“Hey, D.”
“Something is up with Lucky. I think that thing went sideways.”
Silence. I could almost hear Jack thinking.
“He needs us.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Any idea where he is?”
“I don’t know. Let’s ask around. But, Jack,” I exhaled in frustration. “We need to keep it quiet.”
“Got it.”
I texted Donnie, Cal and Whiskey. Donnie would tell Mac and Drake. Jack would reach out to Johnson, Wilson and Jersey.
I prayed that someone knew something.
I picked up my baby boy and waited.
Chapter 20
Kirsten
Three.
I stared at the crumpled matchbook in my hand. Three old matches. Three chances. I stuffed the matches into my pocket to protect them. It was windy out and just starting to rain.
I bit my lip, considering my options.
I could hide the stuff, then come back and burn it with better supplies. That was risky for a number of reasons. I didn’t want to leave this stuff out here, let alone come back to the scene of the crime. I didn’t have to remind myself of the stakes. I had killed a man and both our DNA was all over it.
I could bury it. There was a swamp surrounding the area, just past the guardrail a hundred feet away. I could smell the salty water from where I was crouched. That meant actually going into the swamp, which was not appealing. Probably not safe either. I was pretty sure there were alligators out there. And snakes. I wasn’t really a strong enough swimmer to go alone into the water at night.
Plus, judging from television detective shows, I was pretty sure mud would only preserve the evidence.
I was struggling to catch my breath as I considered my options. I reminded myself why I was doing this. Certainly not because I was a ‘good person.’ I didn’t feel good. Not because I had acted in self-defense. I was doing it for one reason and one reason alone. I was doing this for Jacey. She needed me. That was it.
If it weren’t for her, I would still be in that office, staring at the mess and waiting for someone to come in and finish me off. I shivered as if someone had walked over my grave. But I was out. I had a chance to get through this. I just had to stay focused.
Do it for the kid. Hold it together. You have to do this.
“I wonder if there is gasoline anywhere around here…” I muttered to myself.
Talking to yourself is the first sign that you are off your rocker, Kirst.
I decided to risk entering one of the decrepit old warehouses. If I could find even a few drops of gasoline, I could burn this stuff. Then all I had to do was chuck the ashes in the marsh and walk home before dawn. All without being seen.
It’s a damn good thing you are wearing sneakers, Kirsten.
I started talking to myself. I reminded myself over and over again of what I was trying to do, and why I was trying to do it. If I kept talking, I wouldn’t puke again. I wouldn’t think about what I was really doing. Or let the scene replay itself in my head. I could feel it there, waiting to be examined. Relived. But I couldn’t give in to that. Not yet.
1. Find gas
2. Use matches
3. Burn jacket and shoes
4. Go home
5. See your kid
6. Do not get killed by the mafia
No no no, do not think about number six. Do not think about what Sal was trying to do to you when you hit him with your shoe. Do not think about the fact that he might have killed you before he raped you.
When you impaled him, you monster. You aren’t fit to be a mother. You aren’t fit for anything.
Killer.
Killer.
Killer.
I grabbed the sides of my head and bent over, the sobs coming hard and fast. I sunk to the floor, kneeling there as the sobs wracked my body. The reality of what I’d lived through and what I’d done was impossible to ignore a moment longer.
It was a long time before I got up again.
I could not believe my luck. It had taken an hour of searching but I’d found it. A small, rusted, half empty can of paint thinner. I knew without a doubt that it was flammable from the scent. I found an especially dark corner of the warehouse and checked for drafts. I could not afford to make a mistake. I crumbled up some old newspaper that had been lying around and put my jacket on top of it. I formed a bowl shape and added more paper, topping it off with my bloody shoe. I tossed the other one in there for good measure.
I doused the whole thing with the foul smelling liquid. Then I got down on my knees, leaned over the pile and closed my eyes. It didn’t seem right to pray about something like this, but I did anyway.