Authors: Travis Thrasher
“Yeah, it is.”
“How’d you get in here?”
“I broke the law,” Kurt said. “How about you?”
Sean laughed. “Wes said you weren’t the friendliest guy out here.”
Kurt nodded, knew he was talking about one of the biggest guys in the joint. He had no beef against Wes Owens, so he remained silent. He didn’t want to start one.
“Look, I just want to see if you’d be open to—to listening to an idea.”
“An idea?” Kurt said.
“A proposal. Something that might be beneficial to someone who wants more than to simply dream.”
“And who says I’m that someone?” Kurt asked.
“No one says. But you got a good reputation around here. Certain privileges. And you got a head on your shoulders. Unlike a lot of these meatheads, Wes included.”
“So … what do you
propose?”
Kurt asked, stressing the last word for effect.
Sean took a drag from his cigarette and smiled. He didn’t seem nervous at all about this conversation, worried that someone might be listening. He blew out smoke and looked at Kurt with eyes alive with fury and determination.
“You would be up to considering it?”
“Maybe,” Kurt said.
“I don’t want to tell you just so you’ll tell me no.”
“I have to hear it first.”
“And if it’s a good idea?” Sean asked.
“Then, like I said, maybe I’ll—”
“Ah, the
maybe
again.” Sean let out a friendly, casual curse. “Look, you tell me if that maybe might turn into a definite possibility. If you’d really want to. That’s what I have to know.”
“Then what?”
“Then we talk more.” Sean grinned. “You’ll want to talk more.”
That was close to nine months ago. Now, with morning light warming Kurt as he drove, he looked in the rearview mirror again.
“You okay back there?”
“I’m fine.”
“That breathing doesn’t sound fine.”
“Just drive.”
“Where?”
“I told you. Stay on 44 until we get to St. Louis, then north on 55.”
“We gotta stop. Get that looked at.”
“I’m fine.” Sean cursed. “Just drive. We gotta make it to Chicago to get rid of this vehicle.”
“Tell me again what’s in Chicago?”
“It’s not Texas,” Sean said.
“That helps. A lot.”
“Think people are going to be looking for us up there?” Sean said.
“What’s up there to look for?” Kurt asked in return.
“Someone who can fix things.”
“Can he fix a bullet hole in your head? Wait, that’s just your arm.”
“This is not my doing,” said Sean. “Blame it on Rambo there next to you.”
“I said I was sorry, man,” Wes said. He sat in the front passenger seat because he was the biggest.
Craig, Lonnie, and Sean all sat in the backseat. Craig could be heard snoring slightly, while Lonnie remained silent and Sean breathed in and out with haggard breaths.
“Did the bleeding stop?” Kurt asked Sean.
“I better hope it did,” he said, then added, “Yeah, it stopped. What do they say in the movies? ‘It’s just a flesh wound.’”
“Glad you can joke about this,” Kurt said.
“You all need to lighten up. I’m the one that got shot, not you.”
“Seems to me a few other people got shot as well.”
“And once again, I abdicate responsibility to the human slab in the front.”
“I lost it,” Wes said, his low, guttural voice sounding desperate. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Don’t tell me sorry,” Sean said. “Tell the poor souls back at the Steerhouse.”
Kurt drove at a steady pace, not wanting to draw any attention to the Dodge. He had driven most of the night, adrenaline and fear keeping him awake. He had tried patrolling AM stations to see if they mentioned any report about the Texas shooting, but he had heard nothing.
“How long will we be in Chicago?” Kurt asked.
“Long enough,” Sean said. “I know someone there.”
“She as smart as Rita?”
“It’s a he. And no, he’s quite a bit smarter. Only difference is—he doesn’t know we’re coming.”
SHE KNEW THIS PLACE and knew it well. But in the four years she had been with Harlan, he had never heard her mention Gun Lake, much less describe it. It looked the same as it had years ago, when a bitter nineteen-year-old had vowed to leave and never return.
