And then it hits me. I whisper, “We need to go. The snow will leave tracks.”
She nods. Her body shifts away from mine.
I toss back the sleeping bag, exposing us to the bracing cold. I stand, offer a hand to help her up. She takes it, winces in pain as she rises to her feet. I shake the snow off the sleeping bag and jam it into my pack. I’m about to swing the load up to my shoulders and hit the trail, when she stops me. She makes a shaking motion with her hand, brings her palm to her mouth, and pretends to swallow.
I point to her arm in the sling.
She nods, points to her head, and rolls her eyes.
I assume that means she has a headache. Is it from the accident too? It makes me wonder again what else is wrong. For example, this no talking thing. That really needs to stop.
I dig out the first aid kit and the remaining water bottle, shake four brown pills into her palm. She swallows them, takes a hit from the bottle. Closes her eyes, draws two deep breaths. Her body stiffens, then relaxes. I pop a couple IBs myself and drink just enough to wash them down. I wish I’d saved a little of the other bottle from last night, but I thought I’d be getting a refill this morning. Without a pack it would take me three minutes to climb down to the creek, one minute to fill the bottles, another five to get back to here. Call it ten minutes round-trip. But this snow changes everything. And it seems to be falling harder. I look up at the north ridge of Gooseneck Mountain. The notch is visible—for now. If the snow gets worse, or the clouds drop, then the notch will disappear. If I can’t see the notch, then I won’t be able to find Stumptown. That’s a risk I can’t afford to take. Plus, there’s the damn tracks. I might as well make a sign announcing They went that way.
I glance at her—she’s watching me. I decide the best play is to get her safely hidden in Stumptown. The water bottle is slightly less than full. If we don’t go crazy, that should be enough for today and tomorrow. Hopefully Ty will have joined us by then. I stuff the bottle in my pack, shoulder the load, offer her a thumbs-up sign.
She responds with something that might be a smile, gives me a thumbs-up.
I take a second to check my phone. No service, no surprise. The battery is at 68 percent. It was at 80 when we parked the Volvo. The time is 5:48. If all goes well, we’ll be at Stumptown by 6:30. I pocket the phone, turn, and start walking. After ten steps I realize there are no sounds behind me. I look back. She hasn’t moved. She looks at me, then down the hill, then back to me. I hold my hands out like What’s the deal? She points to my tracks, then looks at the ground around her, searching for something. She spots a stick, picks it up, and starts scratching in the snow. I walk down to see what she’s doing, my irritation growing with every step. In big bold letters she writes:
HE WONT STOP
Then:
HE WILL KILL US!
I try to act as if her words don’t shake me to my core. “He’ll have to find us first.”
She stares at me, her eyes narrowed and surprisingly steady. It looks like she’s digging in her heels. This can’t be happening. Not now, with the snow piling up around us. I move in close and struggle to keep my voice low. “Look, whoever you are. Ty and I had a plan. It was a good plan. We were going to disappear. But we stopped to pull you out of that car. Now we’re in some deep shit that we didn’t ask for. Ty risked—I mean, is risking—his life because of you. I don’t know where he is or how he’s doing. He could be bleeding out in the creek for all I know. And that’s what’s killing me, okay? But I promised that we’d meet him at this place, so that’s where I’m going.” She backs a step away from me. I dial down my voice a notch. “So here we are. It’s step-up time. Either you trust me now, or you don’t. But I’m walking up that hill no matter what.”
She blinks. After a moment she writes in the snow:
ASTRID
And points to herself.
“That’s your name? Astrid?”
She nods.
Finally. Something to work with. “So, Astrid. Here’s the deal. There’s this great guy named Cory. He’s wondering if you will go for a walk with him in the snowy woods?” I offer what I hope is a charming smile.
She takes another look down toward the creek, then turns back to me and nods. Barely.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Are you ready?”
She motions with her hand: After you.
I start walking.
Astrid’s footsteps fall in behind mine.
PORTLAND, OR.
ELEVEN MONTHS AGO
20
Stellah walked them to the Goodwill store, told them to get three pairs of pants, three shirts, a package of socks and underwear, a coat, a hat, and a sweater. “Make sure one of the outfits looks decent, because first impressions get one shot, and this impression needs to be off-the-charts good,” she said. She talked on the phone while they shopped, her voice rising once above the annoying Christmas music to the point that other shoppers stopped and stared. Ty was done in five minutes. Cory took longer because he had problems finding three pairs of pants with a forty-two-inch waist. When they were done shopping, Stellah inspected all the clothes, rejected one of Ty’s T-shirts because it had a picture of a marijuana plant with the words GO GREEN underneath. She picked out small duffel bags for both wardrobes, put $78.98 on her credit card, and they left.
Her phone rang on the way back to the car. She answered, said, “We’re still in Troutdale…. It didn’t come up…. You know I can’t answer that…. I will…. He’s right here…. Sure, hang on.” Ty reached out, but she offered the phone to Cory. “It’s Detective Ostrander.”
