TWENTY-TWO
Jane Beebe struggled to see beyond her headlights in the darkness of the insane morning hour.
“Goddamned old coot. Why in the hell do you insist on living in the middle of nowhere?”
Her brother, Anders, should have bought a condo in her building in Bend—as she’d suggested a dozen times—instead of living on five acres away from society. He’d laughed at the idea. “Where will I keep all my stuff?”
“You don’t need all that junk.”
“You don’t know that. One day you might be real thankful I kept it.”
“Oh yeah? What am I going to do with a hundred rusting cars that don’t run?”
She leaned closer to her steering wheel and blinked, staring hard at the road. Out here there were no lines on the roads, no streetlights, and the turns occurred without warning. She was determined to be careful; her eyes didn’t see as well at night as they used to. When Anders had finally agreed to visit the oncologist in Portland, she’d signed him up for the first appointment available. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard. They had five hours until his appointment time.
He better be ready.
If he’d changed his mind without telling her, she was going to hit him over the head with one of his two dozen cast-iron frying pans and drag him into the car. She’d wanted to drive to Portland yesterday and stay overnight in a hotel so they wouldn’t be in a rush and worried about making his appointment on time. Anders had refused to spend the money.
But doesn’t think twice about making me get up before the ass-crack of dawn to drive.
He’d lost his license a few years ago, refusing to pay for the renewal. “Why does a freeman have to pay for the right to drive on free roads?”
“They aren’t free,” Jane had pointed out. “Your taxes pay for them.”
“Even more reason why I have the right to drive on them.”
Multiple tickets for driving without a license had put a damper on his enthusiasm for driving as a freeman. He’d filed paperwork on top of paperwork to protest the tickets. When an exasperated judge was about to send him to jail for a few days for being such a pain in the ass, Jane had caught wind of it and paid the tickets.
Anders had argued bitterly. “They don’t have the right to ticket me for traveling about this country. They’re just making laws to collect more of our money.”
Jane had refused to engage in the everyday argument.
She slammed on her brakes and took a sharp turn into Anders’s driveway. The pine-lined road had widened the slightest bit, and she’d nearly missed the opening on the right. No signs. No indication whatsoever that her brother lived a half mile down the dirt drive.
She swore as her car bounced through a rut, slamming her shoulder into the driver’s door.
Why do I bother?
Because someone has to.
Her older sister had died, and she felt obligated to look out for Anders. Even if he was a bit cracked in the skull. Family was family.
She weaved her way down the dirt road among the sea of abandoned autos that her brother was so fond of collecting.
Maybe it’s a good thing he refused to move to my building. What would my neighbors think of him?
Shame washed over her at her thoughts, but it wasn’t the first time she’d had them. There were a few reasons she hadn’t pressed really hard on the issue, one of them being what her neighbors would think of her. She handled her guilt by checking in on her brother a few times a year. He seemed to thrive on his own.
Although one of these days he would be locked up for his unlicensed driving. All the cops in the area knew Anders, but someone was going to get fed up with his behavior.
At least he acknowledged that it wasn’t a good idea to drive to Portland on his own.
Light shone from the windows of his house. Thank goodness he’s up.
She parked and stepped carefully across the muddy, empty space to his home. She’d lifted a hand to knock when she saw the door had been left open a crack for her. She pushed it in. “Anders?”
Silence greeted her.
“Are you ready to go? We’ve got a long drive.”
She wiped her feet on the worn mat and stepped in the home. “Anders!”
Maybe he stepped outside for something. That’s why the door was open.
She headed toward the kitchen, smelling coffee and planning to pour herself a quick cup to enjoy until her brother was ready to go.
The odor of urine and worse stopped her at the kitchen doorway.
Anders was faceup on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood.
Jane dropped her purse and dived to her knees next to her brother. “Anders!” She grabbed his face, turning it toward her, but his eyes were blank. She pressed a shaking hand against his warm neck, searching for a pulse. She held her breath as she tried to find a vein beating in his neck.
Nothing.
She clawed at his blood-soaked shirt and saw the seeping holes in his chest.
Sitting back on her heels, she knelt silently with one hand resting gently on his chest. No heartbeat. No breaths.
She waited longer.
Nothing.
“Oh, Anders. I thought your mutterings about the cave man were a bunch of bull.”
Regret and shame flooded through her for not taking her brother more seriously.
One of his hands clenched a revolver. She looked over her shoulder and saw bullet holes in the wall near where she’d entered the kitchen.
“I hope you got the asshole.”