“You come back here,” I say, “and it won’t be your hand next time.”
I leave him there.He won’t call the police.People like him never do.Outside, the sun feels wrong.Too warm for what I’m carrying.
I walk back to my truck and sit for a moment before starting it.
I’ll need the hammer when I get there, so I wipe it clean.
Which is more than I can say for my hands.
12
Marin
Idon’t have time for this.
Not the gash in my shin, not my rapidly swelling ankle, not the step, and definitely not Charles, slumped over like he’s on vacation instead of heavily sedated in the trailer I bought on Facebook Marketplace.Impulse purchase, cash only.The kind of deal you don’t get a receipt for.
I limp across the gravel, cursing the way the sun has the nerve to be cheerful.I unbolt the trailer and fling the door open.
“Rise and shine, asshole.”
Charles doesn’t move, just drools on himself like a warning label.The drugs are still doing their job, which is good, because I need to do mine.
Dragging a full-grown man with one working ankle and no backup plan wasn’t in the brochure, but here we are.
I get my arms under him and start pulling.Every few feet I pause, catch my breath, and check over my shoulder, certain someone is watching from behind a curtain.I wave once, just in case.Might as well make it look domestic.
“This is what devotion looks like,” I say through gritted teeth, hauling him up the porch steps, across the threshold, and to the top of the basement stairs.The house echoes like it’s judging me.
He groans when I hit the first basement step.His head lolls to the side.
“I’m still never going to marry you,” he slurs.
I sigh.We have further to go than I thought.
There’s a pause where the polite version of me would try to process that.But she’s been gone a while now.
Instead, I make it halfway down the stairs and I let go.
He thuds hard on the first few steps, rolls awkwardly toward the bottom, head first.He hits the wall and just sort of tumbles the rest of the way down like laundry, before landing in a heap that saysstaying put.
It’s solid, final—but not fatal.
I watch the dust settle.He’s breathing.He won’t be going anywhere.
I brush off my hands.
Two birds.One stone.
That’s when I hear a car coming down the road.
“Congratulations, Marin,” I tell myself.“You’ve been here an hour and you’ve already personally invited witnesses.Great work.”
I roll my shoulders then grab a towel and ice from the freezer, limp outside, and lower myself onto the porch just in time to hear the rumble of a truck turning onto the gravel drive.
Perfect timing.
I hold the ice to my ankle, smile like I haven’t just committed a low-grade felony, and wait.