Cory shrugged at Ty, then said brightly into the phone, “Hey, Detective O.”
The voice at the other end growled, “I know Ty is there, so just listen to what I have to say. Your brother has gotten you into a very bad situation. You get that, right? If you do, say ‘That sounds awesome.’ ”
Cory thought of Tweaker Teeth. He’d followed them here, then knew enough to wait for Officer Jenkins to leave. Maybe he was waiting somewhere in the shadows to follow them wherever they went next. On a motorcycle. He scanned the parking lot again as he spoke. “That sounds awesome.”
“Good. I pegged you for a smart kid. You still have my card, right?”
“Yes.”
“Has your brother told you anything I need to know? If he has, say, ‘We can do that.’ If he hasn’t, say ‘Maybe next time.’ ”
They were at the Honda Fit. Stellah remote-unlocked the doors. Cory thought about Ty’s unfinished sentence after Tweaker Teeth left: He’s the guy that…Cory avoided Ty’s glare across the roof and said, “All right, Detective O,” and climbed into the front seat. “Uh, maybe next time?”
“Okay,” the detective said. “The way these things work is you give me something, I give you something. But to show you that I’m a good guy, even though you had nothing for me, I have some news for you. The autopsy finished about twenty minutes ago. The preliminary findings were interesting. Want to know what they were?”
Stellah was backing out of the parking space. Cory said, “Sure.”
“Now, technically I’m not supposed to share this kind of information at this stage, particularly with minors, but we’re partners now. I do you a solid here. You do me one later. And it stays between us. Deal?”
Cory closes his eyes. “Yeah.”
“There was smoke damage in your father’s lungs, but it was minor, not bad enough to kill him. His nose was broken, which the coroner said could have happened by falling. The big player here was an impact fracture on the top of his skull. She said it was consistent with a focused blow from something heavy, like maybe a brick but more like a hammer. She said if it was a hammer, whoever whacked him was probably taller than Benny and put some muscle into it. Can you think of anyone that fits that description?”
Cory figured the broken nose was from Ty’s sneaker. Then he thought about the last time he saw Tirk, how he had smashed the remote with their hammer, then walked out of
the house with it spinning in his hand. And if Tweaker Teeth was there last night, so was Tirk. “Yes,” Cory said.
“You get what this means, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because this shit won’t flush away. Your father’s partner has connections that go all the way back to Mexico. You ever heard of a town called Zacan?”
“No.”
“Zacan is a place where heads and necks just can’t stay connected. They show up in a garbage bags on playgrounds. A little girl found a bag. She thought it was full of coconuts. Until she opened the bag. They weren’t coconuts.” He paused, then said, “So I’m asking again. Do you have any news for me?”
Cory glanced back at Ty.
Ty said, “End the call.”
“No news,” Cory said. “But my brother says hey.”
“Then we’re done here.”
“Wait. It’s my turn. I have a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Will there be a service?”
“A service? For Benny?” Cory heard a loud snort at the other end. “There was hardly enough left of him for the autopsy. And even if there was a service, who’d come? A couple strippers? You and Mr. Donut are persona non grata in Portland.”
“Why?”
“Picture coconuts in a sack.”
Cory fought off the image. “For how long?”
“Unless you have actionable news for me, I’m thinking, oh…like, forever.”
Ty said, “Dude, hang up the damn phone!”
Cory ignored him. “What happens to his remains?”
“He’s eighty percent caramelized. I expect they’ll cremate what isn’t cremated already. If you want, I can see about getting the ashes to Stellah.”
Cory considered asking Ty if he wanted Benny’s ashes, but knew what the answer would be. Then he reminded himself that Benny was alive just two days ago and he had the bruised ribs to prove it. Without having a good reason for it, he said, “Stellah works.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, watch your back. Your brother is up to his chin in this, kid. Either he saw something, did something, or probably both. So call me if he talks to you, or you see someone you shouldn’t be seeing.”
“Okay.” And thought, You want me to snitch on my brother, just like you told Benny to do with Tirk.
“Good luck.”
The line went dead. Cory gave Stellah the phone. She slipped it into her open purse. Her eyes held his for a moment, then refocused on a red light turning green. “You all right?” she asked, stepping on the gas.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m not,” Ty said from the backseat. “What’d that dickwad want?”
“He’s not a dickwad. In fact, he called to wish us luck.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Whatever.”
“What sounds so awesome?”
“He said next time we’re in Portland to look him up. He’d take us to Voodoo.”
“Right. Like that’ll happen. What’d he say about the service?”
“There won’t be one.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s just say it wouldn’t be an open casket.”
Stellah shot Cory a disapproving look. Ty said nothing. Stellah merged onto I-84 East, accelerated to highway speed. She said, “Are you guys finished? I’d like to talk about what happens next.”
