Nicholas Sparks - The Best of Me

Someone was there. He was sure of it. His kin, no doubt.

Ted was on pins and needles, wondering where the hell Dawson was. There was no way he couldn’t have heard the noise, but where was he? Why didn’t he come out?

He pulled another stone from his pocket, this time throwing it as hard as he could.

Dawson froze at the sound of a second, louder report. Gradually, he relaxed and crept closer, pinpointing the source of the noise.

Ted, hiding behind the woodpile. Armed.

His back was to Dawson, and he was peering over the top of the woodpile at the house. Was he waiting for Dawson to emerge from the house? Making noise, hoping to lure him out to investigate?

Dawson suddenly wished he had dug up the shotgun. Or brought a weapon of any sort, for that matter. There were items in the garage, but there was no way he could get to them without Ted spotting him. He debated retreating to the road, but Ted wasn’t likely to go away, unless he had a reason. All the same, he could tell from Ted’s twitchy posture that he was getting antsy, and that was good. Impatience was the hunter’s enemy.

Dawson ducked behind a tree, thinking, hoping for an opportunity to take care of this without getting shot in the process.

Five minutes passed, then ten, while Ted continued to seethe. Nothing, absolutely nothing. No movement out front, or even in the damn windows. But a rental car was parked in the drive — he could see the bumper sticker — and someone had been working in the garage. It sure as hell wasn’t Tuck or Amanda. So if Dawson wasn’t out front and he wasn’t out back, he had to be in the house.

But why hadn’t he come out?

Maybe he was watching television or listening to music… or sleeping or showering or God knows what else. For whatever reason, he must not have heard anything.

Ted crouched there another few minutes, growing even angrier, before finally deciding he wasn’t going to just wait around. Ducking out from behind the woodpile, he scurried to the side of the house and peeked around to the front. Seeing nothing, he moved again, tiptoeing up to the porch. He pressed himself flat against the wall between the door and window.

He strained to hear the sounds of movement inside without success. No creaking floorboards, no blaring television or thumping music. Once he was certain he hadn’t been spotted, he peered around the frame of the window. He took hold of the doorknob and turned it slowly.

Unlocked. Perfect.

Ted readied the gun.

Dawson watched Ted slowly push the door open. As soon as it closed behind him, Dawson raced for the garage, figuring he had maybe a minute, probably less. He seized the rusted tire iron from the workbench and sprinted silently for the front of the house, figuring that Ted was most likely in the kitchen or the bedroom by now. He prayed that he was right.

He jumped up onto the porch before flattening himself in the same spot where Ted had stood, gripping the tire iron and readying himself. It didn’t take long; inside, he heard Ted cussing as he stomped toward the front door. When it swung open, Dawson flashed on Ted’s panicked expression as he caught sight of Dawson an instant too late.

Dawson swung the tire iron, feeling the vibration in his arm as it crushed Ted’s nose. Even as Ted staggered backward, blood spurting in a hot red gush, Dawson was already in pursuit. Ted hit the floor and Dawson brought the tire iron down hard on Ted’s outstretched arm, sending the gun skittering away. At the sound of his bones breaking, Ted finally began to scream.

As Ted writhed on the floor, Dawson reached for the gun, leveling it at Ted.

“I told you not to come back.”

Those were the last words Ted heard before his eyes rolled up, the blinding pain causing him to pass out.

As much as he hated his family, he couldn’t bring himself to kill Ted. At the same time, he wasn’t sure what to do with him. He supposed he could call the sheriff, but once he left town he knew that, trial or not, he wasn’t coming back, so nothing would happen to Ted anyway. Dawson would still be tied up for hours, giving his account of events, which would no doubt be met with suspicion. After all, he was still a Cole and he had a record. No, he decided, he didn’t want the hassle.

But he couldn’t just leave Ted out here, either. He needed medical attention, and dropping him off at the medical clinic would no doubt involve the sheriff again. Same thing with calling an ambulance.

Reaching down, he rummaged through Ted’s pockets, finding a cell phone. After flipping it open, he punched some buttons and pulled up the contact list. A few names in there, most of which he recognized. Good enough. He fished around again for the keys to Ted’s truck, then jogged out to the garage and gathered some bungee cords and wire, which he used to truss Ted up. Then, after the sun went down, he slung his cousin over his shoulder.

He carried Ted down the drive and tossed him into the bed of the truck. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat, started the truck, and pointed it in the direction of the parcel of land where he’d been raised. Not wanting to draw attention, he shut off the headlights as he made his way to the edge of the Coles’ property before stopping at the NO TRESPASSING sign. There he dragged Ted from the bed of the truck and propped his cousin against the post.

He opened the phone and hit the entry labeled “Abee.” The phone rang four times before Abee answered. Dawson could hear loud music in the background.

“Ted?” he shouted over the noise. “Where the hell are you?”

“It’s not Ted. But you need to come get him. He’s hurt bad,” Dawson answered. Before Abee could respond, Dawson told him where to find Ted. Hanging up, he tossed the phone to the ground between Ted’s legs.

Back in the truck, he accelerated off the property. After disposing of Ted’s gun in the river, he figured he’d swing by the bed-and-breakfast right away and grab his things. Then he’d trade out cars, leaving Ted’s truck where he’d originally parked it, and find a hotel outside Oriental, where he could finally shower and eat before turning in for the night.

He was tired. After all, it had been a long day. He was glad it was over.

Abee Cole’s stomach felt like someone was branding it, and the fever had yet to break, making him think that he should probably ask the doctor about his wound the next time he came into the room to check on Ted. Course, they’d probably want to admit him, too, and that wasn’t gonna happen. Might bring up questions that Abee didn’t feel like answering.

It was late, coming up on midnight, and the hospital had finally begun to quiet down. In the dim light, he looked over at his brother, thinking that Dawson had done a real number on him. Just like last time. Abee thought he was dead when he’d found him. Face covered in blood, arm bent sideways, and all he could think was that Ted had gotten careless. Either that, or Dawson had been waiting for him — which got him to thinking that maybe Dawson had plans of his own.

Abee felt the pain flare in his gut, triggering waves of nausea. The hospital wasn’t helping. It was like a damn furnace here. The only reason Abee was still in the room was because he wanted to be around if Ted woke up, so he could find out if Dawson was up to something. He felt a shiver of paranoia but assumed that maybe he wasn’t thinking straight. The antibiotics had better kick in, and soon.