Chapter 27
The stop at Henry’s house was going to be bunny-quick. Gwen didn’t want to take the chance of a cop pulling in behind her, stopping her, asking if she knew how Lori’s car ended up involved in a car crash, and why some disgraced former Olympian took pistol shots at the car. Then, there might be questions about just what Gwen was doing with an underage boy.
All her bullshitting reserves were exhausted going through checkpoint Charlie a second time post-planning session at Bug’s. Smiling at the cop, telling him Heppner didn’t seem like such a hot option with all the craziness going on in Little Creek. Gwen wanted to make sure she could actually get back in town. The cop told her it wasn’t going to turn into the manhunt of the century. Deputy Lueck had a broken nose at worst and Millie had run on into the woods unarmed. Probably a better chance she’d get eaten by bears or squirrels than she’d do any further harm.
Henry insisted he needed to do something at the house then they could drive up to Gwen’s, stay inside the rest of the night. He wouldn’t get into particulars.
Once Gwen pulled up and stopped, Henry got out, and ran for the front door. She left the motor running, in the hybrid sort of way, the car going so silent it was like it’d shut off. Stared into the rearview mirror. Could see Old School Road rising and going uphill, could see part of the Forest Service building.
Next time she spoke to Lori, she’d tell Lori the truth. It was better for the soul if not for the friendship. If Gwen was really in the groove and feeling like lightening her load, she might reveal hooking up with Alec. Lori might just wave her hand, tell Gwen she already knew. It was sperm under the bridge. Didn’t care.
She wondered what Henry would think if he came back outside and she was gone. Runaway Gwen. She’d done it before. There was probably another checkpoint on the east end of Little Creek. She bet if the media ever did arrive they’d find the one or two nuts in town and get that slant on events. Set up right across from the Patriot’s Kiosk and get Don Jennings to pose with his rifle, his Paul Revere outfit, and spin things, this Olympian a real American hero, obviously the target of a liberal conspiracy.
All this tumult, most Little Creek residents would be a little restless, a fair share right on Gwen’s wavelength, just needing a drink or some weed to settle on down.
The black car appeared.
Wasn’t there. Then it was.
The surreal appearance assisted by a purpled world, the suns slow slide out of sight.
The black car’s front headlights weren’t on, but if they did flicker to life, Gwen convinced the light would be black, a dark world’s electricity sizzling at the beams edges.
Later on she’d second-guess her actions. But the best thing in that moment was to listen to her inner voice, the one that had last spoken up during winter, screaming at her to decline Alec’s nakedness, his behest she join him.
The voice said kill the engine.
Yoink the keys out of the ignition.
Get out.
Don’t look back.
Slam the car door.
Don’t look back.
Half-run, mostly run, to the house.
Open the screen door. Open the door-door. Swear at the knob, the slippery fucker. Go in. Get in. Shut the door. Lock the fucker.
Run and make sure all the other doors were shut and locked.
Stop in the living room. Pivot. Look down the hallway.
Yell at Henry. Tell him not to go outside.
Then those other doors. Get them. Fast.
The outer garage door.
The inner garage door.
The basement door.
Down in the dim basement she looked too long at the pool table. The tiny pool cues. Weapons? God, did she need a weapon? Wasn’t there an axe down here she’d seen at some point?
The ceiling squeaked. Henry. Going for the door.
Panic. She yelled at Henry.
She ran back up the basement stairs. Two at a time.
Scurried through the kitchen. Held up in the living room, her heart pounding, probably looking like a little rabbit, scared, its whole body moving with its breath.
Henry stood at the head of the hallway. Pointing towards the front door, blinking like he was fighting off sleep or fighting off dumb.
“Who is that?” Henry asked.
“Are you done?” Soon as she asked, Gwen knew it didn’t matter. They weren’t going anywhere. Henry could take alllll the time in the world for his errands. Those damnable errands that had doomed them.
Henry made the call.
Gwen made him stand in the hall. Gwen in Lori’s bedroom, peeking out the curtains, feeding him the pertinent information. What the man looked like. What he was doing.
Henry hung up. It was ok, Henry related. Someone would be coming. Sipe, probably.
“What’s he doing?” asked Henry.
“Standing there.”
“Anything else?”
“Not so much,” said Gwen. “Henry, please. Don’t come in here.”
“I’m not.”
“I can see part of your head. If I can see, he can see.”
“He can probably see you.”
“I don’t think so.”
“If he’s going to shoot anyone he’d shoot you.”
“Henry.”
“I’m just…Be careful.”
“I will. I am.”
Gwen not sure whose side of the bed she stood next to, holding the bedside lampshade with one hand, trying not to knock it over as she looked between the drawn curtains and the window out at the driveway.
Outside, the black man in the tan suit smoked, walked back and forth in front of his black car. He didn’t look like a killer. He looked more like a maitre’d. A concierge. Some retired businessman your widow aunt scooped up for companionship in her sunset years.
“What was it you needed to do anyways?” asked Gwen. “Henry?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m not judging. Ok? I’m not mad.”
“Nothing. I just thought. The house is messy. I don’t want my mom to have to find it like that.”
Messy. All he meant was he hadn’t put the box back in the dresser. The box with the ‘thing’ inside it. The thing spilled across the kitchen floor hours ago. He’d touched it. Paul Salerno had a name for that family of personal appliance. Mother’s Little Helper. He really wanted to call Paul. Tell him to check the news. Guess what? Maybe it was the middle of nowhere, but today, for once, Little Creek, Oregon was actually half-interesting.
The Lipless Gods Page 29
