He hid the key in the garden of the house across the street.
He warned his neighbor, of course, just in case he ever saw Josh or Aubrey retrieving the key. But no one was home tonight or they were already asleep; the windows were dark. Josh crept to the rock and retrieved his house key. He didn’t know what made him crawl under their porch and push the briefcase into the darkened space underneath the stairs.
Yes, he did. Bringing that into his house would spoil his life even further. He just needed some time and space to figure out his next steps.
The little voice inside him had been screaming for the past fifteen minutes: You have to get out of here. He darted back across the street. It was so quiet. Their beautiful big house cast shadows over the street and allowed him to rush across and make it safely to the backyard without being seen.
He opened the door and scooted inside. Winston came running to meet him.
He petted him, buried his face in the dog’s silky flank, then went to the kitchen and grabbed a hot dog from the refrigerator. Broke it into pieces, pushed the pill into one quarter. Fed the meat to the dog, bite by bite. The tranquilizer worked quickly; Winston was staggering before they left the kitchen. Josh got him settled near the fireplace.
He had to go. He had to go now.
He went into the kitchen, knocked over the chairs, made it look like there’d been a struggle. Lightning flashed outside, thunder on its heels, making him jump.
He took a scalpel from his emergency first aid kit in the bathroom, went back to the kitchen. He needed to make it look real.
He sliced the inside of his left arm deeply. He knew just where to cut; the blood began pouring from his arm. He sat on one of the chairs and let it flow.
When he started getting light-headed, he pulled off his belt and looped it around his shoulder, pulled it tight. Jesus, he had a new appreciation for stabbing victims. This hurt like hell. But the tourniquet worked. The blood stopped gushing from his arm.
Realized rain was pouring down. Good, that would wash him clean.
He managed to get to the bathroom, removed the emergency kit. Took a flashlight, and got out of there. He knew he didn’t have much time. He took the bath towel and pressed it to the wound in his arm. Despite the tourniquet, it hadn’t stopped bleeding entirely, and he was feeling sick and dizzy. He set to work. It took almost twenty excruciating minutes to sew up the knife wound.
Glanced in the kitchen—it certainly looked like he’d lost his life’s blood in there.
Aubrey. I’m so sorry.
He bandaged himself up, took a last look at his life, grabbed a blue backpack from the hall closet, made his way across the street. Crawled under the porch. Emptied the contents of the briefcase into the backpack. Dug a hole one-handed and put the leather into the ground. Covered it back up with the dirt and set the old hose reel box, the one he knew they hadn’t touched in years, back on top of the spot. No one would be able to see it. No one would suspect.
Pulled the backpack over his shoulder. The bleeding was under control. He hurt so badly it took his breath away. He dumped a pain pill in his hand and dry swallowed it. He needed to get away, now.
He just wasn’t thinking. He was acting on instinct. Fight or flight. And flight was the only course of action he could see before him.
The path across to Dragon Park was even darker than before. He didn’t know how he was going to get to Aubrey. They’d be watching. He was sure of it. The realization hit him and he had to stop and suck in his breath. There would be no recourse. They were going to hunt him down. He’d shot a man, for Christ’s sake. If the police weren’t already after him, Allen’s crew would be soon, and the dealer’s crew, too.
Tears pricked at his eyes. He blamed it on the Vicodin. He was well and truly fucked, and didn’t know how to get himself out of it.
You did this to yourself, Hamilton. You deserve every bad thing that’s going to happen from here on out.
He only had one option now. He had to disappear.
A moment later, his phone buzzed with a new text.
Utterly bored. Come meet me for a drink? I’m in the Jack Daniel’s Lounge.
Aubrey.
This time Josh did start to cry, hiccupping tears coupled with maniacal laughter that made his arm scream in pain with each inhalation. She couldn’t know.
She could not know.
It was the only way to keep her safe.
He didn’t allow the thought to form: No, Josh. It’s what’s best for you.
Using a burner phone, one of two he’d bought and stashed in the backpack, he Googled the Jack Daniel’s Lounge at Opryland. Hit the Call button. The phone rang about fifteen times. A hurried voice answered. “Jack Daniel’s.”
“Hi there. I have a friend who’s waiting for me. Pretty girl, curly blond hair. Bandage on her lip. Will you make her a gin and tonic, Tanqueray, with a thin slice of lime? I’d like to surprise her.”
“Yeah, I see her. Sure thing, dude. Hope it works.”
The man hung up.