Henry pulled on the chain. He peered over the edge of the roof. Wyatt was almost to the top. He’d stopped struggling. Passed out or in shock; it didn’t matter. He was dead weight but easier to handle this way. Henry pulled.
When Wyatt was under the eave, Henry squatted and seized him by the collar. He lifted his old friend up onto the slanted rooftop. He supposed he could throw him over the side. Bash his body on the icy parking lot below.
He’d shoot him in the head first with Eppers’s Glock.
To be sure there were no mistakes this time.
No survivors.
Henry withdrew the hook from Wyatt’s armpit. The chain coil glinted in the snow; he added the hook to it. Clang. Wet red steel steamed. He thought he heard Wyatt moan. But the wind was strong. And his ears were frostbitten. He grabbed Wyatt by the ankles and dragged him to the front of the motel. He’d throw him from here. Then he was finished. He could eat the Glock. It would end.
That was all he wanted.
He wondered what would be next.
Hell or nothing?
He was hoping for nothing.
His frozen grasp on Wyatt’s ankles released. I’ll shoot him in
the eyes. One , two. Over and done with. He slipped the Glock from his pants, turned.
The hook caught him under the jaw.
Knocked him off balance. And when he righted himself, he choked on blood, bit down and couldn’t, because the hook wedged between his teeth. He grunted. Where was Wyatt? Gone ...
Not gone.
Looping the chain around his throat and Henry fallen to his knees tried reaching back but his tight raincoat pulled tighter and he raised the Glock fired fired fired it, no use, into the air shooting the moon the stars ...
.. . the barrel of a gun pressed into his spine ... but how? ... he still saw the Glock swimming in his hand the bark of it drowned out by ... the links squeezing on his neck the balloon of blood about to burst bursting in his head ...
Blood running from his mouth.
Exploded from his chest.
And he didn’t care. He didn’t care about Whiteside or the Pitch or Jesse. Dead. Because this was what he wanted. This.
No more than this.
Wyatt laid Henry facedown in the snow. His lungs refilled, emptied. Go slow. Think. His gun hand trembled. Don’t faint. Got to get off the roof. Stop the bleeding. He clamped his arm down and stifled a shout. Think.