Long Time Gone (Hell or High Water ) (28 page)

“Charlie, don’t,” Tom said. “What happened in the bayou wasn’t Prophet’s fault. It’s mine, okay?”

“That’s what Miles said too, right before I killed him,” Charlie said, pulling the prod back, and Prophet leaned back in relief. “Right after he confessed what he’d been talking about in those AA meetings. Because I’d been looking into my father’s death for years, but there was nothing.”

“Your father?” Tom asked quietly, and oh fuck, this wasn’t good. “That was your father who—”

“That was my father you killed!” Charlie yelled and stuck Prophet with the cattle prod again, triggering it this time.

When he could focus again, he heard Tommy begging. “Come on, Charlie—use the thing on me. I’m the one you want to hurt.”

“Exactly. You’re the one who I want to watch suffer.” Prophet drew in a stuttering breath, and felt Tom still trying to free their wrists.

“Where’s Remy?” Tom asked. “Just let him go. He’s got nothing to do with this, Charlie. Don’t ruin his life the way ours were ruined. If you do nothing else, have some goddamned compassion for the kid you once were.”

“It’s too late for that,” Charlie said.

“You fucking bastard,” Prophet muttered. “Why not go after the sheriff who put kids in danger to begin with?”

“Why not shut up?” Charlie told him, moving around to face him.

“I’ve found that’s never really gotten me anywhere,” Prophet told him seriously.

“Are you fucking trying to get another round of electric current?” Tom asked, obviously going for the distraction. Anything that pissed Charlie off enough to keep him talking, even torturing, was better than killing them.

“Gonna happen anyway. Might as well do something to earn it,” Prophet said, and was rewarded with another long prod. “Fuck. Me.”

Even as he jerked, Prophet could feel Tom loosening the ropes enough so he could easily pull his hands out when the time came. Prophet breathed through the pain as Tom finally asked over his shoulder, “Is Remy dead?”

The asshole checked his watch. “He will be soon. He was bleeding out the last time I saw him.”

Tom sucked in a hard breath. Remy had to be close for Charlie to know that. And since this was symbolic, then he’d have to be keeping Etienne and Remy close by.

It was a risk, but . . .

“I know, T,” Prophet said when Tom squeezed his hand urgently.

“You know what?” Charlie demanded.

Prophet jumped him then. Slammed him to the ground with an unnecessary force that felt really fucking good. Tom grabbed the gun as it slid across the room and held it on Charlie.

“Take us to Remy,” Tom demanded.

“It’s too late,” Charlie told him.

“It’s never too late,” Tom said in a voice so fierce Prophet knew he meant it.

Prophet put his fingers on the pressure point along Charlie’s neck. A quick squeeze dropped the man to unconsciousness. Then he emptied Charlie’s pockets—flashlight, phone, knife, car keys.

“Did he have a GPS in his car?” he asked Tom.

“I didn’t see one. I didn’t hear him use one either.”

He scrolled through the GPS capabilities on Charlie’s phone. Just because the man hadn’t needed to use it tonight didn’t mean he hadn’t been planning this.

“You found something?” Tom asked as he hauled Charlie to one of the chairs and tied him.

“Old GPS coordinates, not too far from here.”

“Let’s go.”

Prophet let him take the lead, and Tom followed the coordinates through the thick bayou grass, the swamp sucking against his boots with every step. It was like quicksand around here . . . and they had no lights. He closed his eyes and just pictured Remy, and then he called out softly, “Remy, it’s Tom. Where are you?”

He was greeted with the night sounds of the bayou. Prophet was right behind him, so close he could feel the heat off the man’s body. And he was back here again, fourteen and trying to find someone in the dark.

He pictured the cemetery to his right. When he’d walked home in the daylight with Etienne, they used to take the pathway that led down to the swamps instead of veering off toward the main road.

He took a few steps, reaching out to let the big cypress trees guide him as he trained the flashlight on the ground, until he was walking without having to think. And then he stopped and heard someone crying softly. “Remy?”

“Tom?”

Remy’s voice. Weak. He and Prophet moved forward in tandem, until the light shined on Remy, who was half-lying, half-kneeling next to Etienne.

Shit. Tom knelt next to Etienne, because Prophet was already next to Remy. He touched Etienne’s neck, although it was obvious before he felt the cold skin that the man was dead, even if he hadn’t seen the spread of blood over Etienne’s chest.

He blinked tears back but didn’t have time to process anything because Prophet was calling him urgently. “Tommy, I need your help. He’s bleeding out fast. Knife wound to the chest.”

He closed Etienne’s eyes and moved over to help Remy.

“Remy, can you stay with us?” Prophet asked and Tom was amazed when he heard, “Tryin’. Hurts.”

“I know, Remy, I know,” Prophet muttered as he used his own T-shirt to try to staunch the flow of blood. “This is gonna hurt, but I have to put pressure on it, okay?”

Tom heard Remy’s soft “okay” as he dialed in an emergency with Charlie’s phone and stayed on the line until he heard the sirens in the distance.

“Ten minutes out,” he said softly.

Prophet’s mouth twisted, because that could be too long. In the darkness, Tom mourned his friend as Prophet held Remy practically in his lap, murmuring something only Remy could hear, because Remy was murmuring back. Prophet kept pressure against Remy’s chest in what seemed like a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Tom could smell the metallic tang, and he was surprised it hadn’t brought out any predators.

He turned slowly, saw several pair of eyes glittering in the dark behind them. They weren’t moving closer, but Tom pulled his weapon in case they advanced.

“Do not even tell me there are alligators stalking us,” Prophet said quietly.

