Ignoring her thumps and cries, he approached the driver’s door.
Ash caught his elbow. “Trent, you can’t. You gotta trade your leg. There’s no time.”
He checked his phone. 3:55. A little more than forty minutes till sunset. Ash is right. There wasn’t enough time to make a roundtrip to Clarks Summit and hike back to the creek.
She climbed behind the wheel.
“Wait, Ash,” he said. “You can’t either.”
“Why the hell not? I just drove up there with Rosita.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed. “Then you traded your ribs.”
60
Karl grabbed a towel and joined his grandson at the creek bend. The little fella was getting awfully upset, shouting at the top of his lungs and begging for new eyes. Bad as he wanted them, he didn’t get them. When he started dunking his head again, Karl took his arm and dragged him away kicking and screaming. Much as it pained Karl to do it, he had to. Shivering out here wasn’t good for anyone, especially a boy of his size.
They exited the clearing and sat on a tree stump over by Berke and Narducci, who were watching the trail in case Candace returned to cause trouble. As Karl toweled his grandson’s hair, the sky darkened. He never noticed an oncoming sunset like he did now. Nightfall soaked the highest skies and spilled downward, staining the clouds, burying the horizon. He could smell it, that damp nighttime smell. According to the National Weather Service, sunset would strike at 4:36 pm. Won’t be long now.
“Grampa?” Jake shook free of the towel. “You done?”
“Not yet, little fella. Want you completely dry.” What Karl also wanted was to know why Trent and Ashlee had run off so abruptly. One minute they were in the clearing ready to make trades, then they left without explanation. Without cluing him in.
His phone buzzed. He hoped it was one of his kids. Instead, the display flashed the name Donnie Adler. Their skin trade candidate. Karl had left him a voicemail earlier, explaining the situation. Though he should’ve been relieved to hear back from him, Karl only felt disappointment as he accepted the call.
“Cutting it close, Mr. Adler. You on your way?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I don’t know, Karl.” He sighed. “I’m on the fence. I just… I’m not sure it’s worth the risk. I mean, it’s only skin.”
Karl stood there, the phone screen frozen to his cheek. What he should’ve done was reassure Alder. Talk him into fixing that burned face of his. Instead, Karl cleared his throat and said, “You don’t have to do this.”
“Well, shit, that’s a relief.” Alder chuckled. “Here I was thinking you’d hunt me down if I didn’t show.”
“Not too late to find a replacement.”
“You sure?”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Adler.”
Karl hung up.
“Replacement?” Berke asked. She and Gina looked anxious. “Was that the skin guy? Did he bail?”
“Yeah. We’ll be fine, though.”
“Because of Ash? She mentioned trading her tattoos.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that can work,” Karl said, although that wasn’t what he had in mind. Time was running short. Something had to be done. “Let me check the creek real quick. You and Gina mind watching my grandson?”
With Jake in their care, Karl took a deep breath. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do.
As he entered the clearing, a lifetime’s worth of moments flashed through his mind. He remembered things. Recent things. Like Candace calling their relationship an “arrangement.” That, and what she’d said at the storage unit, the comment about never loving him. That he was available, like cheap eats on a fast-food menu. Whether she was hiding her true feelings or not, he knew why she’d said it, especially with other people around.
He remembered further back. The countless looks he’d endured while out in public with his kids. Like the time in ’95 when he’d taken Ashlee to the mall in Scranton. That day he’d parked in the underground lot, and they’d walked to the elevator hand-in-hand, father and daughter. When the metal doors had rumbled open, a security guard arrested him for child kidnapping. It took two hours and a background check before they accepted that he hadn’t abducted her—he’d adopted her.
Then he remembered thirty-one years ago. His last day as a patrol cop in Pittsburgh. He had entered an abandoned train yard with his partner. Shots went off. The suspect fled. A footrace ensued. Karl ran his hardest, chasing the suspect into a nearby warehouse and tackling him from behind. But while he cuffed the fella, two others showed up with guns. One mentioned how fast Karl was. The other said Karl wouldn’t be so fast without those nigger knees of his.
Karl remembered many things as he shrugged off his clothes and exposed his body to the subfreezing air. Gooseflesh streaked his arms and back. His throat tightened. His nose dripped.
He knelt in the mud wearing nothing but the bandage covering his neck wound. For the first time in three decades, he dared to look upon the bend alone. In the pre-dusk darkness, he observed his watery reflection. It both sickened and mesmerized him.
He saw a shade of skin that wouldn’t have been kneecapped on the job. A shade that wouldn’t have been mistaken for his own daughter’s kidnapper. A shade that Candace could love.
God, he couldn’t believe he was doing this.
He peeled the bandage off.
“I’d…like to trade my skin.”
He felt nothing. No pull.
It seemed his neck wound wasn’t enough for Snare.
Karl reached up and snapped a branch from a nearby pine. Pale, spiky wood poked from the broken end, resembling a paintbrush. He touched the jagged edge to his shoulder, breathed deep, and ripped it across his chest. It left a red trail.
He grunted.
“I want to trade my skin.”
Nothing.
He scraped his arm from shoulder to elbow.
“I want to trade.”
Still nothing.
Again and again, he scraped.
Both arms.
Both thighs.
His belly.
Everywhere.
He stretched the branch behind him like a backscratcher. Tore up both shoulder blades. When the creek denied him again, he scraped his feet and hands, his shins and ankles, even his knees. Cold air nipped his wounds. He went woozy. Fear sank through him. What if scratches weren’t severe enough? Or what if every inch of his skin needed to be damaged?
He heard Berke and Narducci shout, voices wild with panic. Something was happening outside the clearing.
He needed to check. As he rose, his flesh burned all over. He could barely move. The thought of tugging his dry clothes over his bleeding scrapes was too much.
“I want to trade.”
Still nothing.
Berke shouted for his help.
Leaning backward, Karl grabbed a tactical knife from his duty belt. Heart ramming, he unfolded the blade. Weak sunlight caught it. He yanked the sharp edge across his forehead and winced as the skin broke. Blood trickled down his nose. On the creek’s surface, his forehead appeared smooth and uncut.
Blood dripped into the water, rippling the image away.
“I want to trade my skin.”
The creek pulled him. He smacked the surface with an icy rush. Burning pain became a freezing ache. His lower body wagged like a fishtail until he was completely submerged.