Kill Me Once, Kill Me Twice by Clara Kensie

Author:Clara Kensie [Kensie, Clara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781948661485
Publisher: Snowy Wings Publishing
Published: 2019-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

Javier’s father was busy in the back storage room when we got there, so Javier distracted him while I slipped into the little single-engine Piper that they used for crop dusting. The desire to be with Will was surprisingly overwhelming, but the excitement of flying took the edge off a bit. Javier slid into the pilot’s seat next to me, then clicked and pulled and flicked the buttons on the dashboard, the hatchet tattoo on his wrist swiping and slicing. Soon the Piper was kicking up dirt on the runway. We went faster and faster, the engine

sputtering

whirring

humming,

and I let out a Whoo! as we lifted off the ground.

Javier laughed as I watched Ryland get smaller and smaller. “You never get tired of this, do you?”

“Nope.” This was freedom, flying like this. “Go higher!”

Javier, the little scaredy cat, never went as high as I wanted. “This is a low-altitude plane, Lily,” he said.

But we were high enough in the air that I could see Ryland’s farms spread out beneath us like a giant quilt of golds and greens. I couldn’t help myself—I checked Duston Farm for Will, hoping he’d be in his soybean field.

And he was, halfway between the creek and his farmhouse, scattering seeds among the sprouting greens. He waved his Warriors hat up at the plane.

I laughed and waved back at him, although I knew he couldn’t see me.

“Aren’t you two supposed to hate each other?” Javier asked.

“We do,” I said, unable to stop the grin from spreading. “We’ve hated each other a lot the past couple of days.”

From up here, Ryland didn’t look that bad. It wasn’t so suffocating. The rusty train tracks bisected the land between Duston Farm and my dad’s company, through the patch of trees along Deep Creek, running along Old Sutton Farm and its crumbling, abandoned barn, and finally running behind the buildings on Main Street and beyond. I could see only the roofs of the buildings along Main Street, but I knew the town well enough to recognize each building. The Batter's Box, the police station, the bookstore, the pharmacy, the movie theater. The corner of Main and Adams, where Neal had been hit.

Huh.

“Hey, Javier,” I said. “Head back to the creek for a minute. To Railroad Bridge.”

“Why?”

“I just want to see something.”

Javier circled back over Main Street. I kept my eyes on the ground. Neal had been hit at the corner of Main and Adams. Whoever hit him must have driven his body to the creek—no way could someone carry a dead or unconscious body that far, so they must have driven him—but there was no road near the creek. The car must have driven through the fields and woods along the train tracks.

As we flew along the tracks, I kept my eyes on the ground, imagining someone—a shadow—driving his car from Adams Street, into the alley, then off-road, through the grassy, weedy fields of Old Sutton Farm. Getting as close as possible to the bridge. Putting it in park. Opening the doors.

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