Spilled Blood by Brian Freeman

Author:Brian Freeman [Freeman, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
Publisher: SilverOak
Published: 2012-03-25T04:00:00+00:00

26

IT WAS NIGHTFALL. UNDER THE BAREST SLIVER OF MOON, THE OPEN LANDS of the Spirit River valley were barely visible.

Chris pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the road where 120th Street led to the river. His engine ran. He switched his lights off. Trees hung low over the asphalt, draping their branches on the roof of the Lexus. He gripped the steering wheel, debating whether to turn. He had been agonizing all day about what he needed to do. There were certain lines in life that were indelible, and if you crossed them you couldn’t go back.

The gun was on the passenger seat beside him.

His daughter was in the hospital. She’d been brutally violated. She would recover, but the stain would be with her forever, like a tattoo inked into her brain. Like graffiti scrawled on a perfect, beautiful painting. His anger was so deep it left him speechless. Something needed to be done; someone needed to pay. He thought about Marco Piva, who had become his conscience and his compass in the short time he had known him. You want to rage against the world. That was true, but his rage had a focus and a purpose now. Kirk Watson.

Half a mile behind him, headlights drew closer on the highway. He couldn’t afford to be seen here, and he had to make a choice: stay or go. With a tap of the accelerator, he swung into the woods that lined the river road. He coasted toward the water. Acorns and branches popped and snapped under his tires. He squinted, but he was mostly blind. Lights winked through the trees, marking the handful of houses built well back inside the forest. He lowered his window, and he could smell the dankness of the river not far away. Ahead of him, where the lights vanished, the road ended at the water. He was as close as he dared go.

He did a three-point turn and pulled as far to the side of the road as he could. He didn’t get out immediately; instead, he stared into nothingness. Wet leaves clung to his windshield. A crow screamed in the treetops. He took the revolver from the seat and felt its heft in the palm of his hand. He was like Hannah, he’d always hated guns. It wasn’t until this moment that he felt they had a place in this world.

Chris got out silently. He kept the ignition key in his hand and held it apart from the other keys on his ring. Carefully, he laid the key ring on the front seat, so that he could sweep up the ignition key without struggling to find it in the darkness. He eased the door shut with a quiet click. The gun nestled in his hand.

He planted each step softly. His pulse thudded through his throat and made a roar in his brain. Drooping pine branches scraped his face like fingers, startling him. He stopped, listening. Something scurried in the brush, like a small animal alarmed by his presence.

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