“Charlie?”
“I don’t know what’s in it.”
“The hell you don’t. You kept a souvenir, didn’t you? What is it? A head? A heart?”
“I didn’t, it’s not mine, really, I. . I. .” I bite my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. “Let’s go back to the car. He’ll be back. If he looked for me last night he’ll look for me again tonight.”
“What is it, Charlie? What have you done?”
“Nothing. I promise you. I don’t know what’s in there.”
“We have to call the police. It was already out of hand by the time you came to me, Charlie, and now look how much worse it’s gotten. Think about where we’re going to be this time tomorrow if you don’t go to the police.”
“Let’s go,” I tell her.
“To the police?”
“No. We’re sticking with the plan.”
“Charlie. .”
“You said you’d give me the day,” I tell her.
“Not all of it.”
“I just need a little more time. An hour. Two at the most. We watch the house till midnight.”
“That’s almost six hours away.”
“Then I let you go. I promise.”
“You promise?”
“I just said I promised.”
I close the house up. We head outside. Jo seems happy to leave. I’m happy to leave too. We pile into her car. I back out of the driveway. I drive fifty yards then do a U-turn and park against the curb. The shortest drive of my life. I kill the engine and we wait.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jo is starting to believe him. Charlie is still being a bastard, and there’s no excuse for what he did to her last night, but it’s really looking like this Cyris fellow exists. Would Charlie have done any of that crazy shit to his own house? She doesn’t think so. She doesn’t think he would kill anybody. And just what in the hell was in that box?
Of course it’s been six months since she last saw him. A lot can happen is six days let alone six months. He’s not behaving like the Charlie she used to know. But she needs to play devil’s advocate here-she needs to follow the idea for a moment that perhaps he is guilty. Saving a body part is a good way of starting up an insanity defense. Which means she’s still in danger.
Either way she’s in danger. Either from Charlie or from Cyris, doesn’t matter whether they’re the same person or not. She needs to stay calm and collect her thoughts because common sense, in theory, beats out insanity any day.
“I’m sorry I doubted you,” she says, but she’s not sorry, and she still might be doubting him. She isn’t sure. What she is sure of is that there’s an escape opportunity here. This is what she’s been working toward. Thank God she didn’t blow it back at the motel by trying to cut herself free. She would never have done it in time.
Charlie looks over at her and his face relaxes. “Really? Do you really mean that?”
“I’m also sorry you had to bring me here to convince me. You didn’t have to hurt me, Charlie. I just wish you hadn’t hurt me.”
“I wish that too,” he says. “I’m sorry, Jo, so sorry. I just. .” he says, but he trails off.
“Just didn’t know what to do,” she says for him.
“I think I knew what to do. I just kept doing all the wrong things.”
“Listen, Charlie, we agreed you’d let me go at the end of the day. That you would show me what you needed to, and-”
“I can’t let you go,” he says. “Don’t you see? Cyris is looking for me. And he might be looking for you too.”
“I’ll be safe. I’ll go to the police.”
“And then the police will come looking for me. They’re not going to believe what happened. No, we stick with the plan. And it’s a good plan. It’s your plan. We wait for Cyris to come back. I know he’s been here already, but he won’t know where else to look.”
“Okay,” she says. So that didn’t work. She still has another angle. “So what about this. Cyris left the box behind for a reason, right?”
“I guess, but I have no idea what that reason is.”
“What if he’s planning on calling the police?”
“What?”
“He might be calling the police to tell them to come to your house. An anonymous tip. They’ll come here, find that box, and you’ll look guiltier than ever.”
He shakes his head. “No, they’ll see the house was broken into. They’ll see all that damage. Surely they’ll know it wasn’t me.”
“If you’re that sure, then why don’t you call them yourself?” she asks.
“Shit,” he says again. He puts his hands on the steering wheel and tightens his grip. “So what are you saying?”
“I think you know.”
“We have to go and get the head,” he says.
“How. . how do you know it’s a head?” she asks.
“Jesus,” he says, turning toward her. “What, now you think I’m guilty again?”
“I’m just asking.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “That was just a guess. It could be anything.”
It’s a good answer. She believes him. “You need to hurry,” she says. “It’s already gotten dark. Cyris could show up at any minute, and so could the police.”
“Me? You’re not coming back inside with me?”
“No way in hell am I going back in there, not when there’s a box in there with a head in it, and not when-”
“It might not be a head. In fact it’s probably not. Both women had them still attached.”
“He left you something, Charlie. You think it’s a box full of cake?”
“No.”
“Then we’re in agreement.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“I don’t know. Hide it somewhere.”
“Hide it? The police are going to look everywhere.”
“Well you’re not bringing it back to the car.”
“Goddamn it, Jo, I have to. .”
“You’ll figure it out. Now I suppose you want to tie me up, is that right?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
“Just hurry up,” she says. “I don’t want to be out here alone.”
He leans into the back and pulls out some of the rope he bought earlier. “Don’t make it harder than it needs to be,” he says.
“I won’t,” she tells him.
She tightens her muscles as he wraps the rope around her body and the seat, and she bites down on the gag. He reaches into the backseat and grabs one of the stakes. A moment later he steps outside, taking the keys with him. She relaxes and feels the rope give slightly. Charlie looks back at her and shrugs a little, some kind of apologetic shrug. He crosses the road and jogs toward his house. Her hands are down by her sides. She starts stretching her fingers toward her pocket where the broken piece of blade is.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When Landry’s cell phone goes off it pulls him out of a dream that involved getting his cancer news from a hot-looking nurse in a tight outfit that made the news not seem so bad. He wasn’t even aware he had fallen asleep. His chin is covered in drool and his neck is stiff and he’s slumped down somewhat in the car. And it’s hot in here. He grabs his phone. It’s Schroder. He presses the answer button.
“We found nothing useful in Douglas Person’s house,” Schroder says, “aside from a bedroom he’s turned into a hothouse to grow maybe twenty grand’s worth of cannabis. We’re still looking for the guy, but I’m guessing he’s gotten wind we’re looking for him so is lying low. How are you feeling?”
“Not the best,” Landry says, which is going to sum up every day between now and the end of days. At least the end of days for him. He feels bad about not saving Schroder some time by telling him Person is not their guy. Still, Schroder will look back at this in the future and thank Landry for saving him some problems by taking care of the trash.
“You should take tomorrow off,” Schroder says, not sounding like he means it.