A Kiss Before I Die (6 page)

She sat, letting the gun dangle from the fingers of her hand and she looked at the boy. His despair made the room seem grayer than the clouds and approaching darkness.

“You know about me?”

“Mom said somebody might come looking for me.”

This was worth exploring.

“Why do you think she said that?”

“Can I look at you?”

It seemed reasonable.

“Okay. Slowly, put your left arm up and away and over your head, like a ballerina.”

“I’m not gay.”

He rolled over. He was testing her, joking with her, thinking he was funny and trying to relax her, charm her. She watched him as a cobra watches a mongoose. Now he
was
dangerous. She didn’t know his athletic abilities. She focused the gun on his knees, which he was sure to interpret as his crotch.

“Tell me, why do you think your mother said someone might come looking for you?”

“I meant us. Both of us.”

The left corner of her mouth lifted. She thought the same way: say as little as possible and lie when you need to. Sometimes you had to lie to live another day.

“Why
us
?”

“I know dad knows things. That’s why he doesn’t share a lot…”

Sam nodded.

“I don’t have time to be coy or discuss what your father was or is or could be. Our time is limited.”

“My name is Tyler.”

“Talk to me. Why are they getting divorced?”

“She says Mr. Wilcox is rich.”

“Is your dad?”

“
Dad
? Not that I know.”

Sam knew women like her, on the hunt, available if the price was right. Middlebury, at times, had seemed less a place of learning and more like a dating service for the rich.

“Where’s your father?”

“I don’t know.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Two nights ago.”

The boy understood the woman with the gun was in control. The woman with the gun understood he was wasting time.

“Why is his car here?”

“Huh?”

“He was following me and then he disappeared. Why was he following me?”

“I don’t understand…”

“Why is his car
here
and why was he following me?”

“I woke up and his car was here. I don’t why
he’s
not here…why are
you
here?”

“Does he have another car?”

“No – yes, a Corvette. But he doesn’t drive it in winter. It’s in the barn.”

He crossed his ankles; folded his hands on his chest.

“What does your mother drive?”

“An Excursion. I have an old Bronco. We’ve got dirt bikes and a couple ATV’s. We’ve got some bicycles, too, if you’re taking count.”

“Are any of them missing? Other than the Excursion.”

“No. They’re all here. Even the bicycles.”

She understood more, understood how some things were being planned and had been laid out for her.

The detective named Debozy was probably sober enough to tell Henderson and Wilcox what she had done and that was being recorded. The man who owned the State Trooper car would be recovering, but not talking. He wouldn’t need to say anything as the Camaro talk for him. 

“I want you to understand something,” she said, not using his name, not wanting to use his name. “This isn’t personal. So understand that if you ask me to choose between dying for you or anyone in your family or Mr. Wilcox – do you think I would choose any of you or myself?”

He said nothing.

“Exactly. Now, do as I say and neither of us will have to make that choice…”

He followed her instructions, showing her to his father’s office that overlooked the driveway and road.

An
Apple
laptop was open and ready. There were filing cabinets, a desk with stacks of papers, all of them neat and organized. A gun safe stood in one corner. There was another cabinet with listening devices: parabola cones, headphones, and the like. There were other tools of the trade like microphones and what she assumed were tracking devices. Frederick Burleson was a professional.

“Let’s try the laptop. Do you know the password?”

“Don’t need one. Dad doesn’t believe in them, at least for this. I’m sure he’s got codes on the normal shit like bank accounts and porn.”

She stood behind him, in the frame of the door, looking over his shoulder.

“Now what?”

“Search for Wilcox.”

“C-drive?”

“All of it.”

He typed, the computer responded, and rows of folders and files filled the screen.

The boy blinked, his head moving fractionally, and he looked to her.

“Your name Samantha More?”

Close enough.

“There’s a good size file here, most recently opened. That the one we’re looking for?”

“Open it. Read it to me, tell me what you find.”

He made several clicks and a document appeared.

