The Passenger by Lisa Lutz

Author:Lisa Lutz
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

I DROVE around for two hours. Jack started kicking during the final twenty minutes. I was worried he was going to disengage the taillight and I’d get pulled over by highway patrol. I’ve gotten pretty good at thinking on my feet, but explaining away a man with a bullet wound in the trunk of your car is an ambitious undertaking.

I came upon Bitter Creek Road and remembered it from our ill-fated fishing excursion. Dead Horse Lake would be quiet this time of night, so I followed the roads to the best of my recollection. The high beams on my car could barely pierce the darkness, but I eventually found the lake and pulled the car into the clearing. Jack’s bucking in the trunk quieted as the car bounced on the uneven terrain. I put the car in reverse, backed as close as I could get to the water’s edge, turned off the ignition, picked up my gun, circled the vehicle, and opened the trunk.

I shot Jack once in the head and once in the heart. I thought it would be more humane if he didn’t have time to contemplate his demise, although he was probably contemplating it plenty during our two-hour road trip. I had looked at the situation from every angle during our rambling drive and come out of it with one simple fact: it was either Jack or me. If I didn’t kill him right then, I’d be spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. It was not a decision I made lightly.

An old rowboat was on the shore. I dragged it up to the bumper of my car and hoisted Jack into the bed and dropped the gun in after him. With all of my might, I shoved, dragged, and pulled the rowboat back to the shoreline and set the boat into the water. I climbed inside the boat, my feet straddling the dead guy, and rowed us out to the middle of the lake. I was hot from exertion, but the night air still sent chills through me. Sweat turned icy on my back. I tossed the gun into the water.

My plan to dump Jack in the lake was a tad ill conceived. There was no way I could get Jack out of the rowboat without spilling into the water myself. I stood up, stepped onto the edge, and capsized the boat. Jack and I fell into the frigid lake in unison. I watched him slip under the water with his gun. It seemed like the two should be buried together. While I was treading water, saying a silent prayer for Jack, I lost track of the oars.

My brain felt foggy from the cold, and I was running out of time before hypothermia would set in. Rather than try to locate the oars and right the boat, I headed for shore. I swam head down, fighting the wind current, ignoring the shooting pain that sliced from the tips of my fingers down to my toes.

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