Nicholas Sparks: The Best of Me

Dawson paused. The figure paused as well.

Dawson took another step; he watched as another step backward was taken. He took two quick steps, his movement mirrored precisely by the dark-haired man.

Throwing caution to the wind, Dawson broke into a run. The dark-haired man turned then and began to run as well. Dawson sped up, but the distance between them stayed eerily constant, the windbreaker flapping as if trying to taunt him.

Dawson accelerated and the stranger veered, changing direction. No longer running away from the road, he began to run parallel to it, and Dawson followed suit. They were heading toward Oriental, toward the blocky squat building at the head of the curve.

The curve…

Dawson wasn’t gaining, but the dark-haired man wasn’t pulling farther ahead, either. He’d stopped changing directions, and for the first time Dawson had the sense that the man had some distinct purpose in mind as he led him forward. There was something disconcerting about that, but lost in the chase, Dawson had no time to consider it.

Ted’s boot pressed down hard on the side of Alan’s face. Alan felt his ears being crushed from both directions and could feel the heel of the boot cutting painfully into his jaw. The gun pointed at his head appeared huge, crowding everything else from his vision, and his bowels suddenly went watery. I’m going to die , he suddenly thought.

“I know you seen this,” Ted said wiggling the gun but still keeping it aimed. “If I let you up, you ain’t gonna try to run, are you?”

Alan tried to swallow, but his throat wasn’t working. “No,” he croaked out.

Ted shifted even more weight onto the boot. The pain was intense and Alan screamed. Both his ears were on fire and felt like they’d been flattened into paper-thin disks. Squinting up at Ted as he babbled for mercy, he noted that Ted’s other arm was in some sort of cast and that his face was black and purple. Dimly, Alan found himself wondering what had happened to him.

Ted stepped back. “Get up,” he said.

Alan struggled to untangle his leg from the chair and slowly got up, almost buckling as a sharp bolt shot through his knee. The open doorway was only a few feet away.

“Don’t even think it,” Ted snarled. He motioned to the bar. “Git.”

Alan limped back toward the bar. Abee was still at the office door, cursing and hurling himself at it. Finally, Abee turned toward them.

Abee cocked his head to one side, staring, looking deranged. Alan’s bowels went watery again.

“I’ve got your boyfriend out here!” he shouted.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Candy screamed back, but the sound was muffled. “I’m calling the police!”

By then, Abee was already walking toward him, around the bar. Ted kept the gun trained on Alan.

“You think the two of you could just run off?” Abee demanded.

Alan opened his mouth to answer, but terror robbed him of his voice.

Abee bent over, grabbing one of the fallen pool cues. Alan watched as Abee adjusted his grip on the cue, like a batter getting ready to walk to home plate, crazy and out of control.

Oh, God, please, no…

“You think I wouldn’t find out? That I didn’t know what you were planning? I saw the two of you on Friday night!”

Just a few steps away, Alan stood riveted, unable to move while Abee cocked back the pool cue. Ted took a half step backward.

Oh, God…

Alan choked out a response: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did she leave her car at your place?” Abee demanded. “Is that where it is?”

“What — I—”

Abee stepped toward him, swinging the cue, before Alan had the chance to finish. The cue smashed into his skull, making the world erupt in blinding starbursts before going black again.

Alan hit the floor as Abee swung the pool cue again, then again. Alan tried weakly to cover himself, hearing the sickening sound of his arm breaking. When the cue snapped in half, Abee swung his steel-toed boot hard into his face. Ted started kicking him in the kidneys, yielding bursts of white-hot agony.

As Alan began to scream, the beating began in earnest.

Running through the meadow grass, they were now closing in on the squat, ugly building. Dawson could see a few cars and trucks out front, and for the first time he noted a faint red glow above the entrance. Slowly, they’d begun to angle in that direction.

As the dark-haired stranger glided effortlessly ahead of him, Dawson felt a nagging sense of recognition. The relaxed position of the shoulders, the steady rhythm of his arms, the high-stepping cadence of the legs… Dawson had seen that particular gait before, and not just in the woods behind Tuck’s house. He couldn’t quite place it yet, but the knowledge hovered ever closer, like bubbles rising to the surface of the water. The man glanced over his shoulder, as if attuned to Dawson’s every thought, and Dawson got his first clear glimpse of the stranger’s features, knowing he’d seen the man before.

Before the explosion.

Dawson stumbled, but even as he righted himself, he felt a chill pass through him.

It wasn’t possible.

It had been twenty-four years. Since then, he’d gone to prison and been released; he’d worked on oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. He’d loved and lost, then loved and lost again, and the man who’d once taken him in had died of old age. But the stranger — because he was, and always had been, a stranger — hadn’t aged at all. He looked exactly the same as he had on the night he’d been out running after seeing patients in his office, a day on which it had rained. It was him, and he could see it now: the surprised face Dawson had seen as he’d swerved off the road. He’d been carrying the load of tires that Tuck had needed, returning to Oriental—

It was here, Dawson remembered again. It was here where Dr. David Bonner, husband and father, had been killed.

Dawson drew a sharp breath and stumbled again, but the man seemed to have read his thoughts. He nodded once without smiling just as he reached the gravel drive of the parking lot. Facing forward again, he sped up, parallel now to the front of the building. Dawson felt the sweat as he stumbled into the parking lot behind him. Up ahead, the stranger — Dr. Bonner — had stopped running and was standing near the building’s entrance, bathed in the neon sign’s eerie red light.

Dawson drew near, focusing on Dr. Bonner, just as the ghost turned and entered the building.

Dawson sped up, bursting through the doorway of a dimly lit bar seconds later, but by then, Dr. Bonner was gone.

It took only an instant for Dawson to register the scene: the toppled tables and chairs, the muffled sound of a woman screaming in the background while the TV continued to blare. His cousins Ted and Abee bent over someone on the ground, beating him savagely, almost ritualistically, until they suddenly stopped to look up at him. Dawson caught a glimpse of the bloodied figure on the ground, recognizing him instantly.

Alan…

Dawson had studied the young man’s face in countless photos over the years, but now he also noticed the striking resemblance to his father. The man Dawson had been seeing all these months, the man who’d led him here.

As he took in the scene, all went still. Ted and Abee froze, neither of them apparently able to believe that someone — anyone — had suddenly arrived. Their breaths came in rasps as they stared at Dawson like wolves interrupted during a feeding frenzy.

Dr. Bonner had saved him for a reason.