “I have no interest in harming you. Nobody does.”
“As long as I give up,” Larkin said.
“At this point, why shouldn’t you? We have Caitlin now. She’s safe.”
“She was always safe. I would never do anything to her.”
Except force her to go along with your lunacy.
“But it’s over now,” Marlin said. “Time to face that fact. You don’t have much time left.”
“What does that mean?”
That the chief deputy is about to unleash holy hell on you.
“You’re injured, right? Where did she hit you?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
That meant he’d been hit.
“You might be bleeding inside,” Marlin said. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“No, thanks. Just tell Caril Ann I said goodbye.”
Caril Ann? Who was he talking about?
Sylvia,
So nice to hear back from you. I did see you on the news, and I have to say you look fantastic! Still gorgeous! I swear you haven’t aged at all. And your natural warmth, your intelligence, your ability to handle anything thrown your way—it all shone through and reminded me how much I miss you.
I never realized just how tumultuous your life was back then, but despite your regrets, it sounds as if you eventually straightened everything out. Good for you. We all have regrets, don’t we? I know I do. Like you, I’ve decided it’s time to set things right in my own life.
I’m surprised you remember my advice about hitting a crossroads in life, but it means a lot that you do. When you’re standing at those crossroads on Sunday, about to make a decision, just remember that I’ll be right there with you.
Always,
Chuck
Caril Ann. It was so familiar.
Charlie and Caril Ann.
A moment later, Marlin pieced it together. Charlie Starkweather and Caril Ann Fugate. When Bryce Cauley had said Larkin was obsessed with a killer named Charlie, it wasn’t Manson, it was Starkweather.
“You mean Caitlin, right?” Marlin asked.
A moment passed before Larkin said, “Yeah. Caitlin.”
“I’ll tell her, but I have a question for you first.”
Larkin said nothing.
“What would Charlie do?”
Still no reply.
Marlin heard an engine. Lauren had just coasted to a stop outside the garage. When the shooting began in a moment, Marlin wouldn’t simply dash for the open door. He would first check to make sure the cover fire was working—that Larkin wasn’t waiting to shoot Marlin as he tried to leave.
“I think I know what he’d do,” Marlin said. “He’d give up. That’s what he did at the end, wasn’t it? He didn’t fight it out until the end. He knew it was futile.”
Lauren spoke through Marlin’s earpiece. “In position. You ready?”
“One moment,” Marlin replied quietly. Then, louder, he said, “How about it, Trevor? Why don’t you put the gun down and we’ll—”
Boom!
Marlin ducked as Larkin raised the pistol and fired another shot. This time, the bullet made it all the way through the Ranger’s engine compartment and left a neat round hole in the fender about two feet from Marlin’s shoulder. Marlin crouched even lower, his head just above the top of the tire.
“John?” Lauren said.
Boom!
Another shot slammed into the Ranger and now Marlin could hear coolant or some other fluid dripping to the concrete floor. There was no point in talking to Larkin any further. He’d made up his mind.
“Ready when you are,” Marlin said.
“Five seconds,” Lauren said.
“Copy,” Marlin said.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The shots began—enormously loud and deep and full—and they continued so rapidly that half a dozen rounds had been fired before Marlin peeked over the top of the Ranger. He was hoping Larkin would shout a surrender, but instead, Larkin reacted to the gunfire by moving to the front of the Impala and crouching low behind it, using the length of the vehicle as a shield against Lauren’s withering assault.
And exposing himself to Marlin.
Lauren continued to fire.
For the third time, Marlin had very little time to weigh his options.
Hurry for the door? Larkin might see him and open fire.
That left one alternative. Marlin shouted, “Larkin! Drop your weapon!”
Even with the gunfire, Larkin heard him and swiveled in his direction.
Marlin had his M4 aimed squarely at Larkin’s chest.
Don’t do it. Don’t be an idiot.
Larkin rose to his feet, grinning, and pointed the pistol.
Marlin fired two rounds at center mass and Larkin fell backward to the floor, where he lay unmoving.