Alone Ch. 08

I often wondered if she still believed, but I never asked her. I couldn't be so cruel as to ask her if she still believed in God after what happened to her. God help me though, I wish I believed now. I wish I believed in something as strongly as she had. I wish I believed, as she did, or perhaps once did, that there was an afterlife. I always thought I believed in Karma, but Karma wasn't something you believed in, it was what you said gloatingly, when you saw the cops pulling over the prick in the lifted truck that just cut you off. You said you believed in it when you were questioned, to make yourself sound like you had something about you. Saying you believed in Karma was like saying you believed in right and wrong, the bare minimum required of a person capable of self-governing.

"Great job deputy, now go get your partner." His voice came from behind me, interrupting my thoughts.

I turned around and saw him standing about eight yards back, my gun leveled at me from the hip. He gestured across at Thomas's lifeless form, about ten yards back from the hole. Oh, the bastard. He could've shot me where I stood, not let me see it coming, the smallest mercy he could offer me. But instead, he was going to make me carry my partner into the grave I'd dug, make me look at the man I'd gotten killed, and then make me watch my own execution. A fresh round of tears started falling, blurring my vision, but I made my way over to Thomas.

The entry wound just above his right eye was small. After all, my gun was only a 9mm, but even in the poor light I could see the damage that the overpressure hollow point rounds had done, as the back of his head was simply incomplete. I just stood there, looking at him, crying silently as I looked at what laid in store for me. Soon, my own brains would be splattered out the back of my skull, just like his. Or maybe the hollow point in mine wouldn't expand, and I'd be left with a tidy entry wound, and a modest exit wound. I hoped that was the case. I didn't want mom and dad to have to see a photo of me like that, lying in a shallow grave, half of my head missing, my hair matted with blood and brains. Mom always said I had beautiful hair.

They'd be told what had happened to me, not in detail, certainly, but when this man was brought before the court to answer for his crimes, they'd listen as a county prosecutor described the extent of this man's depravity. They'd listen as the prosecutor told the jury how I'd cried, begged for mercy, suffered everything he did to me, and complied with every order he gave, before finally being brought over to a shallow grave and executed. They'd listen as the prosecutor convinced the jury to condemn the man before me to death. They'd have to listen to all that, and look at the face of the man who'd raped and murdered their daughter. Their only daughter. I remember when I moved out for college, my mom had cried, and I promised her I'd never leave her. I guess I had to break that promise now.

And my dad. I learned everything I am from him. He never let me get away with anything, and when I was turning into a nasty person in middle school, it was him who straightened me out, and set me back on the right path. When I joined the academy, he made fun of me, asked why I wanted to be a meter maid, saying I should've joined the fire department instead, but I knew it was all in jest. When I graduated, he was so damn proud of me. I could see it in his eyes. He even gave me his old maglite, a weighty torch he'd used when he was part of the national park service out in Colorado, way back in the late 90's. This was about the time he met my mom. He found her and her friend camping illegally. When he said he had to cite them, they ran off, and he chased them. Then he fell in a creek, and while my mom's friend ran all the way back to their car, my mom stayed behind and, taking pity on him, helped him out of the creek. It was a funny start to their relationship, but I remember my mom saying that by the turn of the millennia, they were married. My tears from then on weren't for what this man had done to me, but for what this was going to do them.

"Kid, if you didn't want things to end like this, you shouldn't have held out hope." He said, with not the slightest hint of sympathy.

Why would he pretend to be human anymore though? He'd gotten everything he wanted from me, and now he was going to kill me. I glanced across and saw him still standing in the same place, watching me. Fighting back more tears, I reached down and grabbed a hold of Thomas's right ankle. Immediately I froze, unable to believe what I could feel with my own two hands. I loved him. Right there and then, I loved him. Had he been alive, I'd have kissed him. I'd have kissed him like a 40's housewife would've kissed her soldier husband when he came back from war. Thomas had given me a chance. The shape was unmistakable, and I had to actively prevent the hope that was welling up in my chest from bursting out of me when I realized what it was. It was a gun. Thomas had a second gun, hidden in an ankle holster. Thomas had given me a second chance.

