Page 117 of Sleeping Giants
“I healed, on the road,” Dennis said.
“Do you live here?” Amanda asked.
“Naw. I live and work at a wild mustang rescue. You probably passed it on the way here. I’m not so good with numbers, but I like animals.”
“Me too,” Amanda began.
Larry’s phone buzzed. He got up to answer it, walking a distance away.
When he came back, looking puzzled, Amanda and Dennis were deep in conversation, talking about their mother, Brightwood, and their lives. Dennis was telling her about the horses, and she was telling him about Molly. Larry had never seen Amanda so animated, so happy.
“Who was that?” Amanda asked. She knew Larry wouldn’t have taken the call if it wasn’t important.
“Constable Roberts. Ike Tressler tested clean for accelerant. The constable isn’t finding any evidence of the other crimes at all. There’s something else too.”
“What?” Amanda asked.
“Apparently, the old truck Ike has barely drives. It would have been hard for him to make it to the city.”
“He could have borrowed a car.”
“Ike Tressler?” Dennis asked. “That brings back memories.”
Ralph looked worried, like ghosts were coming back.
“There’s a lot we want to talk to you about,” Larry said.
Amanda didn’t really care about anything else at that moment. She just wanted to sit there, in the dappled sun, and look at her brother.
“Those other boys,” Larry began.
A shot rang out, and Ralph fell backward in his chair.
Larry immediately scrambled to the ground.
“Get down!” he screamed, shielding Amanda. Another bullet whistled past, taking a piece of his ear. Amanda dropped to the ground and tried to scramble away. Dennis was already halfway across the lot toward the trailer when he was hit in the leg. He fell over, landing in the dirt. He turned back to see that Ralph was down, lying on the ground.
Larry whipped into position. There were things you never forget. He crouched above Amanda, protecting her, and he had the service weapon from the holster under his arm in his hand without thinking, his finger on the safety. He had already seen where the shots were coming from. Decades of experience told him everything he needed to know. The bushes shook, and he could see the shape of a man hiding in them.
Larry took careful aim, and fired.
“Asshole,” the man wheezed as Larry stood over him.
Larry had started running as soon as he saw the target was hit. It was important to take him out of commission. A mortally injured mancould still fire on others. It wasn’t like in the movies. Even after being shot in the head, it could take a person several minutes to die.
The man on the forest floor looked at home there. He lay behind the trees where he had hidden, after parking up the road. He had followed Larry and Amanda here. It wasn’t hard. He had put a tracker on Larry’s car that day outside the hotel when he’d commented on how the sand followed him everywhere.
Even now, there was sand in his ears. He reached for it, and realized he was bleeding, and badly. That was why he was on his back, he thought. He couldn’t figure it out until now. One minute he was shooting. The next he was shot.
“Amanda said you didn’t have a gun anymore,” he said.
“How would she know?” Larry asked. He holstered the gun he had taken from his safety box that morning.
Amanda came running.
“Careful,” Larry said. He stepped on the man’s wrist before taking the rifle out of his grip. The man stared up at the rifle as if he had never seen it before. There was a knife at his belt.
Amanda looked down at the man who had chased her through the rain, and thought of everything she had overlooked until now—how he had always known where she was, how he had told her a friend had helped him purchase the hotel, how inept he had seemed at life. The bullet had taken the top of his skull off, and it was hard to look at.
