Page 73 of One Last Chance

It only took me five minutes to find the hollow after that. The sun’s light had faded entirely, and the moon was slow to rise, leaving me with only the stars and my phone’s weak flashlight to illuminate the spot.

We’d set the thing exactly eight inches down. Accounting for six years of mulch, I dug twelve inches—give or take—and found… nothing. Frowning, I dug deeper still. Nothing.

I was in up to my elbows in the exact center of the hollow, right where we always put our stash. Nobody would have found it if they didn’t know exactly where to look, which is why we had sworn an oath not to tell anybody about it. Not even Daisy.

But it wasn’t there. Maybe I was a little bit off, it had happened before. Widening the circle with my hands, I focused my whole attention on the textures, willing the earth to give up the fucking container. I focused on it so hard that I could see it perfectly clearly—that baby-pink lid with the chip on one corner, the dent in the bottom where heat and wear had warped it. The metal safe inside, carving scratches into the plastic like random little runes.

“Damn it, where are you?” I growled.

Frustrated, I picked up my phone and shone the light around, looking for—well, anything, really. There was nothing, just dirt and plants.

Leaves taunted me with their dull reflections, glinting like plastic and metal under my phone’s cold light. One glinted a little brighter than the rest. I almost bypassed it, thinking it was just more of the same, until I saw the shape. I crawled closer and couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

A goddamn zippo. Not just any zippo, either. This one was etched with a dolphin who wore a tiny emerald fleck in one eye—a gift from Hunter. Bejeweled dolphins were his signature gift, always had been. Hell, I had a jacket somewhere with a dolphin on the back. Our “gang” tattoos, if you could call them that, were dolphins. He loved the damn things and claimed his inner circle with them.

There was only one person he’d ever loved who would carry a zippo. Only one person he had this zippo designed for. I remember it like it was yesterday, how excited he was when he wrapped it. I even remember the wrapping paper and the cheesy blue bow he tied on top. The truth hit me like a freight train and I had to bury my hands in the earth to keep them from throwing the goddamn thing as far as I could. It was the evidence I needed. I still didn’t know if the cops would buy it, but I didn’t care. I knew the truth. Heart jumping in my chest, I leapt to my feet and picked the zippo up in the hem of my shirt, careful not to touch it. An even worse realization had occurred to me.

David was with the killer, and he was pissed.

I barely remember the drive back to her place. Panic, fury, and adrenaline filled my being, narrowing my focus to two points: keep the Zippo safe, and get back to Daisy.

I tossed the lighter in the glovebox and slammed on the gas as soon as I crossed that cattle grate.

I wouldn’t be too late.

I wouldn’t.

But if I was, I would kill him with my bare hands.

Dust flew around me as I screeched to a stop in front of Daisy’s house. The front door opened just a crack and I took my chances, barreling out of my truck and into the house without even pausing to slam my door.

David was on the other side and I shoved him backwards, ready to take him apart for what he’d done to Hunter.

I expected Daisy to yell at me. I knew she was there, I’d seen her out of my periphery when I came in, but she didn’t. As David caught his breath, I looked at her. Her left eye was swelling fast as a fist-sized purple bruise spread around it. Rage doubling and tripling, I turned back toward David.

“You sick son of a bitch,” I snarled. The words were barely out of my mouth before I went after him.

Nobody tried to stop me, not even Sandy. He threw a punch or two, but he was off-balance with a belly full of beer. I knew exactly how he would fight; I’d danced through those clumsy footsteps an hour before. But even if I didn’t, the fucker wasn’t exactly hard to take down. Not with my rage. Not with me no longer giving a damn that he was Daisy’s father, because he was much more than that now. Something bad, horrendous, despicable.

My fist shot forward and I caught him in the ribs, feeling them bend and crack beneath my knuckles. David gurgled in pain, but that did nothing to quell the anger in me. I balled my fists even tighter this time and sailed them hard one after the other right into his gut, spinning out of the way as he vomited. The slight distance gave him the few seconds he needed, and he whipped his phone out of his pocket and smashed the emergency call button with a nasty grin on his face.

“You done fucked up now, boy,” he growled as the phone connected.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“That killer, Kash. He’s…he’s…he’s in my house tryn’a finish the job,” David howled. “He hit me and my daughter and now he’s after my wife! Hurry! 696 Poplar Court! No, Kash, please stop, I--!”

He cut himself off and ended the call. He shook, his grin a wavering toothy worm over his blotchy, bruised face.

“There,” he said breathlessly. “You gonna go back to prison, now. Hope you liked that meatloaf, because it’s the last damn home cooked meal you’re gonna get for a long, long time.”

The sirens were two minutes away at most. I didn’t say a word to him or to Daisy, just turned around and went back out to the truck.

“You can’t run, boy! They’re already here!” His voice and his footsteps followed me within a few feet of my truck.

I jerked the glove box open and grabbed a paper napkin from the floorboards. I wrapped the zippo carefully and held it tight.

Holding my freedom tightly in my hand, I stared David down.

---