Fatal Exposure

by Jamie Jeffries

  When he woke, Dylan’s head throbbed as if someone had hit him with something like a rock. Maybe the rock that seemed to be his pillow. He couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing, a mess of straight green plants with thorns, that apparently grew sideways. He puzzled over it for a while before becoming aware he was lying on his right side, with his right arm pinned under him. His head was resting on a rock that was inside the truck for some reason. The ocotillo outside the windshield was green because of Wednesday’s storm. Normally, it would have looked like a bundle of sticks. Sideways because he was sideways.

  Pain shot through his arm when he tried to move it, wringing a scream from him. The sound was so startling that at first he didn’t understand it had come from him. None of this made sense until, gradually, the fog cleared and he finally figured out where he was.

  Someone had sideswiped him, and run him off the road. The truck had rolled, and ended up on its side, collecting a rock through the passenger-side window in the process. His body must have kept going, at least as far as the seat-belt allowed, and slammed his head into the rock, which knocked him out and maybe broke his arm. All-in-all, he was lucky to be alive.

  The question was how he was going to stay alive. He had some water in the pickup, at least he had it before the accident. It could have been thrown out, but it shouldn’t be too far from the path of the roll. In his current position, he couldn’t tell whether the wreck would be visible from the road. Dylan was reasonably certain no one had seen it happen, besides the vehicle that had hit him. What happened to it? Had the driver just kept going, fearful of the consequences of his actions? Leaving him for dead, or not caring? Dylan suppressed the urge to vomit. He was in enough trouble without that.

  His best chance would be to try to get out on his own, get back to the road somehow, and start walking toward Sells, because this pickup was going to be an oven within an hour or two. With luck, someone would drive past and he could flag them down. Sells was still a long, deadly hot walk ahead. That thought made him lift his left arm to look at his watch. Shit, already nine-thirty. He’d been out for a couple of hours.

  Since Dylan couldn’t move his right arm, he lay there for a few more minutes, figuring out his moves and summoning the courage to make them. It was going to hurt like a mother-bear, but he had to get the seat-belt loose. The latch was under his right hip, and he would need to operate it with his left hand. He was half-hanging from the straps, putting pressure on them on the right side, so operating the latch would be doubly difficult. Then he remembered his Bowie knife in the glove box. If he could reach that, he could just cut the straps. He lifted his head as much as he could from the angle he was stuck in, and pushed it forward. No joy, the rock was jammed through the front edge of the window opening. He couldn’t even see the glove box, much less reach it. On to Plan B, which had been Plan A before he remembered the knife. He would carry that in his boot from now on if he survived this predicament.

  Twisting his body as much as he could, Dylan reached around from the left and fumbled under his injured arm for the latch to the seat-belt. Luckily, it was the kind that pushed in from the top, instead of having a button on the side. That would have been impossible. With a mind-numbing jar to his right arm, he managed to locate and push the seat-belt latch to release it. Without the seat-belt supporting him, his whole body slumped downward, falling on his arm and jarring it again to the accompaniment of a guttural ‘FUCK!’ ripped from his throat. But, he was loose, and it was merely a matter of rolling down the driver’s side window and squirming around until he could slither through it to escape from his rapidly-heating prison.

