Page 117 of Brimstone Hollow

The window goes down. Cold rain pelts me in the face.

He’s torturing me, I realize, my mind running wild. Before he gets rid of me, throws me down in the Hell Hole, he’s going to torture me with this cold, pelting rain. The thought seems ludicrous and I laugh.

He ignores me and says, “Back when the rumor about Will and Roman Bradley got to me, I talked to Will. Asked him if Bradley had done anything, said anything, taken advantage of him. He told me no. And then he went away for a while, and when he came back, he was all set on going to Bible college and… I should’ve tried harder, maybe. But he denied it. Annie? You still with me?”

“Yes,” I say. “I can’t sleep for this rain, you asshole.”

He nods, like that’s all he needed to hear. He says, “We’re almost there.”

I close my eyes. “Whatever.”

The car slows down, comes to a stop, and then speeds up, but the rain just goes on slapping me in the face.

Dishman says, “I realized Will must’ve been the one to dig up that coffin. Remember how neat that sod was? How it looked just like it did before? It’s something he must’ve learned working with the Bradleys. Spending time with Roman. It was only that one summer but…”

I keep my eyes closed against the pelting rain, the blood in my vision.

“He took Nickels’s body,” I say to the darkness. “It was Will.”

“Yes. And after we’d been to the Hell Hole, he put Nickels down there, figuring we wouldn’t go back.”

“And Bradley…” I say.

“I think he couldn’t take it anymore,” Dishman says. “The stress of it was killing him. He knew it was only a matter of time until it all came out.”

“He would lose it all,” I say. “He was ashamed and he couldn’t face it.”

My voice sounds distant. Small. Like I’m a child again.

“Yeah,” he says.

“And that’s why you didn’t tell me,” I say. “That’s why… You were ashamed because you’d believed in Ezra and you were…”

“Yes,” he says. “I was ashamed. I believed his lies. I fell for it. I really thought he was a good man, a great man, a man of faith. I never meant to…”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay… okay…”

“Annie, come on. Stay with me. You’re tough, you can do this. Just hold on.”

“Where’s Gavin?” I ask him, my eyes suddenly open, remembering. “Where is he?”

“Back there,” Dishman says, gesturing toward the back seat. I try to turn my body and realize it’s just too much effort. Instead, Dishman maneuvers the rearview mirror so I can look. Gavin is lying in the back seat. A black police jacket is tied tight around the pad I’d put on his wound. He’s lying still, breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I looked you up,” Dishman says after a moment. “When you came to town? I checked up on you.”

“Air Force,” I say. “Special investigator. Muay Thai. Private…”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I saw all that. But I also looked up who you were before, where you came from.”

“Cleberg County,” I whisper, closing my eyes again.

“Andwhoyou came from.”

I shake my head but he keeps going. “Johnny and Rochelle Gore. I saw your dad’s record, made a few calls. Annie, I know about your dad’s arrests, your mom’s too. I know they’re still together.”

And what he doesn’t say is—I know you come from people who beat the shit out of each other for thrills. And I know you were always the one who had to clean up after. You’re the one who drove your mom to the emergency room, to the urgent care, to the veterinary clinic when there was no money. You’re the one who put stitches in your dad’s arm when she went at him with a knife. You’re the one who ran away from all that. First to your granny’s. Then to the Air Force. Then to Louisville. You’re the one who’s never spoken to them again. Because you can’t face who you are. Who you came from.

Still together, he’d said.