The boy read and after a few seconds said, “It’s a PDF, a contract between Mr. Wilcox and dad and it says…hold on, uh, the gist of it is that he said dad was to, uh, conduct surveillance and advise of any, here we go, ‘felonious activities, illegal, unethical, immoral, or misdemeanor acts’…no exceptions or, looks like he repeated a word? Zemp-shuns?”

“Spell it…”

“E-x-e-m-p-t-i-o-n-s…Zemptions.”

“Exemptions, okay. Please don’t play dumb. We don’t’ have time. What else? What’s the date of the contract?”

“March eleven.”

“March?”

“Twenty-twelve.”

A year, over a year. Long before her parents and the senator would be assassinated, long before her godparents would succumb to cancer and suicide, long before Wilcox kissed her, whispering of trust.

He continued tapping keys.

“Looks like dad’s been doing everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s got jpegs and other stuff in here. Some of these things look like – I mean, I think they’re voice recordings. I know he did that. Like with these things,” and he motioned to the equipment cabinet.

She debated downloading everything on a USB, but thought of time; the day was becoming rapidly darker as snow fell and clouds grew thicker.

“I’m going to need the computer.”

“All yours,” he said, and stood away from the desk.

“No, I meant, I’m taking it.”

He rolled forward and flipped the laptop closed.

“Take anything you want,” he said defiantly. “Take all this shit. You’re going to jail anyway, right?”

“Probably.”

“What’s next,” he said, flexing now, confident he was gaining the upper hand. “Tie me up with curtains and stuff a gag in my mouth?”

“No,” she said.

She’d already thought that out.

She tossed him the key to the green Ford Taurus.

“You’re coming with me.”

He looked at the key, which had landed on the desk and looked to her, confused, expectant.

“You’re kidnapping me and
I’m
driving?”

“No, we’re taking separate cars. You’re taking your father’s car and I’m in the cruiser. You’re going to lead. I’m going to tap the horn, flash lights, then signal, and you’ll follow the direction of the signal.”

She guessed what he was thinking.

“And if you abandon me, make a run for it, you’ll lose me and I’ll lose you. But you’ll burn up time.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I’ll take you to your father.”

The boy remained defiant.

“I’ll wait for him, thanks. And for mom. She’ll be here any second and maybe you can take her instead. And maybe she’ll bring
Wilcox
.”

He said
Wilcox
the way someone might say
asshole
.

Like Ruggles, Sebastian, he did not have to die.

“You have to come with me. You can’t stay here. I can’t guarantee your safety if you stay.”

She was dancing around it, trying to scare him.

It didn’t work.

“Nice try.”

Sam, staring at him, spoke forcefully.

“Your father is dead.”

The boy’s mouth clamped tight.

“I will take you to him.”

She put her gun in her pocket and went to him, close enough for to her to detect a trace of sweat at the top of his hairline.

She picked up the laptop.

“Or you can stay. It’s up to you.”

He was solemn.

“How do you know?”

“Wilcox murdered him in my house. I put him where he would be safe, to where no one could harm him or me or anyone else.”

“Who does something like that?”

“Murder?”

“Who moves a body to save it?”

“You have to understand – I needed time. If I had left him, I’d probably be hanging from a pipe in the Foursquare holding tank, another coroner ruled suicide.”

“I’m supposed to believe that.”

“Why would I come to your house in a stolen cruiser and say all this, do all this?”

“Because you’re out of your mind.”

“Then as I leave you can shoot me and claim self-defense, home-invasion, that a crazy woman attacked you…there’s a bullet hole in the wall. No one will doubt you. You said your name is Tyler?”

He said nothing.

To hell with the cars. To hell with it all.

“Call the police as soon as I leave, Tyler. I’m headed north, to my house in Vernon Castle, to your father. If I don’t make it, you’ll find him there. He’s in the barn, in a horse trough.”

“
You bitch
…”

“He’s safe there.”

She turned from him. 

She walked away

She felt safe as she strapped into the cruiser. She put the computer on the passenger seat, adjusted the radio volume and pulled out of the driveway in reverse faster than she should have, the car shifting slightly in the thickening snow but gaining its traction as she corrected it.