  Once out, if Dylan wanted to locate the water, not to mention his cell phone, he was going to have to climb back in. Opening the door against gravity proved impossible with just his left arm, so he gave up on the cell phone and started looking around for water bottles that could have been thrown out on the way to his pickup’s final resting place. After several minutes’ search and sticking his head and left arm as far as he could back through the window, he’d only found two bottles. The rest must have been scattered further up the slope toward the road, or, if he was really unlucky, under the pickup. He couldn’t wait any longer, though. Hoping he’d find some on the way up, Dylan clamped his right arm against his stomach, his thumb looped into his belt for support, and started picking his way upward.

  ~~~

  As Dylan climbed, he couldn’t believe how far the pickup had rolled, or that he had come through it with no worse injuries than he had. It was plain from there no one could see the wreck from the road. They’d have to drive precariously close to the edge to see his truck, some two hundred feet below on an almost vertical drop. Now he realized someone had tried to kill him, and damn near succeeded. Still would if he ran out of water before he found a ride.

  The climb up was not only difficult but dangerous, especially with just one arm. He was in a better position than most, though, to know what would happen if he stayed below and waited for rescue. He wouldn’t last the day with only a couple of pints of water. Doggedly, he climbed, found a place to rest and looked to both sides for an easier way up, then climbed again. More than an hour later, with one bottle of water gone and the other calling his name, he gained the roadway. According to his watch, it was nearly eleven in the morning. He turned east and began walking.

  Only one thing was going to save him, and that was the culture of hitchhiking among desert tribes everywhere in Arizona. If someone came along, he could count on them to stop unless they were tourists from somewhere else. There wasn’t a huge amount of traffic on this road, but surely someone would pass before too long. After assuring himself rescue was certain, Dylan trudged along thinking of everything he’d been through since returning to Dodge.

  The best was reconnecting with Alex. He didn’t know whether they could form the connection they’d had as kids, or even if he wanted to. But, he’d learned last night she was good company, prettier than ever, and smarter than he’d realized. That wasn’t something Dylan paid any attention to back in high school. What he liked about her then was she was a good sport, came to the football games, and was very easy on the eyes. That she was a good kisser with a great body and not afraid to explore sexually was the bonus, and what made him stay with her until the night her dad caught them. What Paul didn’t know then was Dylan was a virgin, just like his daughter. His hormones got the better of him that night, and he learned a valuable lesson. In the years since, he’d lost his virginity, or rather eagerly spent it. He wondered if Alex had done the same.

  Dylan walked for another hour, probably two or three miles, before an old rattle-trap pickup came along and stopped in the road beside him.

  “You need a ride, esse?” Dylan could have kissed his feet.

  “Yeah, man, I need one bad.” Dylan held up the water bottle, showing the driver he only had a couple of inches remaining in it.

  “Climb in.” The driver leaned over and opened the door, pushing it out for him, and he climbed in awkwardly.

  “What’s wrong with your arm?” he asked. Dylan got a good look at him for the first time. He was either Native or Latino, the latter from his slang, about forty he guessed, and didn’t have the best hygiene, but to Dylan he looked like a guardian angel.

  “I wrecked my pickup a couple miles back, rolled down in the ravine. I think it’s broken. My arm, I mean. I’m sure the truck is broken too.” Dylan was babbling and knew it, but his relief was so great he couldn’t seem to stop.

  The driver’s face took on a look of distress. “Oh, hey, I’m only going to Sells. You need a hospital?”

  “Sells is fine. They have a hospital there. If you can get me there, I’ll be fine. Thanks for picking me up.”

  “No problemo.” He stepped on the gas, evidently intent on getting Dylan there as soon as possible. Dylan would have preferred he got there without jolting his arm so much. He was too grateful for the ride to say anything.

  At the hospital, Dylan went
in through the emergency entrance and was soon under the care of several doctors and nurses. His rescuing angel had left without leaving Dylan a way to contact him, but at least he’d said thank you and offered the guy a twenty from his wallet for gas, another cultural expectation, though it was usually less. He’d waved it off.

  “No, esse, I was going here anyway. Glad I could help.”

  It was nearly two in the afternoon before Dylan was able to get someone to call Lt. Wells in Tucson and let him know what had happened, and three before Wells arrived in person to take him the rest of the way to his original destination. Dylan still hadn’t called work, too overwhelmed by the day’s events to think about it. His pickup was totaled, no question. He’d given some thought to his love life and found it was probably for the best he didn’t pursue it, and he was about to deliver news to two little boys who he doubted could process it.

  At the foster home where Juan and Davi were staying, Wells squatted to their level and told them their brother had something to tell them. Dylan was the one who had to tell them their dad had been found dead in the desert.

  “Who?” Juan asked.

