Kit could feel it before she saw it. The figure-eight motion of her hips on a galloping horse, perfectly in sync. Then, a ditch ahead of her, so deep she couldn’t see the bottom, so wide there was no way around. She tensed and lost her seat, felt the horse stutter-step and slow beneath her while her body kept hurtling forward. She flailed and wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck. But as the full force of her weight flew past him, she felt the neck snap in her hands and turn to mush. She began to cry and tried in vain to put him together, fix what she had done. Then his hoof became a claw and as it moved toward her she felt relieved that it was alive and maybe everything would be okay. When the claw plunged into her abdomen and pulled out a mess of her innards, it left a hole clean through the back of her. She felt tremendous pain and startled, gasping, awake.
She could tell from the cold and the quiet at her side that Charlie was gone, but reached out for her nonetheless. The gun was missing, too.
She shook Doc violently. “She’s gone,” she said, her voice tight with panic.
Doc’s face looked dead in the violet predawn light. “Whatcha going on about, babe?” she said drowsily, the shit smell of her dry mouth hitting Kit’s nostrils. Doc fumbled for the pull on her lamp and with a click filled the room with amber light.
Kit started to turn over the room. She crouched and looked under the bed, not sure what she was looking for.
“Charlie’s gone,” she said. “She left in the night. Maybe she just went home, but I have a bad feeling about it.” She hesitated to voice the suspicion out loud. “I think she went to find Manny—her father.”
Doc swung her legs and felt for her slippers, still trying to understand. “She what now? Manny hoo?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say before. Charlie’s father got out of prison and came here to meet her and now I think she’s run away. Or else he’s come and taken her.”
“Sonofabitch.” Doc wiggled out of bed and pulled overalls over her nightshirt. “There was a rumor going around. Never paid it any mind. Is he the handsome devil—”
Kit could scream for how tedious it was to explain things now.
“I don’t have time to talk this through, man, we gotta go,” she said.
“Okay, but how come you so sure?” Doc said.
Kit suddenly felt ashamed and afraid and had to look away.
“I think it was him that killed Warbucks.”
Doc bit down on her cheek, her green eyes filling with tears.
Kit had no time for apologies. “You search the clinic and the stables,” she said.
“What about the trailer park?” Doc offered. “Maybe she’s hanging out with Dirk?”
It could be worth ruling out, but Kit didn’t think Mrs. Dirkin would abide another visit from her.
“You go,” Kit said. She tugged her boots half on and stamped her feet. “I’m going home.” In four long strides, she was downstairs and, seconds later, speeding down the road.
She lost minutes at a time, her trip elliptical moments between stretches of black. As she pulled up to the house she thought she saw Charlie through the window, but it was just a curtain flicking in the wind. She rushed up the stairs and found the front door locked. In a panic, she pounded the door. “Charlie! Open up!” Had she been the one to lock up? She couldn’t remember, didn’t know if it mattered or not. She ran back to the truck to grab the keys and let herself in. Again, she called her daughter’s name, not knowing whether she would find her dead or alive or not at all. She went upstairs and paused in front of Charlie’s room. At first, she was afraid to go in, could only listen through the crack. The house was mum. She toed open the door to a crushing emptiness, the room, the house, her heart. There was only Charlie’s bed, unmade, as usual, and the very few things she had kept around her: some books, a table and chair. In her closet, a few empty hangers, a lone sock, and a MAD magazine folded up the middle. What she would have given for a smart-ass note on the kitchen table.
On her way down the stairs, she saw the dresser underneath the family photo wall and remembered the sheet of pictures from Charlie’s school. A photo of Charlie might come in handy, in case they had left town. She pulled the bent grid of photos, eight smiling Charlies, from the dresser and pressed them to her face. Her breath came quickly now, a sign of fresh panic. It felt like there was a cage around her lungs preventing her from taking a full breath. Stay calm, stay calm. If you want to find her, you have to stay calm.
She sat down next to the dresser, folded forward, and let her feelings slide out the soles of her feet and through the floorboards until she felt nothing but a low-frequency hum. Tears ran down her cheeks and her breath returned. Then she remembered what Manny had told her when he first arrived. He’d been staying at a motel off the interstate, five miles away. What the hell was it called? There were a handful of places on that stretch, and she would check them all if she had to, but only one seemed decent enough for Manny. She folded the photos and tucked them into her front pocket. Then she left without bothering to close the front door, without noticing how her own bed had been carefully made.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Manny had to rush to finish before the sun came up, quickly washing his hands in lake water to replace the smell of her with the funk of algae and fish. He was pleased with his work. Some light biblical symbolism, nothing too heavy-handed. And he’d been gentle with Sandy, even kissed her before he left, a chaste peck on the cheek in case her spirit was looking on. How long before someone found her? If only he could linger and catch the look on their face. A part of him wished Charlie would wander out of her sleep and find him at work. How would she react to his little project? Would it be instant horror, or perhaps a flash of curiosity, even intrigue? It would be a harsh but swift way to know if she had the mettle to join him.
When he got back to the car, Charlie was still asleep in the passenger seat. He decided not to wake her until he had cleared the area, so he left the door slightly ajar and coasted as far as it would go down the slope before starting the engine. Charlie rubbed her eyes as they jittered over the uneven gravel.
“Where are we?” she said, looking around.
Manny let out a breath, thrilled at how narrowly he had escaped discovery.
“About to head out,” he said. “Just had to make a little pit stop.”
He wondered if she was groggy enough to let it slip past, the strange location, the sweat and stink about him. She tipped her head against the headrest and stared off at the horizon, so he drove on. Twenty minutes or so passed before she spoke again.
“I’m thirsty,” she said. She smacked and frowned slightly, as though she tasted something foul.