No Good Deed by Victor Gischler

Author:Victor Gischler
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

19

It was maybe 4:00 A.M. when Francis heard Emma get out of bed, slip on her T-shirt and panties, and leave the room. He thought maybe she’d gone to sleep elsewhere, but a moment later he heard the toiled flush down the hall, and then she slipped back into bed again. She burrowed beneath the covers and was breathing steadily again in seconds.

Francis couldn’t get back to sleep, thoughts tumbling in his head. It took him a minute to remember which state he was in.

South Dakota. How the hell did I end up in South Dakota?

There was no Open Spaces Trek guide to tell him what to do.

Over coffee, Francis would change her mind. He’d explain …

What? Emma had every right to want to handle her own business herself. The fact that Francis had just had some of the best sex in his life simply wasn’t pertinent. And he couldn’t say, You’re a weak little girl, and you need a man around to look after you. She’d laugh. Or kick his ass.

But the idea of Emma going out of his life tomorrow made his chest tighten. In a week or a month? Maybe. But not tomorrow. Not before he’d had the chance to see if this could be something good, that maybe the boring doofus who worked in a cubicle and the wild-haired girl with the alligator suitcase could actually mesh.

He mentally rehearsed what he’d say to her, but it all sounded so feeble.

Slowly, a gray, grim light leaked through the blinds. The dawn was still a ways off, but the beginnings of a predawn glow edged the horizon, a bleak and timid preview of the sunrise to come.

Francis rolled out of bed, trying not to make any noise, and gathered up his clothes and shoes. He carried them into the hall and dressed there. In the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee. He looked out the kitchen window over the sink. The landscape had been enveloped by a dense gloom.

He stepped out onto the front porch. The air was pleasantly chilly without being cold. A thick fog had rolled in. From where Francis stood, he could see neither the tree line nor the barn. The row of rusted cars was close enough to appear as a line of dark shapes humping up from the tall grass.

There was something hypnotic about the morning’s utter silence. Everything was so still. He could have been on a soundstage. Odd how the fog transformed everything, made his surroundings seem artificial. He stepped down from the porch, ventured across the wet grass toward the barn.

A form congealed in the mist to his left and startled him. He realized it was the old tractor. He’d forgotten it was there. He paused, looked back at the house. He’d only walked a few dozen yards, but already the house was nothing more than a dark outline, the kitchen light in the window a fuzzy orange beacon.

The snap of a twig. A frantic flutter of bird’s wings.

The sounds were sudden and loud in the silent fog.

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