The Run

by Tyler Wolfe

  “Anyway, it’s something to think about. The bonus for moving would cover all our expenses. Plus, rumor has it there’s a nice raise in pay waiting for anyone who’s willing to relocate.” That was how badly they needed veteran employees at their new branches. Better yet, the veterans would be fast-tracked for management positions.

  How awesome would it be to not only have Bob out of my life, but be pulling his salary? I’m already covering for so many positions I could manage that damn office in my sleep, and I wouldn’t make everyone else miserable in the process.

  “So, what made you start looking into this?” She sounded intrigued as she leaned into the circle of my arm. I’m glad again that I’ve been putting in more effort with her. This is nice. I’m even getting laid more…

  …More now that I killed someone. I’m mean who was I kidding? I’m only focusing on her now because I’m covering my ass and I’m scared I’ll lose her. The irony stopped me dead...but then I pushed the thought away and looked back to the stack of mail on the table. “There are a couple of letters in there for ya,” I said, pointing at the kitchen table.

  “Oh?” She walked over, taking another swallow from her drink.

  I needed to ditch the letter somewhere that she wouldn’t see it. I would examine it closer later, and maybe then I could figure out where that photo had been taken. In the meantime, Zoe absolutely under no circumstance could see what I had just received. “Hey, I’m gonna go get out of my work clothes. We should probably get to the restaurant early.”

  “Okay, babe. Don’t forget to pick out something for me too.” She tossed me a smile over her shoulder, then went back to opening her mail as I turned to walk out.

  As I headed down the hallway, my focus went straight back to the mysterious letter in my back pocket. Where can I put it so Zoe won’t accidentally find it?

  I walked into our bedroom and quickly scanned it. Taped to the back of the mirror? No, the tape might give out in the dampness. Underwear drawer? No, she had been known to borrow my boxer shorts.

  As I went from one unsuitable hiding place to another, I felt my heart sink. Our lives, possessions and territories were so intertwined. How the hell was I ever going to keep a secret as big as that night from her? Was I fooling myself?

  Suddenly my eyes locked on the bottom drawer of the dresser. Wait.

  Both of us had a junk drawer, where we threw things we didn’t necessarily ever use or need but didn’t want to throw out. The bottom drawer was full of my miscellaneous things: pictures, a few packs of batteries, some tangled up cables and power supplies for various electronics, a few old Christmas cards, a watch that no longer worked, a box of coins, and a couple of Runner’s World magazines from my old subscription.

  Fearing Zoe could walk into the bedroom at any minute, I quickly pulled open the drawer. I snatched the letter from my back pocket and pushed it in between the pages of one of the old magazines, then put that issue on the bottom of the stack.

  I barely had time to close the drawer, straighten and start taking my shirt off, when Zoe came strolling in.

  “Are you still getting ready?” she teased me as she walked past toward her closet, taking off the plain tank she had gone shopping in.

  “Almost ready,” I coughed as I opened the second drawer and pulled out a folded blue polo and some matching Bermuda shorts. I occupied myself briefly with watching her strip down and throw on a teal sundress. “I’m just a little worn out from work. So, where are we going tonight?”

  “It’s a new Mongolian barbecue place at Lakeside Village. Cassie says they’ve got a great buffet, all you can fit into a bowl.” She wiggled her way into the dress and I turned away, distracting myself by changing clothes.

  In the back of my head as I stepped into my Sperrys, looking now like any Floridian going out to a somewhat-nice restaurant in the middle of a heat wave, the image of that scrawled blue lettering lingered. Who had left that note? What did they want? If they had planned to just go to the police, they would have. But instead of sending squad cars, they had sent this menacing letter.

  Then it hit me. The note was sent to rattle me. That has to be it. There will probably be a follow-up of some kind, and they want to make sure I’m good and scared so that when they make whatever demands they are planning, I’ll cave in. Nice intimidation tactics.

  “You with me, babe?” She was dressed now, hair put up with a band that was the same color as her dress.

