Ashley nodded.
Sandi set her paperback down. “Mine’s snakes.”
“Snakes, huh?”
“Mm-hm.”
Ed sipped his coffee, still tapping. “Mine is . . . well, I didn’t really know how to put it into words. But I think I can now.”
Another growl of wind, and the lights flickered overhead. The room threatened to fall into darkness.
Lars watched like a shadow.
Ashley licked his lips. “Let’s . . . uh, let’s hear it, then.”
“Okay.” Ed took an uncomfortable breath. “So . . . here’s some hard-earned wisdom for you kids. You want to know the secret to ruining your life? It’s never one big black-and-white decision. It’s dozens of little ones, that you make every single day. It’s excuses, mostly, in my case. Excuses are poison. When I was a veterinarian, I had all sorts of good ones, like: This is me-time. I earned this. Or: No one can judge me for this drink; I just operated on a golden retriever who ran into a barbed wire fence, with her eyeball hanging out on a little string today. See? Horrific. That’s how you trick yourself. And then one day I was at Jan’s — I mean, my wife’s sister’s place — a few years back for my goddaughter’s big wedding reception. Wine, homebrews. I brought champagne. But I also brought a bottle of Rich and Rare for myself, and I stashed it in their bathroom, inside their toilet tank.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone to see how much I was drinking.”
Silence.
Darby realized his drumbeat on the table had stopped.
Ashley nodded sympathetically. “My mom struggled with that, too.”
“But . . .” Ed prodded Sandi’s shoulder. “Well, thank God for my cousin Sandi, here, because she called me up at two o’clock yesterday and told me she was going to drive my ass up to Denver for family Christmas. No excuses.”
Sandi sniffled. “We missed you, Eddie.”
“So, yeah.” He straightened. “To answer the circle-time question, my biggest fear is this Christmas in Aurora. I’m afraid my wife and sons will be there at Jack’s tomorrow night. And I’m even more afraid they won’t.”
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Ashley swallowed. Some color was back in his cheeks. “Uh, thanks, Ed.”
“No problem.”
“That couldn’t have been easy to say.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Been sober awhile?”
“No,” Ed said. “I drank this morning.”
Silence.
“That, uh . . .” Ashley hesitated. “That sucks.”
“Tell me about it.”
Another volatile silence, and the lights flickered again, as five people shared oxygen in this little room with three concealed weapons.
“Excuses are poison,” Ed repeated. “Doing the right thing is hard. Talking yourself out of it is easy. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” Ashley said. “More than you know.” Then he glanced purposefully over at Darby, and raised a fist to his mouth.
He coughed once.
The trap engaged. She walked, feeling the tiny hairs prickle on her skin. She looked Lars in the eye as she moved toward that front door — he glanced up from his pamphlet and watched her pass, twisting his scrawny neck to follow her — and then Darby tugged the door open. A rush of subzero air. Slashing wind. Gritty snowflakes peppering her eyes.
She stepped outside, her shoulders tense, the knife tight in her knuckles.
Follow me, Rodent Face.
Let’s end this.
11:55 p.m.
Lars didn’t follow her.
The door closed. She took a few shaky steps outside, her Converse sinking into the fresh snow, her heart banging against her ribs. She’d been certain Lars would follow her. He should have been right behind her, shadowing her, his slouching frame filling the doorway, his back to the room so Ashley could strike— He wasn’t.
Darby shivered and watched the door. No need for concealment now; she held the Swiss Army knife like an icepick as she stood in the orange light, waiting for the door to creak open. But it didn’t.
What had gone wrong?
The eye contact. The eye contact with Lars had been too much, she realized. She’d overplayed her hand. And now the armed criminal was still inside the building, with Ashley and the others, and the trap had failed.
Okay.
Okay, fine.
She had a choice now.
Go back inside? Or keep walking to his van?
Another howl of wind whipped her face with snow. For a moment she couldn’t see. She blinked furiously, mashing her eyes with her thumbs. When her vision returned, the world had darkened. She realized the sodium-vapor lamp that hung over the visitor center’s front door had fizzled out. Another grim omen to add to the list.
Seconds count, she reminded herself.
Make a choice.
So she did — she decided to keep walking to Lars’s van. She’d open the door, check on Jay again, and flick the dome light on. Maybe even the high beams. This would give Lars another reason to come outside. And Ashley would have his chance to attack — if he was still ready. If the ambush could still be salvaged.
Something else occurred to her as she walked — what if there was a gun in the van? Her first search had been brief and frantic. Lars was certainly carrying one, of course, but what if there was another?
Yes, a gun would be a game changer. Her stomach growled.
Shambling through knee-deep snow, her left shoe flapping without its lace, she crossed the fifty feet to Lars’s van. Snow had re-gathered on the windshield, hardened to sheets of ice where it melted. She’d made sure to leave the Astro’s rear door unlocked, and she was glad she had.
She circled to the back of the van now. She passed the faded decal of the cartoon fox — the blistered letters of WE FINISH WHAT WE START — and wondered if Lars had bought the vehicle from a business that went Chapter 11. Or maybe he’d murdered someone for it. Or maybe Rodent Face was himself a freelance handyman. Maybe that was how he got inside your house and scoped out your kids’ bedrooms, opening drawers and sniffing pillows.
Darby glanced over her shoulder, back at the Wanapani visitor center. The front door was still shut. The lamp was still dead. No silhouettes standing near the window, which was surprising. She’d expected to see Lars watching her, or at least Ashley. She couldn’t even see Ed and Sandi; they were seated too far back. Save for the dim amber glow behind the half-buried glass, you’d never guess the tiny structure was populated at all.
What’s happening in there?
Hopefully nothing. Yet.
She considered jumping into her Honda and punching the horn — that would sure draw some attention. Lars would certainly come outside to investigate that. But so might Ed and Sandi. The situation could unravel. The element of surprise could be lost. Shots could be fired. Bullets could ricochet.
She tugged the Astro’s rear door. Still unlocked. It scraped open, dropping a shelf of snow, revealing soupy darkness inside as her pupils adjusted.
She whispered: “Hey.”
Silence.