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Tommy’s an alligator whisperer,” Prophet told Remy. “We’ll be okay.”

Remy made a sound between a laugh and a cough, and Tom caught the gurgle. The sirens were closer, and Tom could make out lights along the far end of the swamp.

“My . . . dad . . .?” Remy asked softly.

Prophet waited a beat. Then confirmed, “Yeah.”

Tom’s chest squeezed.

“Charlie . . . tried to kill me. Dad . . . stepped in front. I tried . . . to help him. But Charlie . . . he said . . . I didn’t deserve . . .”

“You’re going to make it, Remy,” Prophet told him firmly over the sirens. “You hear me? You fucking deserve to live.”

Tom swore he heard another gurgle from Remy, but then everything was drowned out by the fast-approaching sirens. Tom shined the light toward them so they didn’t get missed, or run over. Prophet stood with Remy and he started walking toward the sounds, while Tom walked backwards, watching the glittering eyes fade behind them.

Eight hours later, Tom was sitting in the waiting area outside the ICU, forcing Prophet to eat something. Remy’d had surgery, but he hadn’t woken up yet. Remy’s mom had banned them from the room, but she couldn’t force them to leave the hallway, and Prophet refused to do so.

When Remy’s mother had kicked them out of the room, Tom had gotten in her face until Prophet had pulled him away.

“What the fuck, T?” Prophet had asked, and Tom stared over his shoulder at her until the door closed completely. When Tom turned back to him, he’d said, “So Etienne was right to try for custody.”

“Yeah.” Her mother lioness act made him sick—she was covering her own ass, rather than being truly concerned about Remy.

Unlike Prophet, who seemed beside himself with worry for Remy. So Tom did what Prophet usually did for others—he mothered the man. Blue and Mick had done the same, until they’d gotten a call from EE and had needed to leave. Tom hoped Phil hadn’t gotten word of what had gone on around here, but, as Prophet pointed out, Phil always seemed to know everything.

The state police had Charlie in custody, and they’d taken statements from both Tom and Prophet. And they were waiting to take one from Remy too. They’d talked to the sheriff—the only other one who knew the story besides Tom—and he’d talked about what happened all those years ago, while simultaneously smoothing things over. Tom figured the truth was finally out, so he had nothing to hide. And he couldn’t be certain, but he was pretty sure the cops who talked to him had some sympathy in their eyes instead of the usual suspicion.

He’d still need a lawyer though, because even though sympathetic, the police told Tom not to leave town.

Two hours later, Tom put down his coffee, because he just knew Remy was awake. Finally. He stood and Prophet raised his head to stare at him. Seconds later, there were shouts coming from Remy’s ICU room. Several nurses and a doctor ran past them into the room and both men advanced toward the glass doors to get a better view.

Remy looked to be thrashing wildly, his legs slamming the mattress, and Jesus, it looked like a seizure.

But then Remy calmed down a bit, and a nurse came out and motioned to them.

They didn’t stop to question anything, just rushed into the room. Remy’s mother glared angrily, but the second Remy saw them, he stopped writhing.

“He’s all right?” Tom asked the nurse.

“He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s been slowly stabilizing. Woke up on his own, so I always take that as the best sign.”

Tom watched Remy grab for Prophet’s hand, and Prophet took it and held it, half-kneeling against the bed, talking to him in a low, soothing voice.

A minute later, Prophet turned to face the room. “He wants the rest of you out for right now.”

“I’m not leaving him alone with you two,” Remy’s mother snapped, but Remy managed, “Leave, Mom. I need to you go.”

“Ma’am, we do need to get him calm, so if that helps,” the doctor told her.

She pressed her lips together firmly before saying, “I’ll give them five minutes.”

The nurse and doctors weren’t leaving though. As they worked to check Remy’s vitals, Tom moved closer to the bed. Remy was hooked up to monitors that beeped every second. He looked pale and young . . . so fucking fragile.

“What do I tell the police?” Remy asked him now, and Tom swore his heart broke in two.

“No more secrets, Remy. You tell them everything you know.”

“But won’t that . . .?”

“Don’t you worry about me,” Tom told him. “Prophet’ll make sure we’re both okay.”

Remy seemed satisfied with that answer, even as Prophet shot Tom a sideways glance.

And then Remy said, “I told him to stop. That it’d happened when my dad was fourteen and that he’d never killed anyone. I told him my dad was sorry about it and that he’d suffered too. I told him my father was a good man.” His voice broke a little, but he pushed on. “Charlie told me that his dad had been a good man too, and that it was time to ruin my dad’s life, the way my dad had ruined his.” Prophet hadn’t let go of Remy’s hand at all, or maybe it was the other way around. “Will you guys stay when I talk to the police?”

“Of course,” Prophet assured Remy, and then continued to hold his hand while he drifted back to sleep.

“You okay?” Tom asked him.

Prophet shook his head. “I don’t get it, Tommy. Why did Charlie have to hurt this kid.”

It wasn’t a question, and he was grateful for that, because he didn’t have an answer, beyond his own guilt. He could see the pain in Prophet’s eyes too, and he put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I talked to Charlie every week for years. I had no fucking clue.”

“Sometimes, our mind blocks us from shit it’s not sure we can handle. Besides, you were the one who said that your voodoo shit didn’t work like that.” Prophet paused. “It was Charlie who put me in that marsh, right?”

“Yes. He had my father’s sheath in his car.” He paused. “I called home. Hung up when I heard his voice.”

“Well, at least your father didn’t try to kill me.”

“You really know how to lighten a situation up.”

Prophet smiled a little. “I try, T. ’S’all I can do.” And then he glanced back at Remy.