Death and the Girl Next Door

I started toward Jared, but Cameron grabbed me again.

“Get to my truck,” he ordered, then shoved me in the direction of his pickup parked down the street.

As I stumbled for the kazillionth time that day, fury took hold. A searing heat laced up my spine. My cheeks grew hot with anger. I straightened to my full height—which, admittedly, wasn’t much—and strode back to Cameron, purpose apparent in my every move. I had been shoved once too often that day. Enough was enough.

Though he was much too tall to stand eye-to-eye with, my pissed-off attitude seemed enough to get his attention. I stood in front of him, feet apart, fists on hips, and glared as ferociously as I could.

He pointed a finger at me in warning. “Lorelei—”

“If I get hit,” I said, interrupting whatever dire threat he had in mind, “shoved,” I continued, stepping closer for effect, “or run over one more time today, I swear by all that is holy, I will make it my personal goal in life to have the person responsible sent to prison on charges of kiddie  p**n .”

Cameron stared at me, annoyance working his jaw. “Please, go to my truck,” he said at last. “It’s … not safe.”

“You’re not safe.” Though I rolled onto my tiptoes, I still missed eye-level contact by over a foot. “And I’m not leaving him.”

“I have no intention of leaving it. Please, just get to my truck.”

A small crowd had gathered and people were beginning to ask questions, but none dared go near Cameron. I could hardly blame them.

“Fine,” I said through my tightened jaw. I leaned in and poked his chest with an index finger. “But don’t shove me again.”

He dropped his make-shift weapon and surrendered with palms up. “You had me at kiddie  p**n .”

Satisfied, I scooped up my backpack and waited for Cameron. He took hold of Jared’s ankles and dragged him through the glass on the sidewalk and across the graveled street toward his truck. Their progress made a disturbing crunching sound.

I followed beside them, wanting to help Jared but unsure of what to do. For the first time, blood covered one side of his face, the side Cameron had hit with the store wreckage.

He was bleeding. Why now?

Cameron continued to drag him over the rough, graveled pavement until we arrived at his aging pickup. Rust and splotches of peeling tan and cream-colored paint held it together. A lopsided camper shell sat perched over the bed. The vehicle as a whole looked like it had recently survived a nuclear explosion.

Cameron dropped Jared’s ankles to open the tailgate and camper lid. Inside, crumpled blankets and pillows covered the bed floor. Dirty clothes formed a pile in one corner along with a few empty water bottles, soda cans, and a box of crackers. I glanced at Cameron, wondered how many times he had slept in his pickup. And why.

As he bent to grab Jared, I tossed my backpack in the bed and crawled inside. Cameron straightened.

“Get out of the bed. You can’t stay back here with it.”

“We have to get him to a hospital.” Despite my best efforts, desperation tinged my voice. “And stop calling him an it. He’s a person, Cameron.”

I thought he was going to laugh at me. Then he heard the sirens.

“It’s no more a person than your backpack is. And I was thinking more along the lines of the morgue.” He lifted Jared with little effort and shoved him beside me in the truck.

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. Now, get out.” When I refused, he reached in, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me roughly until I stumbled onto the pavement. “Get in the front seat,” he ordered.

My anger ignited again. As he turned to close the tailgate, I swung a fist and hit him on the arm. Though it hardly fazed him, he did gift me with a quick glance.

“I told you not to shove me again.”

“I didn’t shove you,” he said, reaching for the lid of the camper shell. “I dragged you.”

The lid’s hinge stuck on one side. When he reached to release it, I scrambled over the tailgate and back into the bed.

“Damn it, Lorelei.” He glared at me, but I scooted to the farthest corner from him. If he wanted me, he was going to have to work for it.

“What are you going to do with him?” I asked.

He eyed me for a long time before finally answering. “Whatever it takes.”

Just then Jared moaned. Cameron stilled, watched him as though he were a cobra about to strike. He held out a hand without taking his wary gaze off Jared.

“Take my hand.”

“No,” I said defiantly. “What are you going to do?”

The sirens were getting closer.

“Lorelei, you don’t know what it is, what it’s capable of.”

“What are you going to do?”

He closed his eyes in frustration and sucked in a lungful of air. Without looking at me, he asked one more time.

“Lorelei, please.”

“No.” My voice was soft, more unsure than I’d wanted. But I refused to move. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I wouldn’t leave him.”

Without warning, Cameron slammed his fist into the tailgate. The pickup lunged forward as the tailgate crunched inward, yielding to his strength, reminding me of his potential.

He reached up and slammed the camper lid shut with the same angry force. I was surprised the glass didn’t shatter.

I heard him retrieve the rifle from across the street before climbing into the driver’s seat. He started the pickup then backed onto a side street to avoid the approaching police cars. With tires squealing, he turned and headed toward the highway.