Prodigal

Chapter 3

3

Adam Rutledge was cold.

He leaned forward, peering into the narrow tunnel his headlights cut through the dark. The forest crowded the two-lane road, helping to disguise the rise of the mountain on one side and the occasional precipitous drop on the other. Branches of the mostly leafless deciduous trees crept toward the center line from above, while the conifers kept their distance, upright sentinels. Adam squeezed the steering wheel hard to quell the trembling in his hands.

It was just so cold, too cold for this time of year.

Yeah, right. That’s why my hands are shaking.

By now, Ruthie would have found the note on the register. She’d be cursing, probably taking out her frustration on whoever she’d found to cover Adam’s Friday night shift. Maybe she’d fire Adam. He’d grabbed his duffle bag and blanket from the back room, just in case. And because he didn’t know how long he’d be gone. Or, let’s be honest, if he’d be back. He’d lasted longer at Ruthie’s than he’d ever have thought he would, but it was probably time.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?

That’s what Ruthie would have asked—yelled at him—if she could have.

And Adam wasn’t sure how to answer.

He felt wide awake for the first time in… well, a long time. A very long time.

It must have rained recently. The asphalt reflected shiny black in his headlights. Adam braked more suddenly than he should have, approaching the familiar sharp turn alongside Dead Hollow. The metal guardrail there was deeply dented, but still technically intact. He held his breath until he’d made it through to the other side without sliding on his bald tires. Thank God the road wasn’t yet cold enough to freeze.

Adam geared down as he approached the next steep incline, and the car’s engine whined. His beater hatchback got good gas mileage and was handy for sleeping rough, but it definitely was not made for mountain roads. The last hill before JJ’s house was going to be a doozy. Worst-case scenario, he could pull over and walk it.

Adam felt as though he had been to the Tulley house as many times as he’d taken breath, and he was shocked to suddenly realize that he’d never driven there. Hopefully, Mr. Tulley wouldn’t shoot him before he could identify himself. Eighteen years was a long time.

The lights from the car’s console seemed too bright, and Adam squinted at the road, wondering if he’d missed his turn already. The high, bright headlights of a large pickup in his rearview mirror didn’t help, reflecting in his eyes even with the mirror flipped up. A glint of red appeared ahead to the left, and Adam tapped his brakes. The glint wasn’t eyes shining—just a simple bike reflector mounted on a pole—but Adam’s relief was tinged with anticipation, and more complicated emotions he didn’t have time to consider.

The little car bounced as Adam made the turn onto the dirt road over uneven ground. He blinked as the pickup turned left as well, its lights a blinding, mad strobe. Not many people lived up this way. Adam felt a prickle on the back of his neck: was he being followed?

Adam downshifted even more, but his hatchback still crept up the hill. Maybe the truck could give him a push. He flipped his rearview mirror back down to get a sense of how close the truck was, just in time to see a second pickup following the first. Wait… a third pickup.

Frick. Why were they following him? Did they know who he was?

The pickup on his tail laid on the horn. Beeeeeeeep… beep-beep.

There was nowhere to pull over—the road was little more than a single lane—and it should be obvious that Adam was driving as fast as he could. What did they want from him?

The truck behind him accelerated, its engine roaring and its headlights looming larger until they filled the back windshield. Adam weaved the car as best he could on the narrow road and braced himself for impact.

I never should have come back.

The truck fell back for a moment, until a couple of car lengths separated them. It paused, then sped forward again just as the first residence appeared on the right—a trailer with lights shining from every window. Adam veered toward its driveway and felt the barest tap against his bumper when his car lurched back to the center. He struggled to bring the vehicle under control.

His heart pounded as the truck slowed again. The world was a kaleidoscope of harsh white light and black sky, with tree trunks flashing gray between, but he knew JJ’s house was coming up next. Or at least, where JJ’s family lived two decades ago. For the first time, it occurred to Adam that they might not live there anymore. What if it was a house full of strangers? Or worse, what if it was empty?

Adam goosed the gas pedal until his tires spun on the dirt road. The hill leveled out a bit and he sped ahead, catching sight of JJ’s driveway.

The pickup behind him accelerated, too, and Adam’s stomach rolled as the truck blasted its horn again. The hatchback fishtailed as Adam swung into JJ’s driveway. A porch light flashed on about a tenth of a mile ahead, and he raced toward it like a beacon, gaining a little ground on the trucks when they slowed for the turn. The house was smaller than Adam remembered and oddly silhouetted, front-lit by the porch light with the slightest glow of sky above and behind. The car slid toward an old oak tree, stopping well short of the front steps.

Adam yanked the emergency brake, threw the car door open and bolted toward the house, just as the first pickup rolled to a stop behind him, blocking his car in. The other two followed suit, spreading lengthways to form a barricade as far as the trees on either side. The porch light reflected from a picture window to the right of the house’s entrance, making a glassy mirror that showed a man with a rifle climbing from the first truck. Adam slowed, now afraid to run, as if he were sneaking past a predator.

He made it as far as the first step when a deep voice rang out behind him, cutting through the sound of a dog barking, “Stop right there! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

It wasn’t the words that stopped Adam, but rather the tone of voice, the arrogant confidence that came from holding a gun on someone. Adam slowly raised his hands, but didn’t turn around. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couple more men rolling out of the last pickup, pulling rifles from the rack in the back window as they did.

The air rang with silence as a dog abruptly stopped barking, followed by the sound of protesting springs on the screen door of the house. The squawk was as reassuring as it had been all through his childhood.

A woman stepped through the door, letting it bang shut behind her. She wore jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Her long, dark hair hung loose, bits of it caught up in the hood. Taller than Adam expected, shadows hid her face, but the shotgun in her hands was clear enough.

Despite everything, Adam felt a grin sneaking in as it always did, pulling up the corner of his mouth, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, her breath clouding the cold air.

He wished he could say.