Chapter 36
In his panic to be rescued, Noah had pulled sharply on the rope. Parker wasn’t braced for it. He was jerked forward out of the wheelchair, landing on the packed dirt floor. “Goddammit!”
“What? What’s happening? Parker?”
For several seconds, Parker lay there with his forehead resting on the floor. He took several deep breaths. Then, using his forearms to pull him along, he inched his way over to the rim of the well and peered down into it.
“You pulled me out of my chair.”
“Well, get back in it.”
“I’m open to suggestions on how I should go about it.”
“Well, do something.”
Noah’s voice was now ragged with desperation. Even at the bottom of the well, he must have been able to hear the crackle of old wood burning. The smoke grew thicker by the second.
“Parker, you’ve got to get me out of here!”
“Can’t help you, buddy. I’m a cripple, remember?” He shook his head ruefully. “I’ll admit this isn’t the way I had the ending plotted. I never intended for you to die. I wanted to give you a taste of what it’s like to face your mortality. To experience that all-encompassing terror. I wanted to scare you into confessing your sins. I wanted you to grovel and beg me for your life. And you did. It was supposed to end there.”
He laughed. “I realize that you’re panicked, Noah, and that your mind is preoccupied with surviving. But I hope you’re thinking clearly enough to grasp the irony of this situation.
“Think about it. I’m your only hope of salvation. But I’m powerless to save you because of the injuries you inflicted on me. That’s rich, isn’t it? It’s a shame that neither of us will have the opportunity to use it in a book. It’s the kind of built-in irony that Professor Mike Strother loved.”
At the mention of their mentor’s name, the distance between them seemed to shrink. Their eyes made a connection that was almost audible. Parker spoke softly. “You have one more sin to confess, don’t you, Noah?”
“I had to be first, Parker. I had to be.”
“Professor Strother hadn’t heard from either of us for more than a year. All his correspondence had been returned unopened, addressees unknown, no forwarding addresses. He was puzzled and slightly offended by our sudden and inexplicable disappearance.
“He didn’t realize you’d sold The Vanquished until he saw it in his local bookstore. He recognized the title and your name immediately, of course. He purchased a copy. He was curious to read how you had finalized your manuscript. He wanted to see if you had incorporated any of his suggestions. Naturally, he was proud that one of his students had written the novel that was all the rage, the topic of conversation at cocktail parties and beauty shops and office commissaries, the book that was on every bestseller list.”
“Parker—”
“Now imagine Professor Strother’s surprise when he settled into his reading chair, adjusted his lamp, opened his copy of The Vanquished by Noah Reed. And read the first page of my book. My book, Noah!”
“It was that letter,” Noah shouted back at him. “Strother always favoring you. Always thinking you were the one with the most talent. He thought your manuscript was so fucking fine. I thought I’d test it, get a second opinion. One day while you were out, I went into your computer and printed out a copy. I put my title on it and submitted it under my name.”
“And when it sold, you had to get rid of me. Immediately. That day.”
“That was the plan.”
“Bet you shit when I turned up alive.”
“It gave me pause, but I didn’t panic. I hurriedly put your book into my computer, and mine into yours. You couldn’t have proven your claims to the authorities because by then I had painted you as unstable and violent.”
“Strother always gave you credit for clever plotting.”
“Our dear professor was another concern, but I figured that if he ever came forward and tried to expose me, I’d…”
“You’d think of a way to worm your way out.”
“I always have.”
“Until now.”
“At least I’ll die knowing that you’re right behind me. You might even beat me into hell.”
“You think so?”
“You can’t crawl along on your belly fast enough to get out of here now, Parker.”
“No, but I can walk fast enough.” Then, as Noah watched with mounting disbelief, Parker struggled to his knees and then stood up.
“You cocksucking son of a—”
“It’s a Mackensie Roone trademark, Noah,” Parker said, smiling down at him. “Save one final plot twist for the very, very end.”
“I’ll kill you, Parker. I’ll see you in hell! I’ll—”
“You all right, Mr. Evans?” Deputy Sheriff Dwight Harris rushed through the door, accompanied by two other deputies.
“Exhausted,” Parker told him. “Otherwise okay.” He depressed a button on the remote control and the flames immediately died.
“Fire truck’s outside. We were getting worried.” Just then the spray from the fire hose struck the exterior wall with a hard whomp.
“I was getting a little worried myself,” Parker said. “Those smoke machines are killers.”
Deputy Harris glanced at the scorched walls. “Those smudge pots did some damage to your building.”
“It’s survived worse. Besides, it was worth it.”
“So you got it?”
“Every incriminating word.” Parker pulled out his shirttail and removed a cassette tape recorder clipped to the waistband of his pants. He disconnected it from the microphone wire and passed it to the sheriff. He winced only slightly when he ripped off the tiny microphone taped to his chest. “Thanks for setting this up, Deputy Harris.”
“No thanks necessary. I appreciate your calling me. It’ll probably be the only elaborate sting of my career.” The two shook hands.
Noah had continued to shout obscenities, but the deputy hadn’t acknowledged him until now. “I’m anxious to meet your guest here, Mr. Evans. Let’s haul him up outta there,” Harris said, motioning to the other two deputies, who were standing by with ropes.
“How you doin’ down there, Mr. Reed? The police chief up in Mass’chusitts sure is anxious to hear what you had to say about your daddy-in-law’s fall. My department’s talking to the folks down in Florida, too.”
Parker turned away, symbolically leaving Noah to the devil as Mike had urged him to.
He was taken aback, but not really shocked, to see his old friend standing just beyond the gin’s wide door. Mike always seemed to be there when he’d most needed him.
Maris was standing with him.
Deputy Harris noticed his hesitation and sidled up behind him. “They were tearing up the road in a golf cart. Intercepted them before they could barge in here and ruin the whole thing. Had a hell of a time keeping them out. They were worried about you.”
“Afraid Noah would kill me?”
“No, sir. Afraid you would kill him.”
Parker smiled. “Wonder where they got that idea.”
“The old man said something about your plot. Said Ms. Matherly pieced it together, figured it out.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
Shuffling across the dirt floor in a stiff-legged, awkward gait, his legacy of Noah’s treachery, he slowly made his way outside. Mike seemed to know he needed to make this walk alone and didn’t rush to assist him. He was within touching distance before Mike asked if he wanted his wheelchair.
“Thanks, Mike.”
Mike went to fetch his chair. Maris continued to stand stone still, staring at him.
“You thought I was paralyzed?”
She nodded.
“I figured. Thought it best to let you go on thinking that. For this to work, I needed Noah to think that, too.” He decided he might just as well tell her the worst of it flat out. “I ride whenever I can. This is about the best I can do. Will ever do.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “It doesn’t matter. It never did.”