Geddy's Moon by John Mulhall

Author:John Mulhall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2013-02-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

The Long Run of Rick Connelly

Adversity is a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are.

- Arthur Golden

Rick crept slowly into the backyard of the Bellomy house. In one hand, he held his pack, heavy with the shotgun, homemade explosives, and other supplies. In his other hand, he held the metal fuel canister, newly filled with gasoline. Stuck in the waistband of his sweatpants was the container of matches.

It was Thursday morning, two-thirty AM, and the plan was in motion.

He crouched down next to the house, and looked up at the moon. It was not quite full, but it certainly seemed bright enough to Rick. It lit the back of the Bellomy house much more than he was comfortable with.

He pushed his supplies under a bush. As he did, he wondered briefly what would happen if someone caught him with explosives like these. He figured, with his school and behavior records, that it would be juvie for him, at least.

But that thought was immediately replaced by a much more significant one. He was about to burn down a house.

Rick pulled the bottles from his pack, and began to ready the explosives, dousing each rag with kerosene. His hands were shaking; he held one up in front of his face, and took a deep breath, willing himself to be still. He knew he needed to stay cool. There was very little room for error.

He glanced at the house. It looked so normal during the daylight, just another tract home. But now, under the moon, it appeared large and foreboding.

One more breath.

And then he moved to the back patio, carrying the gas canister with him. He ducked next to the railing, and unscrewed the gas cap. He pulled out the plastic spout and flipped it around. He began to screw the cap back on, and then stopped. There was a noise. Inside.

He froze. Listened.

The night was still.

He couldn’t get caught. Not so soon. The plan relied on timing, and his, right now, was the most crucial of all.

He held still, and listened intently. A minute or more. Still. He could hear no other noises.

He proceeded.

Carefully, quietly, he rechecked the container of matches in the waistband of his pants and pulled the shoelaces tight on his tennis shoes, then hung the gas can over his right wrist, and slowly climbed up onto the raised wooden patio, cautious to make as little noise as possible. Every squeak, every creak was exaggerated in his ears.

He looked at the patio door. And the windows, shielded by blinds and drapery. He knew the creature was in there. Joel had been watching the house since Seth Devon had returned that afternoon, and no one had come out. It was in there right now. Rick stayed low, and hoped it wasn’t watching him back.

He could feel his heart pounding.

He carefully tilted the can and the liquid began to pour out, trickling onto the wooden slats of the porch, spilling over the sides.

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