“I did everything you said!”
“Did you feel a pull on your eyes?”
He paused. Shook his head.
“Goddammit!” Trent punched the ground so hard his knuckles popped. “Ash, what’d we do wrong?” A horrible thought struck him. “You think Jake can’t trade because he can’t see his reflection in the water?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Snare wants ruined eyes. They don’t get any worse than his.”
“Can you talk to the thing?”
“Yeah, look away.”
When Trent turned, he noticed something glinting beside the duffle bag. At first he thought it was a tiny puddle. Then he noticed the shape. A perfect oval. When he leaned closer, his heart sank.
“No… No, no, no!”
“What?” Ash said.
Trent lifted the eyeglasses from the dirt. He’d recognize them anywhere. He saw the same pair every day. They normally sat on his wife’s nose. The fact that they weren’t there now could only mean one thing.
Trent shot to his feet and hobbled as fast as his bum leg could carry him.
59
Trent and Ash hopped down the trail together like a three-legged circus act. Clumsy as the arrangement was, he needed to keep his right leg off the ground. With his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist, they raced to catch Lauren before it was too late. Dad, Berke, and Narducci called after them, but Trent refused to explain—partly because he felt humiliated but mostly because of how he planned to rectify the situation. Things would soon get ugly, and he didn’t want any pushback, like with Cheeto.
Before long, Trent and Ash developed a rhythmic three-legged stride. Their pace forced him to overexert himself, however, and strain shot through his left side. Rather than slowing, he set his jaw and pushed harder with his good leg. Had they been indoors, they might’ve caught Lauren in no time, but the clumpy terrain slowed them in some spots, tripped them in others. On one occasion he had no choice but to plant his bad leg for balance. The muscles seethed and throbbed. It felt like he was wearing a boot lined with razors.
“I see her,” Ash said. “Faster!”
Trent didn’t see anyone until they reached the hill overlooking the parking lot. Lauren hunched against a dead birch near the bottom of the slope. Bent at the waist, she panted hard. Like Trent, she didn’t get out much, and the round trip through the woods had winded her.
“Get her, Ash!” he ordered, releasing his sister’s shoulders. “Before she gets to the car. If she drives off, we’re fucked.”
Ash raced downhill. She cut through a patch of dead reeds and closed the distance before she stumbled, tripped, and then vanished from sight.
Lauren lifted her head, alerted by the noise, and darted for the parking lot. Her Subaru was double-parked beside the van along the edge of the snowy grass. It wasn’t far.
“Ash!” Trent yelled, smacking his cane off a tree trunk. “Hurry, get up!”
Her head poked above the reeds. Ash picked herself up and scrambled downhill.
Below, Lauren flung herself toward the Subaru. She fumbled with her keys and managed to open the driver’s door. She climbed inside. The door slammed with a thud that sent a deadening echo through Trent’s heart.
Trent, now hobbling downhill, grabbed at low branches to steady himself. Even then, he had to keep pausing to reset his feet. At this rate he’d reach the parking lot by New Year’s.
The Subaru’s engine growled to life. Lauren pulled away from the van and hooked a U-turn between the grass and the rear wall of the banquet building. She aligned the tires toward town. The motor hummed and the wheels spun.
Ash sprinted across the blacktop in front of the car. Rubber squealed as Lauren braked to avoid hitting her. For a moment neither moved. Then Lauren reversed the Subaru, stopped, and steered left. Ash raced to block her path, guarding the exit route like LeBron guarding the paint.
Trent reached the pavement despite his suffocating leg muscles. With every push of his cane, he grew more livid at his wife. Adrenaline bitched through his veins, soothing his leg. The pain didn’t bother him anymore. He reached the stopped car with a clumsy stride and thumped the hood with his cane.
Behind the windshield, Lauren blinked at him, an anxious look in her eyes—the eyes she stole from their son.
“Ash, stay here,” he said, patting the hood. Soon as she came over, he rounded toward the driver’s door. “Get outta the car!”
Lauren stared resolutely ahead, ignoring him.
Trent slammed his cane against the window.
She turned to him, watching as he lifted the cane again.
“Window down. Now.”
Lauren shook her head, her expression not defiant, as if pleading with him. He barked at her again. The window dropped.
“Trent, I—”
“You stole the eyes! Stole them right outta Jake’s sockets! You have no idea the shit Ash and I went through to make them available.”
“Trent, I—I panicked. That creek demon, it could be Satan. It could kill our son. His soul, it could—”
Trent jabbed his cane through the open window, jamming the rubber tip against her throat. Fire rolled through him now, an angry blaze that urged him to keep pushing until her throat was dented like a crushed soda can.
“Unlock the trunk,” he snarled.
She whimpered.
“Unlock the goddamned trunk!”
Slowly, her arm reached for the lever. The trunk popped.
“Now open the door.”
Whimpering, she lifted the door latch. The interior lights flickered and she pushed the door open.
“Now step out.”
Trent lifted the cane from her throat. Without taking his eyes away, he backed up. Lauren sobbed as she stepped out onto the snowy blacktop.
“Don’t start crying,” he said, feeling zero pity for her. “Not with Jake’s eyes.”
“I did what I thought was right.”
“I don’t care.” Trent grabbed her arm and hauled her away from the car, his uncharacteristic strength surprising him. “Get in the trunk!”
“No!”
“Now, Lauren!” He shoved her against the back door. “Not saying it again.”
“Trent, wait!” Ash said, rushing to his side. “Stop!”
“Don’t get all moral on me, Ash.”
“I’m not—someone’s coming!”
Trent turned and saw an old red BMW speeding toward them. His gut dropped. The driver must’ve seen him manhandling Lauren. If anyone called the cops, he’d be in a world of shit.
The BMW parked, claiming a spot near the uphill trail. The driver’s door opened, and Bill Werner stepped out. He stared at them, his face a slab of hard, solid flesh. No doubt he’d gone home and seen Rosita.
And now he’s here to settle the score, Trent thought, his dread a solid lump in his throat.
But surprisingly, Werner turned away. He climbed uphill without a word.
Shaking with relief, Trent turned to his wife. “Get in the trunk.”
“No!” She twisted in his grasp. “I’m protecting our son!”
“Ash, give me a hand!”
Together they dragged Lauren toward the trunk and tipped her over the rim. She didn’t go easily. Even halfway in, she kicked her feet, nailing Trent in the nuts with a heel. He winced but fought through the nausea, tucked her legs inside, and slammed the lid.