David Bell - Never Come Back

“All kids do that too. I did.”

“He knew which button to push,” Beth said. “He knew just what I wanted. I took that money and I walked into that bus station with only the clothes on my back. I bought a ticket to Houston, and I left. I thought I was off on some great adventure. I thought I was being a rebel, some kind of wild and crazy free spirit who managed to leave all the limits of my family and town behind. I didn’t even think about Mom and how it would affect her.”

She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. I couldn’t tell whether she was crying or not, but I did move forward on the couch and reach out to her. I placed my hand on her shoulder. My own grief over Mom’s death was too real for me not to share the experience with her in some way. The idea of leaving Mom—or Mom leaving us—and never seeing each other again was just too real. I held back against my own emotion for fear it would all pour out.

“Thanks,” Beth said, lifting her head again. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were full and on the brink of spilling over. “As you can guess, I’ve been reliving a lot of this over the last week or so.”

“I get it,” I said. “We can stop. We can talk about this another day.”

“It’s okay,” she said. She rubbed at her eyes, then tried to force a smile. “I bet you’re thinking some things are better left unsaid, huh?”

“No,” I said. “I’m really not. But your dad’s plan doesn’t sound like a foolproof one. How did he know you wouldn’t just leave the station without getting a ticket? And how did he know you wouldn’t just come back and tell what you knew?”

Beth nodded. “He told me that he and his associate would be watching the station. He said I’d never seen his friend before, and that friend was inside the station watching me, so if I didn’t get on a bus and leave, they’d know. The rain was still falling, but not as hard. The street was wet, and I had to jump around the puddles. I went inside the bus station and looked around. I didn’t recognize anyone, but the station was full of skeevy-looking types. Have you ever been in a bus station?”

I nodded.

“Then you know. As for the other thing… I think he was gambling. Like I said, he knew I wanted to leave town. He knew I was going at it with Mom every chance I got. I think he just hoped I’d stay away long enough for there to be no evidence of what he was mixed up in. If I came back and made some wild accusation, he’d just throw up his hands and say, ‘What evidence is there of this? The kid’s probably on drugs and telling wild stories.’”

“And that was it?” I asked. “You never came back?”

Beth shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I did a whole lot of things in a whole lot of places. It certainly wasn’t pretty, but it was mine. It was my life.”

My phone buzzed again. I looked down and saw Neal’s name on the display. I held up my hand.

“I have to take this one too,” I said to Beth. “This is my friend outside.”

I answered the phone, but no one was there. It didn’t sound like a dropped call. It sounded like someone was on the other end of the line but wasn’t saying anything.

“Neal?” I said. “Neal?”

The call cut out.

I called right back, expecting Neal to answer. Knowing him, I figured he had grown antsy during the long period of time I’d been inside the house with Beth listening to her story. I should have checked in with him sooner to let him know what was going on, but I’d been so involved with Beth’s story, I hadn’t thought of it.

Neal was probably ready to go home. Or else he had something else to do.

But when I called back, the phone went right to voice mail. Neal’s voice came on instructing any callers to leave their name and, as he put it, “the most pertinent information” and he would call them back.

I didn’t leave a message. Something was off. Why wasn’t Neal answering his phone?

“Is something wrong?” Beth asked. “Is it Ronnie?”

“No,” I said. “It’s my friend outside. He’s supposed to be out there waiting for me. In fact, we didn’t know what would happen when I came in here, so I had his number ready to call in case… you know…”

“In case I tried to murder you,” Beth said.

“Just being safe,” I said. “But now he’s not answering.”

“Maybe he got another call. Maybe he figured you were in here so long everything was okay.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m just going to check, though.” I stood up and dialed his number again as I walked to the front door. Again it went straight to voice mail. “I’m just going to go out and see.”

“Do you think it’s safe?” Beth said.

“It should be fine,” I said. “Neal knows how to take—”

I had just placed my hand on the doorknob when a gunshot interrupted me.

I froze. Had it really been a gunshot?

Beth was right behind me. “Get away from the door.”

Her words jolted me into action. I pulled the door open and stepped out onto the porch. I sensed Beth behind me. She came up and placed her hand on my right arm.

“Come inside,” she said.

“Go call 911.”

“I will,” she said. “But you come in.”

“You call,” I said. “I have to check on my friend.”

I pulled away from her and started down the porch steps. In the wake of the gunshot, the night was quiet. Very quiet. I expected to hear commotion, to see people running outside to give help. But it must not have been that kind of neighborhood. Most of the blinds and doors remained shut tight. Across the street I saw one set of curtains move, but the figure behind the glass disappeared before I could get any kind of look at them.

I turned in the direction of Neal’s SUV. The streetlights had just come on, but their glow didn’t cover every inch of the street. Some areas remained in darkness and shadow. I saw the figure lying in the street next to Neal’s car. I ran forward so fast, I didn’t process who it was. But as I came closer, I saw. It was Neal. I recognized the grimy army coat, his tall frame with the long legs splayed.

I saw the blood dripping from his side, staining the pavement.

“Neal!”

When I reached him, he could barely lift his head. But he managed to smile at me, one corner of his mouth lifting. His skin was pale, almost translucent in the half-light. His eyes looked a little glassy. And scared. Even Neal could look scared.

“What happened?” I asked. “The police are coming.”

“Some guy…”

“Who? What guy?”

He started coughing.

“Just lay here,” I said. “Lay back.”

I eased Neal’s head down against the pavement. He was sweating. I didn’t have anything to cushion his head, so I left my hand under there, hoping it brought some comfort.

“A guy,” he said. “I saw him… He was scoping out the house…”

“He shot you?”

“Stabbed me. Fucking stabbed me. Can you believe that?”

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

He started shaking his head. “No. Not that.” He coughed again. “This guy. He was going for the house. So I got out.” He closed his eyes, wincing. “He came over here and we got into it. He just stabbed me. I can’t believe he got the drop on me.”

I heard them in the distance. Sirens. “Do you hear that, Neal? The police are coming. Just relax.”

“He was an old guy,” he said. “That’s the shittiest thing. Some old fat guy…”

“Who fired the gun?” I asked.

“Me.” He rolled onto his side a little, and I saw the gun beneath his body. There was blood smeared on the grip. “I think I missed. But it’s okay.” He winced again. “I have a permit.”