  ~~~

  “Dad, you’ve got to tell me what Dylan discussed with you that day.” Alex’s screech as she ran into the house shocked her even as it was happening. She was acting hysterical. She didn’t know whether she was afraid of Dylan or for him, but right now it felt as if all would be clear if Dad would just break his vow of secrecy.

  “Alexis, calm down. What’s happened?” Dad’s unruffled demeanor infuriated her and she screamed in frustration. So much for calming herself. She took a deep breath.

  “Joe Hendricks just hauled me in for questioning.” The dramatic exaggeration even sounded ridiculous to Alex. Dad was goggling at her as if she’d grown a second head.

  “Hauled you in?” he says.

  “Well, he called and told me he thought there was a break in the dead guy case and asked me to come down. When I got there, he took me into an interrogation room, swear to God, Dad! And then started asking me all these questions about Dylan’s family. He thinks Dylan killed that guy!” Alex began to pace, too agitated to sit down and discuss it rationally.

  “And what makes you think my conversation with Dylan will throw any light on the subject?” Dad asked. Alex stopped pacing and looked for something to throw. She was seriously going to explode if she couldn’t figure this out. Did she have dinner with a murderer last night? Was Dad, of all people, protecting him?

  “Come on, Dad, I’m not stupid. Dylan comes in and asks who wrote the story, then asks to talk to you and whatever he says is a big secret. Who wouldn’t connect that? What did he tell you? He told me he was looking for his stepdad and he thought the guy in the desert might have been him.” Way too many pronouns. She opened her mouth to clarify which he was who.

  Dad sighed. “All right, he’s told you most of it anyway. Sit down.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. Alex sat opposite Dad’s easy chair, on the floral sofa she wished he’d take to the dump and burn, it was that ugly. Dad took on a pensive look, as if he was trying to figure out where to start. If he didn’t start talking soon, she was going to crack her teeth, she was grinding them so hard.

  “You remember that night, Alex, when I threw Dylan out.” It wasn’t a question. He knew that night was probably the most memorable in all her teen years.

  Of course I remember, and what does that have to do with the price of tea in China! She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  Dad continued. “He came to me a couple of days later, apologized again, and said he needed to understand what I meant about doing the right thing. He thought he knew, but he cared for you a lot, and he didn’t want to do it if he didn’t have to. I told him he had to break up with you and it had to be permanent. I’m sorry, Alex, but you were so young. I didn’t know how else to keep you safe.”

  She stared at Dad. This didn’t really surprise her, but she would have taken Dylan’s abandonment a lot better if she’d known it was Dad’s doing. What it had to do with the current situation was still a mystery. She nodded again, encouraging Dad to go on.

  “When he showed up here again I warned you away from him because I didn’t want you to know the truth. I’m sorry, Baby Girl. I was afraid you’d hate me if you found out. But then, that afternoon, when Dylan came to me, he changed my mind.”

  “How, Dad? What did he say? This is all old history.”

  “Patience, Alex, I’m getting there. He told me he wasn’t in town to hurt you or to start anything up with you. Apologized about that night again. Told me I’d been more of a father to him on that one night than either his sperm donor—that’s what he called his own father—or his stepfather ever had been. Then he said he was in town to ease his mom’s last months and to do right by his younger brothers, the same stuff he told you. Said he was afraid the guy in the desert was his stepdad, but he didn’t tell me why he thought that, Alex, I swear.”

  “Dad, Dylan told me you advised him to get a lawyer. Why?” This was the crux of the matter. Why did Dad think Dylan would need a lawyer if he didn’t know why Dylan suspected the dead man was his stepdad?

  “Because of this, Alex. Other people knew he was looking for Rufio,” Dad said, surprising her that he knew the man’s name. “I knew suspicion would fall on him if it were ever confirmed that’s who died.”

  “But it can’t have been, Dad. How can they possibly confirm that?” She was missing something, and Dad’s answer made her feel stupid.

