Chapter Fourteen: Truth
There were two cars in the driveway – Jane's own blue Citroen, and a black Crown Victoria parked behind it. As Jane watched, a man in a dark suit and sunglasses emerged from the second car, casually plucking an ear bud from his ear as he answered his phone.
"Yeah?"
The man in the suit frowned. His neatly-trimmed salt and pepper mustache twitched.
"What? Brody, I can't understand you at all…Pronounce your words…"
The man shifted, revealing the telltale bulge of a gun under his suit jacket. He started to turn toward the garage…
Jane jerked out of sight. His heart thudded wildly.
This man was not their friend. He had arrived in the same vehicle as the killer. He had been sitting in the Crown Vic, listening to his iPod while he waited for the killing to get done. He was probably on the phone with the killer right now…
"Seriously, I can't tell what you're saying...'A hand?' Is that…No? 'A man?'"
Jane looked down at Penny, his mind racing. They weren't going to make it to the cars.
He turned painfully, pulling Penny along with him, and started hopping back the way they'd come. His movements were faster now, more athletic. A fresh rush of adrenaline had kicked in, allowing him to disconnect from some of the pain.
Dust was poofing everywhere, stinging his eyes and clinging to his teeth in gritty powder. Penny was hurrying along beside him, sending up a cloud of her own.
The line of red handprints on the garage bounced crazily before Jane's eyes. The blood was a neon arrow, a flashing sign – a trail easier to follow than footprints in snow.
Jane didn't know what to do about it…And then, he did: They'd made it behind the garage, and there was a door here. Jane teetered to a halt. He reached out with his injured hand and smeared more congealing blood along the wall, and onto the doorknob itself.
Torn skin got rubbed roughly in wrong directions. Blood of a fresher variety leapt to the surface of the wound. The brass doorknob started to gleam like red cellophane.
The door itself was locked, but that was for the better. Jane finished his grisly paint job and turned to face the steep, rock-littered incline that rose up behind the Jorstens' property.
He led Penny toward it.
They climbed like animals, Penny on all fours, Jane on all threes, clawed fingers grappling at loose stones and sediment. Twice, the little girl lost purchase, starting to slide before Jane grabbed her. Once, he lost purchase and she had to grab him.
Three-quarters of the way up the treacherous hillside, Jane heard the mustache man start to shout obscenities. No bullets followed, though, and Jane reached the crest unscathed with Penny by his side. The ground before them stretched long and flat, a breathtaking expanse of empty desert. In the distance, Jane could see the hazy outline of a mountain range. He continued to crawl along until he was sure they couldn't be spotted from below, then collapsed sideways, heaving.
Penny sat watching as he patted around with his dirt-and-blood caked hand, searching for the phone in his pocket. His fingers came up empty and confused. Jane hefted himself back into a sitting position and looked down.
He was genuinely surprised to find a dark stain across his hip. The fierce, relentless agony of his broken leg had obliterated all other pain; he'd entirely forgotten about getting shot – the very thing that had caused his reckless leap from the rooftop in the first place.
Wincing, Jane peeled at the sodden fabric of his pants. The wound was still bleeding, but not badly. It wasn't deep – just a graze. He delved deeper into his torn pocket, and small, mysteriously sharp objects poked at him. Jane pulled them out.
Jagged bits of blood-smeared plastic sat on his palm, sparkling like rubies. Jane could make out a greenish shard lined with circuitry, a blackened fragment of ruined liquid-crystal display, and a soft, rubbery rectangle marked "7 PQRS." Jane stared at them.
He stared, and wondered how astronomical the odds were that a bullet, fired blindly, would not only hit him, but do so in such a way that it also struck and demolished the cell phone in his pocket.
Life really was a million-to-one…
A loud thump met Jane's good ear and echoed across the desert. Another, louder thump followed, and then a third. Mustache Man, trying to break down the garage door.
Jane tucked the phone remnants into one of his vest pockets and struggled up on his left leg. He reached for Penny's hand.
Down below, the thumping ceased, to be replaced by a single gunshot that made Penny's fingers clench around his.
Their enemy had given up using his body as a battering ram and decided to just shoot out the lock. Which meant, they were running out of time.
Jane gave the little girl's arm a tug and started hopping. He almost fell over when she didn't follow.
Penny's hand was still locked with his, but she stood rigid and straight-backed with her bare heels dug into the desert dirt. Her head was turned back the way they'd come.
"Come on, Penny," Jane urged in a whisper.
She looked up at him, something fierce glinting in her eyes. "We can't leave Mommy."
Jane suppressed a wince. He sighed and eased himself back down onto his good knee, so that he and Penny were eye to eye. He cupped her face in both hands.
"Penny, I have to tell you something, and I need you to keep quiet. Can you do that? Keep very quiet, no matter what I say?"
She nodded hesitantly. His blood smudged her cheek.
"Your mother is dead—"
Tears flooded Penny's eyes. She started to struggle, trying to pull away from him. "No, no—"
"Yes. Those men back there—"
"No!" She fought harder, clawing at him, but Jane wouldn't let her go.
"Shh, shh, listen: those men back there killed her, and if they find us, they will kill us, too. Do you understand?"
Her head was twisted away from him, staring in the direction of the house. Jane gently turned her face forward again. Penny's bottom lip wobbled. Fresh tears poured down her cheeks, dripping steadily off her chin. At last, her eyes met his.
"Penny? Do you understand?"
She nodded once, and then her face crumpled, dissolving in silent sobs.
Jane heaved himself up onto his good leg. His left ear was still plugged and deaf, but his right ear could hear crashes and slams and heavy thumps – the satisfying sounds of a garage being torn apart in frantic search.
He took Penny by the hand and started hobbling across the long, dusty stretch of earth, scorched brick-red by the dying sun.
Penny stumbled blindly after him, no resistance left.