by Harry Dolan
“Fuck,” he said.
He pushed himself up till he was standing. Eased forward along the wall toward the street.
“Jesus,” Cole said. “Stop it. Stay here.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
“Okay.”
“Stop.”
18
NOW
Sean Tennant
It’s beautiful, Sean thinks: The chill in the morning air and the black silhouettes of pine trees rising out of the fog. The gentle slope of the hill rolling down in front of him.
The wild grass of the hill is broken by scattered boulders and logs. The logs are smooth-sawn on the ends. They must have been felled on purpose, though why they were left here Sean doesn’t know. Maybe for people to sit on.
Molly is sitting on one of them, down toward the bottom of the slope. She’s talking to a woman named Claire. They met only yesterday, but they’re getting along like old friends. Claire is from Seattle, and she’s traveling with her fiancé, a skinny, bearded kid named Travis, who used to write code but quit his job—Because what’s the point, if you don’t like what you’re doing, right? What Travis likes doing is climbing rocks, and he’s off doing it now. He picked a good place for it: the Wrinkled Rock Climbing Area, a campground southwest of Rapid City, South Dakota, down the road from Mount Rushmore.
Sean and Molly have spent three nights here. After he picked her up from the ranch in Montana, they drove two hundred fifty miles to a Motel 6 in Sheridan, Wyoming. They slept there for a few hours—Molly paying for the room and dealing with the night clerk. In the morning they went to Walmart and bought a tent, a pair of sleeping bags, some groceries, and two new burner phones. From there, they headed east.
The accommodations at Wrinkled Rock are primitive. It’s essentially a parking lot for cars and RVs and a field where you can pitch a tent. But there’s no clerk to check you in and no TVs tuned to CNN. Cell reception is spotty. There are restrooms but no showers. There’s a spigot where you can draw water that’s supposed to be drinkable, but Sean doesn’t like the taste. He’s drinking bottled water instead, sitting in front of his tent on a camp chair borrowed from Travis, admiring the beauty of the fog.
Sean hasn’t heard Cole’s voice for days, but now it’s there, to his right and a little behind him.
“You need a shave,” Cole says.
It’s true. Sean has six days’ worth of stubble. He touches his neck and says nothing.
“Or maybe not,” Cole says. “That could be your disguise.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Sean says.
“You should buy a razor. Clean it up around the edges. Give it some shape. Otherwise you’ll end up looking like coder boy.”
Travis has a thick unruly beard like a lumberjack’s.
“Yeah,” Sean says.
He reaches down until his fingers touch the dewy grass. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Cole settling onto the ground beside him, legs stretched out, bootless. Two intact ankles and two perfect, bare feet. There are always two when Sean sees him these days.
“How long are you gonna stay here?” Cole asks him.
“I don’t know,” he says.
“Your car is sitting in the parking lot. A cop could pull in there anytime.”
“It’s a silver Camry. There are a lot of them on the road.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And there are stolen plates on it. I picked them up in Wyoming.”
“Criminal mastermind,” Cole says. “That’s what you are.”
Down the slope of the hill, there’s a chipmunk on the log where Molly and Claire are sitting. It’s entertaining them: creeping closer, then running away.
“How long are you gonna keep her here?” Cole says.
Sean doesn’t answer.
“Gets cold at night,” Cole says. “Sleeping in a tent.”
“It’s not too bad.”
“Yet.”
“I figure we’ll head south,” Sean says. “Find another camping spot.”
“Sure. How much cash have you got?”
Sean knows the number, but he doesn’t say it. He started with a little over three thousand dollars—money he and Molly had hidden away at their rented house in Texas, in case they had to run. Sean has it stashed in a money belt around his waist. What’s left.
“We’ve got enough,” he says.
“It’ll go fast,” says Cole. “You have to eat, even if it’s drive-through food. Unless you’re gonna live off the land. Maybe all you need is a fishing pole.”
“Maybe.”
“You never caught a fish in your life. You know that won’t work. She’s gonna have your kid. Is she gonna have it in a tent?”
The idea makes Sean frown. “No.”
“So what are you doing? What’s the plan?”
Sean doesn’t answer. He focuses on the chipmunk in the distance, putting on its show.
“I know what the plan is,” Cole says. “You think you can do it again. Start over. New life. New identities.”
That’s exactly what Sean has been thinking. “It worked once,” he says.
“True,” Cole replies. “But last time your faces weren’t plastered all over the news.”
Sean nods. That’s the problem, and the only solution he sees is to wait it out.
“It won’t last,” he says. “Something’ll happen. Some idiot will shoot up a school or a church, and the news will move on. There’s always another thing.”
It sounds reasonable when he says it out loud. People have short attention spans, and their memories fade.
Sean wants to believe it. He breathes the cool air and watches the fog drifting off through the pines. It’s quiet beside him and he thinks Cole is gone, but he’s wrong. Cole has one more thing to say to him.
“The news might move on, but Jimmy won’t.”
Sean waves the words away with a flick of his hand.
“You know it’s true,” Cole’s voice says. “You should have dealt with him the other night when you had the chance.”