Norah knew that if there was a God, a God like her mother used to talk daily about, this was his idea of control. When somebody vowed
never
to do something, God would pull strings and make it inevitable for that thing to happen. Yet Norah knew better than to think such thoughts, knew better than to think God had anything to do with her life or anybody’s life.
She’d lifted up enough prayers for several lifetimes. Every single one had gone unanswered. If God existed at all, she figured she could ignore him as easily as he ignored her.
The noon sun warmed her bare arms as she sat on the edge of her car seat, the front door open and her legs spilling out. The sandwich she’d bought at the gas station down the road wasn’t all that bad, but she didn’t have much of a hunger. She’d bought a big plastic bottle of Mountain Dew to try to get some caffeine in her and make sure she didn’t keel over behind the wheel before finding a motel. She’d made it this far. Now she just needed to find a place where she could get some sleep.
I’ve been sleepwalking for the past year. I can last a little longer
.
In front of her, blue water shifted back and forth. The lake had its share of boats out there, but this was a weekday, and she knew that by Saturday it would be crowded with pontoon boats and speedboats and Jet Skis and other weekend luxuries of the well-off. The glare off Gun Lake hypnotized her, and she found her eyelids dropping as she gazed off in the distance.
Norah knew she needed to go see her mother, but she didn’t want to do it in this state. It had been long enough since she had seen her mother. She wasn’t ready. She might not ever be ready to see her again, but she at least wanted to be in a decent frame of mind. There were many words she needed to articulate, yet she
didn’t know if she would or even could say any of them. She might be silent the whole time. She just didn’t know.
I’ll go tomorrow
, Norah thought.
Or even the day after that
.
She remembered that last car ride out of here, in her old, decrepit Escort. The words she’d said out loud, the promise made to herself.
“Never again,” she had said. “I never want to see this awful place again.”
So much for promises
, she thought. She had left in a battered car and come crawling back a battered woman.
The tranquil day and the beautiful lake weren’t awful. Norah knew that the awfulness existed in the set of circumstances and events, not in the location. Just like the exquisite house she had just left, vowing never to return. It was a life she was leaving, not an address.
Will I crawl back to Harlan the same way I’ve crept back here?
This was different and she knew it. It had taken her a long time, far too long, to finally make the decision to leave Harlan. And she knew she
couldn’t
go back. If things had been nightmarish in their supposedly picture-perfect life, how would things be if she went back to him after leaving him and asking him to leave her alone?
She thought of the note she had left, wondered if and when he would read it. Wondered what he would do, how he would feel, what his next actions would be.
She had never really planned
not
to tell Harlan about Gun Lake. It was a piece of her past she simply didn’t want to dredge up. She’d told him bits and pieces about her parents, but that was it. If he had been someone else, maybe she would have given in and told him. But the thing was this: Harlan didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in finding out more details about Jerry and Solana Britt. All he wanted to do was buy her sleek and sexy outfits so he could parade her around as his trophy girl. Not trophy wife, which she once had thought she would be. Despite the ring, she was never anything more to him than his trophy live-in girlfriend.
How could I have been such an idiot?
It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand what was going on—that she was living with a man who beat her and simply taking it like a
timid, scared housewife. It was just that she couldn’t bring herself to leave the life she had made. It was a package deal, this relationship with Harlan. She had invested a lot of herself in it, and with it came a lot of amenities and perks. Not just the money and the wardrobe and the financial security. But their friends, their vacations, their parties, their memories. Sort of an all-inclusive love, all expenses paid.
She had once thought that these good things far outweighed the occasional out-of-hand brutalities. A year ago, after the hospital, Harlan had even said he was going to stop drinking and try to get help for his temper. But that promise had been short-lived. The past year had turned out to be the worst in their four-year history. Even then, it had taken her a while to face the truth. That Harlan was not going to change. That the days would only become darker as time passed. That the life she hated to leave really held nothing that was truly hers. And that she had better get out before somebody ended up being killed.
She knew that somebody would be her.