  “The sketch, Alex. It’s probably already been released in Tucson. Someone must have recognized him.”

  “No, Dad, Joe said Dylan’s mother reported her common-law husband missing. That’s crazy! Dylan’s mom is out of it, he told me.” Dad’s reasoning made a lot more sense than what Joe had told her, but why would Joe lie, unless he thought it would make her say something to incriminate Dylan. None of this made any sense.

  “Well, there’s one way to find out for sure,” Dad said. Alex tilted her head in an unspoken question. “All they have to do is compare DNA with the kids,” he said.

  Before Alex could answer, the doorbell rang. She tensed, a fight-or-flight response to the immediate thought it was Joe, come to pick her up for being an accessory after the fact. She’d been watching way too many cop shows. It was actually Nana, without Aunt Jess, who had other plans. Alex flew at Nana and hugged her desperately.

  “Here, child, what’s wrong?” she asked, and Alex burst into tears.

  ~~~

  Nana patted her on the back awkwardly while Alex fought to compose herself. Nana was one of her favorite people in the whole world, but she wasn’t the typical soft and squishy grandma. For one thing, she went to college in the sixties, and her hippie leanings had never gone away. She wore capris and wild, tie-dyed t-shirts, kept her hair long but dyed bright red and braided, and if Alex had to guess, she probably still smoked pot. But she was her Nana, and she loved her.

  When Alex stopped crying, Nana took her by the shoulders and pushed her upright, peering at her with bright blue eyes over her sunglasses. Who knew what she saw, since she needed the bifocals Alex hadn’t given her a chance to put on. She pulled Alex back to her and hugged her again, then let her go.

  “What the hell is going on here, Paul?” she asked. Nana was digging in her shoulder bag for her other glasses, switching them for the sunglasses as she glared accusingly at Dad. “What’s happened since I talked to my granddaughter? Because, she wasn’t upset or scared then. What have you done?”

  Dad had never been a match for his mom. When she started in on him like that, he usually just threw his hands in the air and retreated. This time, he seemed to be too concerned about Alex to worry about what Nana would do to him next.

  “She got some upsetting news. Alex, can I get you something? A Pepsi?” Her nose was running, so the best help would have been a tissue, but she gave him a watery smile.

  “Thanks, Dad. A Pepsi would be nice.�
� Giving him an errand would get him out of the room so she could bring Nana up to speed. It had to be the bare facts; Dad would be back any minute.

  “Nutshell, Nana. My ex from high school is back. A dead guy was found about ten miles north of town a couple of weeks ago. My ex seems to be mixed up in it somehow, and I think the sheriff’s department may think he did it.” The way it came out left out way too much; the fact she’d been running into Dylan everywhere and actually went out with him last night. The fact even he believed the dead man was connected to him in a way. And the fact Dylan seemed to be missing right now, though that had yet to be established. Just because he isn’t at home or at work…but, she remembered, he was supposed to be at work. There were a million reasons he may not be—okay, a few—but it looked bad under the circumstances.

  Dad came back with her Pepsi, and Nana was gazing at her with an expression that made it clear the wheels were turning. It looked like they were going to discuss this, whether Alex was up for it or not.

  “Paul, do you have a lawyer?” Nana asked. Alex blanched. There had already been too much talk of lawyers, and Alex didn’t like that this was Nana’s first thought.

  “I know one. So you think I need to hire him to protect Alex? I was thinking about it.” Alex couldn’t believe this was happening, or they were discussing her as if she weren’t right there.

  “Dad, why? I haven’t done anything, I don’t know anything. Why would I need a lawyer?” She’d had the same thought when Joe was questioning her. It was never smart to answer questions about a crime without a lawyer present. It was just that this was so surreal.

  “Just a precaution, Baby Girl.” To Nana, he said, “I’ll give him a call.” Dad walked out of the living room and headed for his den-slash-home office. Nana took her hands.