Four Days of Fall

by Beck Jones

  Down at the road, he saw the car turn in. He knew to whom it belonged.

  It belonged to the one who had come every few months, bearing an envelope of cash that she left at the bottom of the hill, always inside the third junker on the right hand side of the drive. He had told her not to bother, that he didn’t need it. But she said she needed to. Just as she had needed to meet him that night after he had called her on the burner phone that he’d found in the glove box of Paul’s vehicle.

  She needed to come just as she needed to hide him after she had ditched Paul’s vehicle in the river. She had wanted to take him to the hospital. But his career was over, his life was over. He needed to die. And so she kept him hidden until she could spirit him out of town and eventually all the way down here.

  He watched the car slow and then stop, and the small figure emerge. She opened the door to the junker, leaned in and then out.

  For a moment she stood looking up the hill at him.

  He drank in the sight of her.

  And then she was gone.

  THE END

  READER'S NOTE:

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