Sean is tempted to agree. He wonders what he would have done in Molly’s place. If he had been holding the shotgun, with Jimmy on the ground in front of him. Would he have ended it then?
But that’s hypothetical. Sean made his choice that night. Molly telling him to drive. Telling him that Jimmy was in the woods only a short distance away. He could have stopped and gone back, but he didn’t.
Sean tells himself now that it was the right decision. It would have been too risky, chasing after Jimmy in the dark. But that’s an excuse.
The truth is he didn’t want to kill Jimmy that night. He didn’t think he had the stomach for it.
“I don’t need to kill him,” he says.
He gets no answer. Cole is gone.
Molly Winter
The chipmunk leaps from the log and vanishes into the grass. Claire takes it as her cue to leave, saying she’s going to meet up with Travis. Molly watches her climb the hill, sees her wave at Sean as she passes him.
The fog is thinning fast now. Molly stands and stretches. She’s wearing hiking boots and jeans, a flannel shirt, a fleece jacket. Clothes Sean brought for her from Houston. She steps up onto the log and walks along it with her arms held out for balance. She feels light.
She and Sean have worked it out between them, how they’re going to start over again, with new names and new IDs. The main obstacle is money: it will cost far more than the cash they have. But they’re not without resources. Last Friday night, before he left Houston, Sean drove to Bear Creek Park and dug up the box in the woods. He’s got fourteen cylinder seals right now, resting in the pockets of his jacket. There are two more boxes they can dig up if they need them. One in Kentucky and one in upstate New York.
The seals are just pieces of stone: amethyst, obsidian, lapis lazuli. It’s strange that they should be worth so much, Molly thinks. Strange that they’ve had such
an impact on her life.
The other night, when he picked her up from the ranch, Sean told her he was sorry for getting her into this. He’s said it many times over the last six years. But it’s not right. The fault is hers as much as his. They decided together to steal the cylinder seals. They were both reckless.
Molly was the first to see them. Adam Khadduri showed them to her. They were dating, and he liked to play the charming older man. He liked to impress her with his wealth.
The seals meant something to him. Molly remembers him holding one up—a small one, about the size of a double-A battery. He showed her the intricate images carved into its surface. “There are three figures here,” Khadduri said. “The first is a god. The sun god, Shamash.” He rotated the stone slightly. “The second is a man. He’s asking for the sun god’s blessing. But you can’t approach Shamash on your own. That’s what the third figure is for. The woman. She’s a goddess called Lama. She’s there as a kind of guide.”
Khadduri weighed the seal in his palm. “This belonged to someone who lived thousands of years ago. When you touch it, you’re reaching back into history.”
Molly liked that about him, that he could be moved by a piece of art. She liked the things they did together: plays and concerts, weekend getaways, exhibits. She recognized the differences between them. He had far more experience than she did. He had an ex-wife who lived in New York and a son who was a sophomore at U of M in Ann Arbor.
Molly didn’t dwell on those things. Adam Khadduri was good company, even though she knew the relationship wouldn’t last. But it didn’t end the way she expected.
They were at dinner one night at a place in Detroit called Cliff Bell’s. Dark wood, live piano music, speakeasy lighting. Khadduri finished his meal and got up to use the restroom, and fifteen seconds later Sean slid into his empty seat.
Sean was eight months out of the army then. Lean and solid. He had long, unruly hair, bright eyes, three days’ stubble on his face. He had an energy about him that was slightly manic.
Molly had never seen him before.
“We don’t have much time,” he said.
Mischief in his voice. It made Molly smile.
“We don’t?” she said.
“No. So I’ll just say it: You look bored. Are you bored?”
“Am I—?”
“I get it if you are. That guy you’re with has to be, what, fifty?”
Molly felt her smile fading. “He’s forty-three.”
“And you’re all of twenty-two.”
“Twenty-three.”
“Close enough. Forty-three minus twenty-three. I can do that math in my head. It comes out to dull.”
“Do I know you?”
Sean shook his head. “Not yet. But you could. We could leave right now. I’ve got a car. But you have to decide.”
Molly leaned forward, playing along. “Because we don’t have much time,” she said.
“Exactly. If you’re worried about being rude, you can text him from the car. Tell him you ran into a friend and not to worry.”
“You’ve got it all worked out.”
“I’ve been thinking about it, over at the bar. He’ll be back any second. We have to go right now.”
She looked at him across the table. The bold, handsome stranger, trying to lure her away.
“Right now?” she said.
“Right now.”
And it worked. She left with him.
But leaving Adam Khadduri wasn’t as easy as she hoped it would be.
19
BEFORE
Molly Bowen
Molly worked in an art gallery in midtown Detroit. Sean had been doing odd jobs since he left the army.
The night they met, he wanted her to pack a bag and run away with him. She laughed and told him to slow down. But before long they were spending every night together, at her apartment or his.
She learned about him gradually. Discovered his quirks. Bright lights and sudden noises could make him jump. Crowds of people bothered him, but he made himself go out anyway. Sometimes when they went to bed, he couldn’t sleep. He said he saw things when he closed his eyes.
“What things?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Things I’d like to forget.”
