Page 89 of The Art of Dying

I tried not to smile, but when Mack saw my lips tremble, she blurted out a laugh, and I laughed with her. She was wiping her eyes again, her voice rising an octave as she let go a full cackle.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know,” I said, brushing her bangs from her face.

She glanced at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock, her smile fading.

“You gotta get back to the kids.”

She nodded.

I kissed her forehead. “You’re a good mama. I couldn’t ask for better. You’re so damn tough, Mack. Thank you. Thank you for all you do.”

She looked me in the eyes. “Find him. I need you home.”

“I’m workin’ on it, honey. I promise you, it’s not forever.”

We dressed in silence, and we walked hand in hand back to the Harms’ house with just the moon to light our way. I could already hear Dylan and Emily giggling in the parlor, so I kissed my wife and snuck a quick peak. They were sitting together watching a movie, sandwiched between Grant and Gina on the sofa.

“Damn,” I whispered. “That breaks my heart.”

“It’ll be us soon,” Mack said, hugging me from behind.

I hugged her tight, whispering I love yous before disappearing into the darkness.

“Hey!” Mack said to the kids as she closed the door behind her.

“Mommy!” they squealed, followed by excited chatter about their time apart.

I leaned against the brick exterior, looking up at the sky as I reconfigured my thoughts from heavy-hearted husband and father to calculated killer. I had another plane to catch. If I tracked Mason down anywhere else, he’d just be another unsolved murder. If I had to end his life in Quincy, no one would question who killed him. I had no alibi. Everyone thought Mack and the kids were dead.

I trudged down the block to a car, slipping into the driver’s seat. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel, feeling a tightness in my chest. My eyes blurred from the tears. I had to get missing them out of my system, or I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. My entire body shook as I screamed at the windshield. I screamed until my lungs gave out and the blood felt like it was pooling in my face. Tears streamed down my cheeks and then I let my head fall forward, my chest cave in. My shoulders bobbed as I sobbed alone in the dark, my family, my entire world just a few hundred yards away making memories without me.

When I couldn’t cry anymore, I put my thumb and index finger on my eyes and wiped toward my nose, pinching the bridge. One deep breath later, I pressed the ignition and pulled away from the curb, leaving everything I loved for the small airport in Jenks where Tiger had a Cessna waiting. If it was between prison and protecting my family, I already knew my choice.

• • •

A six pack of Coors Light and a wrapped, half-eaten burrito were my only options, the only two items in my parents’ thirty-year-old fridge. I’d thought to grab them two hours outside of Quincy to avoid being recognized, but now that I was hungry again, I was irritated that I didn’t think to pick up more. I grabbed a bottle, popped the top, tossed the beer opener onto the counter, and made my way to the parlor. No cable, no Internet, just the leftover sofa from the previous renters and a floor lamp. It needed paint, it needed everything, but my life had become all about missing my family and the man I wanted dead.

I took a swig and sighed. The sun would be up in five hours. I needed to sleep because of my to-do list the following day, but I couldn’t because my brain wouldn’t stop going over that list. I knew Mason was close, and I knew what would have to happen when I found him. That alone kept me awake.

A soft knock sounded on the door, and I hopped to my feet, pulling my gun from its holster with one hand and setting my beer on the floor with the other. No one had lived there in two years. There was no reason for visitors. I crept over to the window as someone tried turning the doorknob. The safety of my sidearm clicked as I released it and peeked through a sliver between the windowsill and the broken blinds.

“What the fuck,” I whispered, reaching forward to unlock the door and yank it open.

Sully took a big step, trying not to fall inside the house.

I secured my weapon and put it away, watching my oldest friend right himself and stand, blinking at me in confusion.

“Kitsch?”

“You’ve gotten fatter,” I said with a smile.

“Holy fuck, brother, what are you doin’ here?” he said, grabbing me before I could answer.

Once he let me go, he took a moment to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. “I drive by on my way to the packie, you know, to keep an eye on the place. It’s always dark, so I knew something wasn’t right.”

I turned to look at the lamp. From the road, to someone who was familiar with the neighborhood, anything other than darkness would’ve been obvious. “Driving to the packie with a beer in your hand,” I said, looking at the nearly empty bottle.

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