Chapter 33
Miles drove erratically, smashing the accelerator and slamming on the brakes, as if testing how hard he could push the car before one or the other ceased to work. More than once, his arms locked behind him, Brian nearly toppled over as the car careened through a turn. From his vantage point, Brian could see the muscle in Miles’s jaw tensing and relaxing, as if someone were flicking a switch. Miles held the wheel with both hands, and though he seemed to be concentrating on the road, his eyes continually darted to the rearview mirror, where they sometimes caught Brian’s.
Brian could see the anger in his eyes. It was reflected plainly in the mirror, yet at the same time, he saw something else there, something he hadn’t expected. He saw the anguish in Miles’s eyes, and Brian was reminded of the way Miles had looked at Missy’s funeral, trying and failing to make sense of all that had happened. Brian wasn’t sure if the anguish Miles was feeling came from Missy or Sarah, or even both. All he knew was that it didn’t have anything to do with him.
From the corner of his eye, Brian watched the trees whizzing past his window. The road curved, and again Miles took the turn without slowing down. Brian planted his feet; despite that, his body shifted and he slid toward the window. In a few minutes, he knew, they would pass the spot of Missy’s accident.
The Good Shepherd Community Church was located in Pollocksville, and the driver of the church van, Bennie Wiggins, had never had so much as a speeding ticket in his fifty-four years of driving. Though it was a source of pride for Bennie, the reverend would have asked him to drive even if his record hadn’t been so good. Volunteers were hard to find, especially when the weather wasn’t so good, but Bennie was one he could always count on.
On that morning, the reverend had asked Bennie to drive the van to New Bern to pick up the donations of food and clothing that had been collected over the weekend, and Bennie had shown up promptly. He’d driven in, had a cup of coffee and two doughnuts while he waited for others to load the van, then had thanked everyone for their help before getting behind the wheel to head back to the church.
It was a little before ten when he turned onto Madame Moore’s Lane.
He reached for the radio, hoping to find some gospel music to liven up the ride back. Even though the road was slick, he began fiddling with the knob.
Up ahead and out of sight, he had no way of knowing that another car was heading his way.
“I’m sorry,” Brian finally said, “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
At the sound of his voice, Miles glanced in the mirror again. Instead of responding, however, he cracked the window.
Cold air rushed in. After a moment, Brian huddled down, his unzipped jacket flapping in the wind.
In the reflection, Miles stared at Brian with unbridled hatred.
Sarah sped around the corner much as Miles had done, hoping to catch up with his car. He had a head start—not much, maybe a couple of minutes, but how far was that? A mile? More? She wasn’t exactly sure, and as the car hit a straight stretch, she pressed the accelerator even harder.
She had to catch them. She couldn’t leave Brian in his care, not after the uncontrolled fury she had seen in his face, not after what he’d nearly done to Otis.
She wanted to be there when Miles brought Brian in, but the problem was that she didn’t know where the sheriff’s department was. She knew where the police station was, the courthouse, even the City Hall, since they were all located downtown. But she’d never been to the sheriff’s department. For all she knew, it was located in the outer reaches of the county somewhere.
She could stop and call, or check a phonebook somewhere, but that would only put her farther behind, she thought frantically. She would stop if she had to. If she didn’t see him in the next couple of minutes...
Commercials.
Bennie Wiggins shook his head. Commercials and more commercials. That’s all there was on the radio these days. Water softeners, car dealerships, alarm systems... after every other song, he heard the same litany of businesses hawking their wares.
The sun was beginning to peek over the treetops, and the glare from the snow caught Bennie off-guard. He squinted and pulled down the visor just as the radio faded into silence for a moment.
Another commercial. This one promised to teach your child to read. He reached for the knob.
He didn’t notice that as he eyes locked on the dial, he began drifting over the center line....
“Sarah didn’t know,” Brian finally offered into the silence. “Sarah didn’t know about any of it.”
Over the wind, Brian wasn’t sure if Miles could hear him, but he had to try. He knew this was the last chance he would get to speak to Miles without other people around. Whatever lawyer his father would arrange for him would advise him to say nothing more than he had already said. And Miles, he suspected, would be ordered to stay away from him.
But Miles had to know the truth about Sarah. Not so much for the future—as Brian saw it, they had no chance at all—but because he couldn’t bear the thought of Miles believing that Sarah had known all along. He didn’t want Miles to hate her. Sarah, above everyone, didn’t deserve that. Unlike Miles or him, Sarah hadn’t had any part in this at all.