She was lying on her side. He was tracing his fingers over the curve of her hip.
“You can tell me,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s getting better. You and I are going to be happy.”
And they were, as the weeks went by. It was autumn and the days were getting shorter, but Molly didn’t care. The only thing that troubled her was Adam Khadduri.
In the days after she ran out on him at the restaurant, he tried to contact her. Angry at first, then calmer. Conciliatory. Wanting to meet. Molly put him off, gave him vague answers by text. She hoped she could slip out of the relationship without the drama of a confrontation.
When he persisted, she left a message on his voicemail: she wished him well, but it was time for her to move on.
She received no reply. Thought it was over. Until the night Khadduri came to see her at the art gallery.
He came around closing time. The owner of the gallery, a woman named Karen Tierney, had left early, and Molly was alone. No customers.
When Khadduri spoke to her, he started out gentle. He had missed her. They’d had such lovely times together, hadn’t they? He didn’t know what he’d do without her. Wouldn’t she change her mind?
When Molly told him she wouldn’t, Khadduri’s mood turned darker.
“You’re seeing someone new,” he said.
There was an edge in his voice she didn’t like. Molly didn’t want to tell him about Sean.
“I’m not seeing anyone,” she said.
They were standing together near the back of the gallery. She wanted to get away from him, but when she moved he followed her and grabbed hold of her wrist.
“You little liar,” he said.
“I’m not lying.”
“You are. The waiter at Cliff Bell’s saw you leave. You left with a man.”
“A friend. That’s all.”
Khadduri’s grip on her wrist tightened. “Liar,” he said. “Are you afraid of me? Do you think I care about some boy you’re running around with? Do you think I’m jealous?”
“Adam, please—”
“You’re a child, working in a shop. What do I care about you? You want to sell your life out cheap? Do it. Do it while you can. You’re not bad looking, I suppose, for now. Give it a few years, and then we’ll see.”
She tried to step away from him again, but he kept hold of her. He pushed her until her back was against a counter.
“I can see your future, darling,” he said. “You’ll trick some boy into marrying you, and he’ll want babies. You’ll give them to him. Lucky him. You’ll get fat. He will too. He’ll disappoint you. You won’t want him anymore. You’ll divorce him. You’ll think you can find another. A better one. But you won’t.”
His face was inches away from hers. Eyes dark, mouth twisted. Molly tried once more to break away from him, but Khadduri pulled her back harshly and squeezed her wrist. The pain made her cry out.
“Adam—”
He laughed. “You really are afraid.” Suddenly he spun her around and bent her over the counter, pressing his body against hers. “Well, there’s no one here,” he said. “I suppose I could take you right now.”
She struggled, but he held her down. Eventually the struggling stopped and she froze, aware of nothing but the heat of his breath falling on the back of her neck.
“I could,” he said. “But why would I? I’ve already had you.”
He released her and walked out. Molly stayed frozen for a time. When she could move again, she went to the door and locked it, her fingers trembling. She slid down to the floor and sat there until the trembling stopped.
She felt better in the car on her drive home. When she got to her apartment, Sean was waiting. She didn’t want to tel
l him what had happened, but she didn’t want to lie either. And when he saw the bruise on her wrist, he wanted the whole story.
It made him angry. His first impulse was to find Adam Khadduri and shoot him.
“You can’t shoot him,” Molly said.
“I can,” Sean told her. “I’ve got a gun.”
“Then I’d rather you didn’t shoot him.”
He took some convincing, but she settled him down. “It’s over,” she told him. “He needed to get mad, and he got mad. It’s his pride. But now it’s done. Trust me.”
“I trust you,” Sean said. “That’s not the point.”
“What’s the point?”
“He hurt you. So I want to hurt him.”
Molly laid her palm on his chest, over his heart.
“I know,” she said. “But you won’t, because I don’t want you to.”
That night, after he fell asleep, she stayed awake in the dark, listening to little noises: the wind outside, the heat coming on in her apartment.
Khadduri’s voice in her head, saying one word: “Liar.”
The word stung her, because she had told Sean a lie.
She wanted to see Khadduri hurt.
Not because of the bruise he had given her, but because he had frightened her and made her feel weak. She hated feeling weak.
When she finally got to sleep, it was close to 3:00 a.m. She woke at 10:00 to the smell of coffee. Sean brought a mug of it and put it on her nightstand. He was wide awake, happy, playful. He got into bed with her, straddled her on hands and knees. Put his face close to hers.
“I’ve been thinking,” he told her.
“Uh-oh,” she said.
“No, this is good. Ask me what I’ve been thinking.”
“What?”
“I’ve been thinking there’s more than one way to hurt him.”
Sean Garrety
There was more to it than wanting to hurt Khadduri, of course.
When Sean thought about it, he acknowledged that it was mostly about money: needing it and not having it.
In a larger sense, it was about debt. Cosmic debt, you could call it. There were books that needed to be balanced. Sean was owed something for what he’d seen in Iraq, for what he’d done. For fifteen months of misery, breathing air that reeked of smoke and sewage. For watching Munir Zaman bleed to death on the floor.