She headed north on the road she could not spell and within a half-mile headlights came up behind her at a speed she thought was going to lead to a collision.

Her father said that when you drove to escape you ignored what was behind you.

She flipped the rearview mirror up.

A few seconds later, a white Ford Bronco 4 x 4 blew by her, emergency lights flashing.

The boy knew how to drive.

The radio was quiet; she assumed her pursuers were on a different frequency. As she drove, she reached under the dash and tore at wires leading to the radio but stopped when the sirens erupted once:  something had shorted.

After two miles, she flashed her lights and slowed. The boy was six car lengths ahead of her and was using his rearview; he stopped and waited.  There was no other traffic. She got out of her car.

It was gray and almost dark despite sunset being an hour away. She wanted to make it home before then. She had to fortify her position.

He brandished a gun; she left hers in her pocket.

“Who taught you to drive?”

“What’s up?”

“We need to ride together. I’ve changed my mind about this beast. We’ll take yours.”

“Why?”

It was then she noticed that like his father he wasn’t wearing a coat. She also realized he had blue eyes; the grayness of the world and his pallor accentuated them, made them seem impossibly blue.

“I’m betting they can locate this thing. GPS.”

“Of course,” he said.

Young men know everything.

“There’s a road ahead, we turn right, east to the 365. I can run it into an abutment. Make it look like I spun out.”

“Boy you are something, lady.”

“Watch and learn, Tyler. Let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Magellan.”

She smiled. Well, he did know
something
.

He did not smile, but he got into the Bronco and allowed her to pass. They drove for a few more minutes. She made a hairpin turn on the road to the freeway. He missed it and caught up to her.

They came to an off and on ramp, on and off ramps on either side. She slowed. Twenty miles an hour and airbags. It would look perfect. It was an easy lie.

She hit the bridge, tapping the brakes, going no more than 15, destroying the front end of the car, sparking the airbags, effectively killing the car.

She laughed, swore to herself as it seemed the thing to do. She sensed nothing broken or bloody. But she’d forgotten to secure the laptop, and it was now on the passenger floor, open. She closed it; she would worry about it later.

She got out of the car and found herself alone.

He’d abandoned her.

She was far from home, far from where she’d been forty-eight hours ago. It was as if she’d crash-landed on a strange, hostile planet:  the natives were definitely not friendly.

Overhead, a car zipped by. A wet road, melting snow, ice and slush.

It was time to make lemonade. 

It was when she began to walk that she realized her left foot tingled and dragged. It would not totally obey her thoughts. It was broken or fractured; it wasn’t numb from snow, cold, and ice.

She purposely stepped into a snow bank on the side of the freeway entrance. One footprint, one dumb clue, she hoped, that would make them think she decided to hitchhike to Foursquare. She then walked under the bridge and walked up the side of the road, to the opposite exit ramp, and put herself into position, intending to hitchhike north.

Head north. Canada. Michigan. Anywhere.

Run
.
There’s nothing to hold onto
.

One night her and her parents were watching
The Bourne Identity
. Toward the end of the movie, her father had burst out laughing. In the movies, you crashed a car, limped away, and ended up killing men as you flew down the center of a stairwell, clutching a dead man.

“In real life they catch you, kill you, and toss your body in a ditch and you never happened
.” He made one of his jokes. “
You were never Bourne
.”

One car. Two cars. Three Cars.

And then a Ford Bronco, rattling, wobbling, it’s bumper ripped off, its undercarriage exposed, came at her, horn blaring, and veered off the freeway, brakes engaged, a crazy stunt at a speed she couldn’t even guess at.

She laughed despite herself, despite the moment, despite the ridiculousness of what she was seeing, relieved and happy.

The Calvary, the man in shining armor on the white mechanical horse, the boy named Tyler, came to a stop halfway down the exit.

She hobbled toward him.

He got out.

She was moving as fast as she could but not fast enough.

He yelled. 

“
Let’s go
!”

It was the coolest thing she’d ever heard.