"He's not that heavy, just drag him over, it's not far. Let's get this over with." He added after a moment.

I began dragging him towards the pit, careful to keep both my hands wrapped firmly around the leg with the gun. Somewhere in the corner of my mind, I was watching Greg as he followed at a safe distance, just off to the side, where he wouldn't step in the trail of gore that poor Thomas's head was leaving behind. When I got to the pit, rather than getting up and rolling him in, like I did with the unfortunate Cassie Winters, I got into the pit, careful to avoid stepping on her, and dragged him all the way in. I just had to hope that he'd have some gloating to do before he killed me, or anything. I just needed enough time to get the gun, somehow. That was the one thing I could rely on though. I knew he'd want to gloat. Once Thomas was in the pit, and I was standing at his feet, Greg was standing maybe three feet back from the edge, holding my Glock at the hip. He knew I might try and make a grab for it, so he wasn't giving me an inch.

"We're at the end now, sweetheart, any last words?" He asked, his face shrouded in shadow. "I'll be sure it gets back to your folks." He added after a moment,

My mind and heart were racing. I knew I had to stall him. I had to get him to lower his gun, for any reason at all. I needed time to get the gun, and I knew if I tried to get it when he was watching, I was dead. I thought about begging, after all, I'd begged and sucked my way out of death by burning, but something told me he was done with me now. He wasn't in the mood, and he and I both knew dispatch could call at any moment, wondering why I wasn't responding. The fact dispatch hadn't called back for an update in the hour and a half or so since my last call was astonishing. Then again, that crash I heard on the radio might've been bad. Maybe they were busy with that, and that's why they forgot about me. Just my luck.

"Time's ticking." He said after a moment, and I saw him slowly raise the gun.

"Is there nothing I can do?" I got out through silent sobs.

He shook his head. "Nah, there really ain't."

I dropped to my knees. "Please not here." I begged.

I was trying my hardest to sound hopeless and despairing, but all the while, my heart was beating out of my chest. My hands were resting mere inches from the hem of Thomas's pants, where just out of sight, my salvation was strapped to his leg.

He sighed, lowering the gun slightly. "What?"

"Not in the grave, please. Let me-" I began, but trailed off, choking back a sob.

"Oh for- You're gonna end up in there anyway!" He snapped.

"I WANT TO DIE ON MY FEET!" I shouted back, glaring up at him with tears in my eyes, my voice cracking.

"What fucking difference does it-" He began, equally heated, but stopped. "Fuck it, fine, get the fuck out of there and then I'll shoot you." He shot back.

He stood back a few yards as I laid my hands down to get to my feet. From where he was standing, he couldn't see my hands, and while he had the gun in his hand, he had it down at his side, waiting impatiently for me to get up and out of the pit. After a moment of fiddling with Thomas's pants leg and the weird ankle holster, I had it. I had it! It was a compact double action revolver, hammerless. Looking down at it for a second, I saw the dull shine of the brushed steel frame. I wasn't sure how many shots it had, but I guessed five. I thought for a second about what might happen if I ran out of ammo before incapacitating him. I would be dead, that's what would happen. Right now though, I was already dead. I had both feet in the grave already, and now I had to fight my way out.

"Come on, I haven't got all day!" He barked impatiently.

I took a moment to catch my breath and looked across at him, the gun in my hands just out of sight behind the edge of the pit. He was waiting with his arms crossed, maybe five yards back from the pit. I couldn't ask for a better moment to strike. Just when I was about to bring my arms up and aim the gun though, he started walking back towards me, gun held loosely at his side. He'd run out of patience, and was coming over to finish me. Then I saw him raising the gun.

I twisted around, and instinctively fired twice.