  “Sorry. I’m here, just thinking about work again—all the new clients. I feel a little exhausted today. You know how it goes.” I hated complaining too much to her. But once I had sold the only partial lie of job stress, it was easy to fall back on. “Anyway, you look great.”

  She chuckled. “Careful, sleepyhead. Don’t stuff yourself and fall asleep at the table.”

  That actually didn’t sound like a bad idea. I had been overdoing it at the gym, running faster and faster on the treadmill and lifting more weights. It was a good stress reliever but left me empty and exhausted. The mess with the note had me wishing I had the strength and time to do another three miles. “Oh no, I’m totally stuffing myself and then conking out. You going to have to carry me out.”

  “Okay, but I might have to drag you.” She was teasing me gently, and normally it would have made me snicker, but her comment unknowingly struck a nerve.

  I smiled back stiffly, suddenly needing air. “I’ll meet ya on the porch, babe.” I glanced briefly down at the bottom drawer before turning and walking out of the room.

  CHAPTER 9

  Preparing for the Worst

  The next day at work was torture, just like the author of the letter had so obviously intended. I couldn’t stop fretting about the mysterious piece of mail and its sender. Who was it from? What did it mean? Someone had obviously seen me drive past somewhere at the end of Fernery that night, but how much had they seen?

  Had they seen the fight? Had they seen me strangle that poor stupid kid and then come back to retrieve his body? God forbid—had they somehow trailed me to the landing and seen me dumping him into the lake?

  What other photos did they have? God, this could be the end of me.

  Maybe it’s blackmail. It sure seems that way. But why are they just saying something now, instead of weeks ago? What did this person hope to gain out of threatening me? I wasn’t wealthy. No one in this neighborhood was.

  I also wondered if Phyllis had seen the letter and opened it, being that it was a strange, unsealed piece of mail. She obviously delivered it to the right place. Did she read the note inside, or look at the photo? My mind was racing as I pondered the awful possibilities.

  Dammit man. I snapped out of it, realizing that I was brooding over an uneaten sandwich and melting frozen lemonade. I took a bite of shredded barbecued beef with dill pickle and provolone and chewed mechanically. I could barely taste it. Even the tang of the lemonade was faint.

  Would Phyllis even snoop like that though? No…probably not, I thought to myself. Phyllis was the kind of neighbor that kept track of things around the property, from suspicious loiterers to repair needs and delivering mail—but by no means was she a snoop. She was a sweet old lady who did her diligence and also knew how to mind her own business.

  It was possible she opened the letter, but not likely. After all, opening another person’s mail is against the law whether you know them or not. Phyllis was a war widow who prided herself on her ethics and had told us on more than one occasion how much she disliked drama. She could be a bit of a gossip now and then, but she knew when to draw the line. She wouldn’t likely go putting her nose where it didn’t belong.

  She probably just saw “Blue Truck” written on the front of the envelope and figured it was a piece of mail for me. Despite Phyllis’ age and habit of talking to her dog, she was sharp-eyed and sharp-minded. She definitely knew that I had a blue truck; she even told me once before how much she loved the color.

  On the other hand, she had to be curious...and she had the op
portunity to read it without anyone knowing. I took another huge bite of sandwich, wishing that I could enjoy its flavor, but my mind kept fixing back on that one thing. I was fairly convinced that Phyllis hadn’t read the note, but I wanted to know for sure.

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon when I tapped on Bob’s door. He jumped slightly and eyed me through the cubby-sized office’s window, like my presence worried him. After a moment, he nodded once and gestured toward the door. “Come in.”

  “Hey Bob, I’d like to leave a little early today,” I said quietly. “I’m not feeling well. I’m up on my daily tasks, and those five client dossiers are in your inbox.”

  He didn’t get up to dominate me with his height like he did with most people who walked in. Instead his small, piggish eyes looked at me nervously, and his chubby hands fiddled with his pen. “Yeah, okay. Be back tomorrow in time for an all-staff meeting.” His gaze barely met mine and then slid away almost cowardly.

