Free Wanting by Sarah Masters Page A

something was wrong. Didn’t I say that?” Adam said, the words muffled behind his hand. “I had a feeling we shouldn’t come back, and when we got here…fuck, I wanted to go home, needed to go home…” He glanced at the body again and wished he hadn’t. “We have to call the police.”
    “No.” Dane paled. “We’ll go home. Forget about this. This is just…this is just way too fucking much for me.”
    Adam lowered his hand. “What? I don’t believe you just said that. Not only did a guy get killed here—look at him, look at the way his throat’s been cut!—but they’ll find my spunk on that fucking hay. I came on there last night, for God’s sake! What if some of yours dripped off onto the floor? What about that, eh?”
    “Shit!” Dane rubbed one hand over his mouth, staring at a spot somewhere behind Adam.
    “Yeah, shit.”
    Adam’s stomach muscles bunched, and he stumbled through the main barn, the journey seeming to take forever. He made it out into the fresh air, digging in his pocket for his phone, hand shaking way too hard and fast. He rang the police, a rush of words he didn’t understand careening out, the dispatcher asking him to calm down, to repeat himself from the beginning, except slower. He tried to do as he’d been asked, but the words came out in a tumble again. He couldn’t seem to say what was in his head, in the order in which it needed to come out. Dane appeared and took the phone, explaining more calmly what they’d found. Adam slumped to the ground, leaned his head against the brick of the barn and closed his eyes.
    And remembered the voice as he’d fallen asleep last night.
    ‘You left me. I had to do those things, and you left me. It’s over. All over now…’
    “Oh, God,” he moaned, a lump expanding in his throat. Had he really heard that guy? Were those the last words he’d ever spoken or thought?
    Jesus. Oh my God. I can’t…I just can’t…
    He opened his eyes and focused on Dane who was giving their names and address, pacing up and down. What he said meshed with the thoughts in Adam’s head, making a jumble of sound, overly loud clutter rattling inside his head that he didn’t think he could stand for much longer. Fear rose up in him. Terror had visited them again, followed them from the city to Lower Repton as though Adam didn’t deserve a bit of fucking peace, like he hadn’t suffered enough.
    Angry—more at himself for his failure to help the man last night than anything—he rose and faced the barn, resting his forearms on it and his brow on those. The knobbly surface dug into his skin through his jacket, and he welcomed the distraction. He stared at the ground, kicking at ratty grass, his boot toes striking the brick from time to time.
    Dane was still talking, yes-and-no answers, and Adam guessed that, like in the mini-mart, the police were keeping him on the line until they arrived.
    Adam pushed off the barn, sucking in air, eager to spot a police car flying along the bottom of the field on the country road. No white car with blue-and-red flashing lights came, but soon another did, unmarked, turning onto the track that led to the barn and speeding along at quite a clip.
    “That was fucking quick,” Adam muttered, indicating to Dane that they should go around the back. Then a thought struck him. What if some men from last night were returning? What if that wasn’t the police? “Um, we need to get in the car quick. Lock ourselves in.”
    Dane ended the call and handed Adam’s phone back. “No, we don’t. That car there apparently has detectives in it. Fuck, we are so going to have to explain everything from last night.”
    “I know, but it doesn’t matter about that. He’s dead…it’s…”
    He couldn’t finish. He’d wanted to say it was his fault the man was dead, but that would mean bringing up the voice again and he doubted Dane would be in the mood for that. They reached the car and waited for the detectives to park, Adam’s