She put half the sandwich back into the paper bag it came in and threw it on the seat beside her. She raised her face to the sun and took in the rays for a few moments. Exhausted, her thoughts random and streaked, Norah knew she needed some sleep.
The fifteen-year-old girl with hair far past her shoulders ripped open the car door and bolted out into the cold hue of the midnight moon.
“Get back in here,” an out-of-breath, annoyed voice called after her.
She ran down the dirt road to escape his voice, each step making her feel better, giving her more confidence. The smell of his Polo cologne still lingered, perhaps more in her mind than anywhere else. Dots of sweat beaded her forehead despite the nighttime coolness. There was a field off to the right of the road, and she crossed the thick grass that led to the woods.
Her hand still ached. She wasn’t sure where her fist had landed, but was pretty sure it had been his nose. She’d popped him a few times, when her exasperated declarations of
no
stopped
meaning something. She had thought Larry might do something more than curse and let out a muffled moan, but he didn’t. He didn’t do any more than call out hoarsely as she opened the door and climbed out.
The senior had been pretty clear about what he wanted to do tonight, on this empty road, in the big Ford with the spacious front seat. Not only clear, but insistent. Her arms still ached from the grip of his hands, and her blouse was torn.
She’d been warned but had told them all they were wrong about Larry. The rumors meant nothing, not when she believed he actually loved her.
Love…
In the middle of a field, looking up to the sky, Norah felt an anger pulse through her. She felt angry with Larry for being such a jerk. With her mother, too, for being so tired all the time and her father for getting himself killed. She was angry with God, who was supposed to be watching out for her but never seemed to do much to help. But most of all, Norah was furious with herself for being such a fool. For believing people when they said they liked her, that they cared just a little bit.
The nighttime stillness chilled her, and she wiped the tears away and wondered what would happen on Monday when she saw Larry and his bruised nose and injured ego. What would he tell people about her? She thought she knew.
What about her friends, their friends? What then? She couldn’t go back to the freshmen girls she’d blown off. The senior girls only tolerated her because of Larry. She’d put all her eggs in one basket and suddenly tossed that basket out the car window, smashing every last one of them.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t care
.
But she cared, all right. How could she tell any of them the truth—that they had been right, that she had gotten herself into this mess? How could she admit that, just like some had said, Larry had wanted one thing and one thing only?
I’m never trusting another guy again
.
She promised herself this on her long walk home that night.
Almost a decade later, Norah lay awake in her motel room, thoughts running around the darkened walls, the daylight leaking in around the edges of thin curtains. It was a generic room with two double beds, a television bolted down onto a set of faux wood drawers, a square bathroom with a toilet and shower, and a tiny sink with hard fluorescent light. As much as she wanted to sleep, needed it, her mind wouldn’t let her. It kept reminding her what a complete and utter failure she was. Never keeping self-imposed vows. Promises such as never coming back to Gun Lake. Promises such as never putting her trust in men again. Promises that she had broken time after time.
And if I make another one, will I break it?
She turned in the bed and tried to will herself to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come. It wouldn’t come for another hour.
THEY HAD RENTED a small motel room just on the outskirts of Chicago. All five of them would share the room, with someone sleeping on the carpet. Sean didn’t mind doing that, as long as he had a pillow. His shoulder was going to be killing him anyway, so the more space he had to move around, the better.
Sean stood inside the small bathroom by the sink and vanity. A few times on the road, they had bought a couple of bottles of hydrogen peroxide and he’d poured it on his arm, then wrapped it in his extra tee-shirt. Just the basics to ward off infection until he could really clean the wound. Now he had finally been able to clean up the caked-on blood around his shoulder and get a better look at the wound.
Thankfully, the bullet had only grazed his arm. But
graze
was a kind word for the gash. It looked like someone had cut him bad. Once he cleaned the wound, he doused it with more peroxide. He couldn’t let it get infected. They had bought some bandages
and tape at a nearby Walgreen’s, and after thoroughly cleaning it, he’d patch it up.