  Great. Another one with no announcement means another firing. The company’s trying to expand, and this idiot keeps shrinking the staff. But I couldn’t worry about it. I had to get home in time to catch Phyllis for the day’s mail delivery. Next to that, job frustrations seemed like a ridiculous thing to even be thinking about.

  I quickly packed up my laptop, grabbed my keys from my top desk drawer and headed out. I signed out on the board and left, sighing under my breath with relief. Thank God. I had been half worried that he would detain me to handle “just one last thing”, and I would miss my window. Bob had seemed oddly...cooperative, lately. If only with me.

  My plan was not to ask Phyllis about the letter directly, but rather to engage her in conversation, and see if she would bring it up. If she did read the letter, she would surely let me know. Phyllis wasn’t shy about her observations by any means. She was probably one of the most honest people I had ever known.

  But that also meant that if she knew about the contents of that letter, so would Zoe within a day or two. That was what I was really worried about.

  The drive home seemed to take forever. Under the baking heat of mid-afternoon, the highway was, of course, packed and slowed traffic to a crawl. I caught myself squeezing the wheel hard enough to hurt my knuckles and forced myself to calm down. Almost there. I’ll make it. I have to make it.

  Ten minutes later, I finally pulled onto our street. The property our house was on was one sprawling lawn dotted with houses: the landlord’s, his son’s next door, and a handful of rentals. Ours was at the front of the property. As I drove in past the gate, I spotted a familiar pink golf cart by my back patio.

  I heaved a sigh of relief as I pulled into the driveway. Phyllis must’ve literally just put the day’s mail on the steps. I caught sight of her purple muumuu waving in the slight breeze as she rounded the corner of our porch and headed back for her golf cart.

  She turned around as I pulled up and put my truck in park. “Hey Phyllis!” I called over as I got out.

  She flashed a warm grin. “Hey there, Carter. You’re home early!”

  “Yeah, I had some errands. How are you today?” I gave her the friendliest smile I could muster. She’s not looking worried. That’s a good sign, right? Right.

  “Oh, well... I’m alive,” Phyllis said in a wryly joking tone. Her eyes twinkled...and then she held up a finger. “Oh right. Hey, I wanted to ask you…” Phyllis lowered it with a thoughtful frown. “Did you get that envelope?”

  My heart immediately sank. I put on my best innocent, confused expression. “Um, which envelope? There were a few of them yesterday.” Meanwhile, I watched her face closely for her reaction and expressions.

  Her brows drew together slightly, but she didn’t become agitated. “Yes, but there was one that just had something written on it, yesterday… it just said ‘Blue Truck’… I figured it was for you. Was it for you? Otherwise I’ll have to check and see if anyone else knows anything.”

  Dear, sweet, responsible Phyllis, who would have made my business everyone else’s around here out of well-meaning ignorance. Glad I got home in time. “Oh right! Yeah, yeah, I saw that.” I kept my voice bright and casual. “I meant to open it but started making dinner and forgot all about it. Think maybe one of the neighbors wants to put an offer down on it?” I waited to see if she would correct me.

  “Oh okay.” Phyllis smiled softly, a faint look of relief on her face. She probably hadn’t relished the idea of checking around about a mysterious letter in this heat. “I figured it was probably for you, being that you have that beautiful blue truck. Maybe someone does want to buy it. I would, if I could still pass the damn driving test.” She shuffled up to her golf cart and sat down in its padded seat with a sigh. “Sorry. My knee’s hurting.”

  “No problem,” I said warmly, hiding my relief. At this point it was clear Phyllis hadn’t opened the envelope. If she had, she would’ve said something.

  “Well, thanks for checking. I’ll go see what that letter says.”

  She nodded, her smile going wry. “Okay, well, I’m finishing up with the mail and then getting out of this heat. You tell Zoe I said hello, all right?” She mopped her brow with an enormous floral hankie which she promptly stuffed into her muumuu side pocket.

  “Oh yeah, I will. Thanks again!” Phyllis was already whizzing off to the last house on our property, driving as aggressively down the sidewalk as the golf cart would allow.