Ty leaned forward, put his head between the seats. “Well? Are we, bro?”
“Are we what?”
“Fucking finished?”
“Hey!” Stellah said. “Language, please. Keep it civilized.”
“I don’t know, bro,” Cory said. “You tell me if we’re finished.”
“I guess we are.”
“Works for me,” Cory said. He glanced in the side-view mirror. Saw cars and trucks, but no motorcycle.
Ty leaned back, started tapping the window with a finger. Stellah said, “Are you two sure you aren’t married? Because you sound a lot like me and my soon-to-be ex.” Her phone rang. She glanced at the display, slammed it back into her purse. “Speaking of dickwads, I swear if he calls again I’ll shove that…that, excuse me…fucking phone up his…” She looked at Cory. “Help a lady out. What’s the word I’m searching for?”
Cory nodded at the dash and said, “Air vent?”
“Up his air vent.” Stellah grinned. “That works for me.”
PORTLAND, OR.
ELEVEN MONTHS AGO
21
Stellah used the remaining miles to tell them about the Wainwright family. They lived in The Dalles, a city on the Columbia River about eighty miles east of Portland. Cory had watched Ty play in a football game there and wasn’t impressed with the place. He had guessed the population to be about ten thousand. He hadn’t been able to find a single GameStop, and the Wi-Fi sucked everywhere they went. She started out by telling them how excited she was about this fit. One of the best she’d seen ever, especially on this short a notice. Travis Wainwright, the dad, coached high school lacrosse for five years in California before moving his family to The Dalles to manage a bank. Ty grunted that lacrosse was just a hockey wannabe without the ice. Stellah said, “It’s probably best if you keep that opinion to yourself.”
She said that Travis’s wife, Tina, was a freelance graphic designer who also wrote background stories for video games. Cory wanted to know what games, but she didn’t have that information. He asked her if they had any kids. She told them one, Channing, a son, age twelve. They were also watching their sister’s son, Avery, who was special needs although she didn’t know what the special needs were. What she did know was that Avery would go back to his mother in a week or two. Stellah asked if either of them had questions, which they did not, so she began explaining the handoff. Her involvement would end after today and a local caseworker named Dylan Sykes would take over. She said she talked to him on the phone that morning and he sounded like a nice guy—young, but nice. A lawyer would also be part of the support team at some point in the near future but she doubted that point would be today. She said that Dylan would line up grief counseling sessions for both of them, and Ty would start anger management therapy for his issues that—
“What anger management issues?” Ty asked.
“The kind that lead to incarceration if not addressed.”
“Who told you? Coach?”
“I know how to read a file.”
“Did Coach tell you I didn’t start those fights?”
“I didn’t talk to your coach. But I did read a police report for one individual named Francisco Alvarez. He had a concussion and needed sixteen stitches. Spent two days in the hospital. But apparently you two kissed and made up because no charges were pressed. Based on your priors, that should have resulted in some juvie time.”
Cory suspected Tirk played a role in that outcome. Benny hinted along those lines, that maybe a certain someone visited Francisco in the hospital. Remembering Detective Ostrander’s comment about the garbage bag full of coconuts, he asked, “Do the Wainwrights know our history?”
Stellah pulled out and passed a Walmart semi spraying their windshield. “Most of it, but not all. There are legal issues that need to be sorted out. But they’ve fostered before and know the kids come from stressed environments. And they are aware of Ty’s…colorful past. To that point, Dylan told me this placement is contingent on him attending those sessions.” She swerved back into the right lane just in time to see a sign that announced the exits for The Dalles. “We’re the first exit,” Stellah said. “Any more questions? We should be at their home in about ten minutes.”
“Will I have my own computer?” Cory asked.
“I don’t know. If not your own, I’m sure you’ll have access to one.”
“Worried about those zombie hordes?” Ty asked.
“You have your skills,” Cory said. “I have mine.”
Stellah exited, took a right and aimed at a Circle K. “We’ll stop here. While I’m gassing up I want you guys to visi
t the restroom and change into your new outfits. Clean up as best you can. And, Cory, wear the black sweater with the tan pants. That looked good on you.”
She pulled up to a pump. Ty and Cory climbed out, Goodwill duffel bags in hand.
Ten minutes later they returned in their new used clothes. As instructed, Cory wore the black sweater and tan pants. The sweater had a big hole under the right arm that he didn’t notice when he bought it. And the neck choked the fat around his neck. Ty used the ten dollars that Stellah gave them at the coffee shop to buy toothpaste and toothbrushes and a fifty-cent comb. There wasn’t enough left over for antiperspirant, so they used a combination of paper towels and the hand dryer to wipe their faces, stomachs, and armpits. A man walked in during this process and openly stared at the two of them. Ty said, “Yo, we’re washing our balls next. You wanna take some pictures?” The man decided to pee at a later date.
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