“She never told me who she was seeing. I was away at school and I didn’t find out until Thanksgiving that it was you. But I didn’t tell her about the accident until yesterday. She didn’t know anything until then. I know you don’t want to believe me....”
“You think I should believe you?” Miles shot back.
“She didn’t know anything,” Brian repeated. “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”
“What would you lie about, then?”
Brian regretted the words as soon as he’d said them and felt the chill cut through him as he imagined his answer. Going to the funeral. His dreams. Watching Jonah at school. Stalking Miles at his home . . .
Brian shook his head slightly, forcing the thought away. “Sarah didn’t do anything wrong,” he said instead, avoiding the question.
But Miles persisted. “Answer me,” he said. “What would you lie about? The dog, maybe?”
“No.”
“Missy didn’t jump in front of your car.”
“She didn’t mean to. She couldn’t help it. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just happened. It was an accident.”
“No, it wasn’t!” Miles boomed, wheeling around. Despite the roar of the wind from the open windows, the sound seemed to ricochet in the car. “You weren’t paying attention and you ran her down!”
“No,” Brian insisted. He was less afraid of Miles than he knew he should be. He felt calm, like an actor reciting his lines by rote. No fear. Just a sense of profound exhaustion. “It happened just like I told you.”
Miles pointed his finger at Brian, halfway turned in his seat now. “You killed her and you ran!”
“No—I stopped and I looked for her. And when I found her . . .” Brian trailed off.
In his mind he saw Missy, lying in the ditch, her body angled wrong. Staring up at him.
Staring at nothing.
“I felt sick, like I was going to die, too.” Brian paused, turning away from Miles. “I covered her up with a blanket,” he whispered. “I didn’t want anyone else to see her that way.”
Bennie Wiggins finally found a song he wanted. The glare was intense and he sat straight in his seat just as he realized where he was on the road. He righted the van, guiding it back in his lane.
The approaching car was close now.
He still didn’t see it.
Miles flinched when Brian mentioned the blanket, and for the first time Brian knew that he was really listening, despite his shouts to the contrary. Brian kept talking, oblivious to Miles, oblivious to the cold.
Oblivious to the fact that Miles’s attention was focused entirely on him and not on the road.
“I should have called then, that night, after I got home. It was wrong. There’s no excuse for it, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to you and I’m sorry for what I did to Jonah.”
To Brian, his voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else.
“I didn’t know that keeping it inside was worse. It ate away at me. I know you don’t want to believe that, but it did. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat—”
“I don’t care!”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I’ve never stopped thinking about it. I even bring flowers to Missy’s grave....”
Bennie Wiggins finally saw the car as he rounded a bend in the road.
It was happening so fast, it almost didn’t seem real. The car was headed right at him, jumping from slow motion to full speed with terrifying inevitability. Bennie’s mind clicked into overdrive, trying frantically to process the information.
No, that couldn’t be. ... Why would he be driving in my lane? That doesn’t make sense. ... But he is driving in my lane. Doesn’t he see me? He’s got to see me. ... He’ll jerk the wheel and right himself.
All this happened in less than a few seconds, but in their span, Bennie knew with utter certainty that whoever was driving was going too fast to get out of the way in time.
They were heading straight for each other.
Brian caught the reflection of the sun against the windshield of the approaching van just as it rounded the corner. He stopped talking in midsentence and his first instinct was to use his hands to brace himself for the impact. He jerked hard enough for the handcuffs to cut into his wrists as he arched his back, screaming, “Watch out!”
Miles whipped around, then immediately, instinctively, jerked the wheel hard as the cars closed in on each other. Brian tumbled to the side, and as his head slammed into the side window, he was struck by the utter absurdity of what was happening.
This had all started with him in a car on Madame Moore’s Lane.
And this was how it would end.
He braced himself for the thunderous impact that was coming.
Only it never came.
He did feel a hard thump, but it was toward the rear of the car, on his side. The car began to slide and left the road just as Miles slammed on the brakes. The car shot over the snow, just off the road, closing in on a speed limit sign. Miles struggled to keep control, then felt the wheels catch at the last moment. The car swerved again and jerked suddenly, coming to a halt in a ditch.
Brian landed on the floor, dazed and confused, crumpled between the seats; it took a moment for him to orient himself. He gasped for air, as if surfacing from the bottom of a pool. He didn’t feel the cuts on his wrist.
Nor did he see the blood that had been smeared against the window.