  Thank God. Another dodged bullet. I went to retrieve today’s mail, sighing again with deep relief. The great thing about Phyllis was that her personality was like that of a cat. She came and went, and was always friendly, but also knew when it was time to leave. She was what many would call the perfect neighbor. Except for the bit where she could have ruined my life without meaning to.

  I grabbed the mail from the porch steps and quickly scanned through it as I went in the house. Nothing today but junk mail. What a relief. But...it still didn’t settle my mind entirely. It meant that the other shoe had not yet dropped. I set the stack of mail on the kitchen table and headed for the bedroom.

  I fetched the envelope with the note from the inside of the Runner’s World magazine. I removed the tiny piece of tape that I had used to seal the back, and pulled out both papers.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed, staring down at both of them. The grainy, strangely barred printout showed my truck speeding away, one end of the telltale bundle just visible in its bed. That single detail would likely mean nothing to anyone else, but it chilled me to the bone. I wondered, once again, whether this person had more photos of me and how incriminating they were.

  I re-read it: I KNOW WHAT YOU DID in that jagged, almost desperate-looking scrawl. I couldn’t tell whether the hack who wrote it was stressed out or on some sort of drug, but they certainly weren’t quite in their right mind. I read those five words over as if there was something more to discover in them.

  Who did this? I thought. It’s got to be someone close. Somebody down near the T-intersection—the apartment complex or one of those ratty old houses.

  Whoever wrote the note had obviously hand-delivered it themselves, or sent someone. But was it just one person or more? And what exactly did they know? Either way, it would be enough to cause me some serious problems. Knowing that they knew my truck, and worst of all, where I lived was all kinds of bad.

  In fact, the more I thought about it, the more worried I got. Would someone be coming to harm me, or even worse, Zoe? My heart was beating harder as my mind raced through possible scenarios. Was this the reason that the boy’s disappearance wasn’t in the news, and the police hadn’t been called…because his loved ones wanted to take justice in their own hands?

  What if they had decided, an eye for an eye...a loved one for a loved one?

  I shut my eyes and covered them with the heels of my hands, dropping the papers onto the bed. Panic flooded me. Oh God, that’s it. That has to be it. They’re angry, violent people, just like he was, and now they’re planning to come after me. But...coul
d I really blame them?

  My head sagged slightly. No. No, I could not. I had taken their boy and then disposed of him like a piece of garbage. No one would ever be able to even bury him properly after what I had done. If their plan was to run up on me with their rage and grievances, I probably would have deserved at least some of it.

  ...But that doesn’t give them any right to hurt Zoe!

  Suddenly the volcanic rage that I had felt that night flooded through me again. I snatched up the papers in one fist and began tearing the whole thing into pieces. My breath caught in my throat as that terrible emotion burned through me.

  They can come after me, but they will never lay a hand on Zoe. I won’t see her hurt. I won’t see her scared, I won’t see anything bad happen to her over this. Not on my watch.

  I never asked for that stupid kid to run me down and try to mug me. I tried to get away. He pushed me until I snapped. This isn’t my fault!

  It wasn’t fair. Zoe didn’t deserve any of whatever hell this person planned to drag us into, and I didn’t deserve any of it either. I wasn’t going to accept it.

  If they come near my home, I’ll...I’ll kill them!

  The reality of what I had just said seemed to shake me awake. I looked up and around, unclenching my jaw...then down at my legs. Tiny paper pieces laid piled on my lap and scattered around me on the bed. Jesus. I’m glad nobody saw that.

  Alarmed by the attack of rage as I was, I was still determined to protect me and mine. I hesitated for just a moment, then leaned over the side of the bed to reach my night stand drawer. Inside was a small, plain, black box. I pulled it out and opened it.

  Nested in the padded interior lay a nine-millimeter Beretta semiautomatic pistol. It had a dark finish and a plain, rubberized black grip. I sat back up, admiring the eerie beauty of it. The gun had been a gift from my father years ago, the year I had moved from Ohio to Lakeland.