Theresa Weir - Bad Karma

Now the sun was low in the sky, big and orange. My favorite color, she thought with a wry twist of her lips. The sun scattered light over everything, washing the sky, the air, in a hazy glow.

“We don’t have to do this now,” Daniel said, as if sensing her trepidation.

“I need to.” She slipped from the truck, her legs feeling a little stronger. She walked slowly in the direction of the barn, her feet, with their red toenails, moving over the packed dirt of the lane, like her vision, yet unlike it. In her vision she’d worn the black slip. In her vision she’d been barefoot. In her vision she’d been alone.

The shadow of the barn crept over her, blocking the sunlight, bringing with it a damp chill, even though the evening was warm. Without the brightness of the sun, everything turned colorless, awash in drab grays.

Daniel waited for her at the barn door.

She froze, unable to make herself take another step. “Maybe this is far enough.” She closed her eyes, trying to picture the interior. Stalls. A jagged hole in the ceiling. She imagined herself taking slow steps, finding herself drawn to the area of the barn where the floor was dirt.

Strange, she thought, to have a dirt floor. But the dirt was significant. There was a spot, a very certain spot… Something secret. Something no one is supposed to find.

She opened her eyes and stared at Daniel. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were glassy, bloodshot. Those eyebrows. Those beautiful, sun-bleached eyebrows. He had the most intriguing face. Looking at him made her feel safe…

If they’d met under other circumstances, would things have been different? What if they’d taken classes at a college somewhere, and during the break they’d had coffee together? Or maybe they’d used the same library and tried to check out the same book at the same time, realizing they shared an interest in ancient civilizations?

A different life. Another life. Far, far away.

“I have to go inside,” she told him.

He nodded and opened the door.

“The smell.” She brought a hand to her nose.

“It smells like an old barn.”

“No, this is different.” She stepped forward, into the darkness, into the smell, the putrid smell of bad things, bad places.

Light poured down from the hole above and cut through the cracks in the walls, looking like laser beams, starting out fine and condensed, to broaden and finally fade to nothing.

Her sandals whispered indistinct words, shushing across the floor as she moved toward the spot she needed to show Daniel. She walked past the stalls until she stood beneath the hole in the roof. “Here. You have to dig here.”

Daniel rummaged around to return a minute later with a rusty shovel. With his foot, he pressed the shovel deep, digging until sweat ran down his face and soaked his shirt.

She knew what he would find. “A pumpkin,” she said with conviction.

Leave. Turn around and leave.

Daniel stopped digging to lean over the hole, hands braced on his knees. “Maybe you’d better go.”

Her thoughts exactly, but her feet wouldn’t move.

“I don’t think you should see this.”

Too late. She’d already seen it in her mind. “A print dress,” she said. “Red, with white polka dots-no, white flowers on it.”

Suddenly Cleo was aware of a change. Something was different. Something wasn’t right. She turned-and saw Burton Campbell standing there with his elect-me-for-mayor smile, a gun in his hand.

Daniel heard Cleo’s gasp. Keeping a grip on the shovel, he slowly straightened from the hole to find himself looking down the barrel of a revolver.

“Burton Campbell,” he said with no surprise. A range of possible tactics raced through Daniel’s mind, each quickly discarded. Cleo was standing too close to Campbell. If Daniel could get her to step away without attracting the guy’s attention…

“I don’t know what you’ve done,” Daniel began in what he hoped was a conversational tone, “but anything more can only make things worse.”

“Don’t use those hostage negotiation tactics on me. You of all people should know they don’t work. Didn’t you single-handedly cause the death of a mother and her kids?”

Daniel stopped breathing.

“Jo told me all about it,” Campbell said. “She tells me a lot of things. You know Jo. There’s nothing she likes better than being the first link in the gossip chain.”

The deaths had been Daniel’s fault, brought about by an error in judgment and his damn inability to follow rules, follow protocol. He hadn’t thought the kidnapper-who was no more than a scared kid-would pull the trigger. But Daniel had been mistaken. He’d pushed too hard too fast, and by the time he and his team rushed the house, no one was left alive, not even the kidnapper.

“You’re just some charity case of Jo’s,” Campbell said. “She hired you out of pity. She told me you’d never get a job anywhere else. Nobody wants a mess like you. How old were those kids?”

“Shut up,” Daniel said.

“Just goes to show what a fuck-up you are.”

Daniel repositioned his grip on the shovel handle.

“He’s baiting you,” Cleo said. “Don’t listen to him.”

“You pretend to be in Egypt because of that brother of yours, but I know you’re using him as an excuse. You’re afraid. Isn’t that right? You’re nothing but a loser with a pitiful moron for a brother.”

A cry of rage tore from Daniel’s throat. With one hand, he shoved Cleo out of the way, with the other he swung at Campbell. The shovel connected with flesh and bone, the blade breaking away, leaving Daniel holding a piece of rotten wood. He threw down the handle and dove, grabbing Campbell with both hands. Daniel heard the crack of a gunshot. Pain, hot and searing, ripped through his shoulder, the impact throwing him to the ground.

“Daniel!” Cleo screamed.

Time stuttered, stopped, then started again.

Cleo’s mind pulled back-a way of distancing herself from the horror playing out before her. She watched Campbell raise his arm until the gun in his hand pointed straight at Daniel. Cleo lunged, throwing her body into Campbell. As he went down, the gun exploded, a bullet hit the wall with a pitht .

“Run!” Daniel shouted. He was lying on the ground, one hand pressed to his shoulder. “Go!” he yelled, his voice thick with agony.

Campbell shoved himself to his feet, face flushed, composure gone. “Outside!” He waved the gun wildly. When nobody moved, his face turned an even brighter red. “Now!”

Cleo took a step toward Daniel.

“Stay away from him,” Campbell ordered.

She ignored his command. Instead, she grabbed Daniel’s good arm and helped him to his feet. Sweat trailed down the side of his face. Blood, shiny and red, glistened against the dark green plaid of his shirt.

They left through a back door. From there, Campbell prodded them forward into a densely wooded area. Brambles cut Cleo’s arms and ripped her skirt. Tangled, twisting vines caught her ankles and pulled her hair.

The thickness of the vegetation forced them to walk in a line. Cleo took the lead while Daniel stumbled along behind her. She heard his labored breathing, heard him crash to the ground.

She swung around in time to see him struggling to his feet. Once upright, he looked into her eyes. In them, she saw so many things, but the main one, the one that broke her heart, was regret.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she told him.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He straightened and his breath caught.

“Go,” Campbell commanded. “Move.”