manages to communicate. Some things cause a lot more damage than a bullet. I guess we're all dealing with shock in our own way, right?"
"This Toad guy," I say, walking over to join her at the door. "He's the one who shot me, right?"
"Oh, no," she replies with a faint smile. "Sorry. That was me. I shot you." With that, she heads out of the room, leaving me standing alone for a moment. Taking a deep breath, I realize that whether I like it or not, I've ended up in some kind of group situation, which is exactly what I wanted to avoid after everything that happened back in New York. Figuring that I just need to be polite and start planning my next move, I head out the door and follow Patricia downstairs.
Chapter Four
Missouri
When I wake up, the first thing I notice is that my head is pounding. There's a heavy, sharp pain right on the back of my skull, and when I feel around to check, I realize that the skin is broken and sticky with blood. I take a deep breath, and for a moment everything seems kind of dizzy, before finally I take a deep breath and decide that my only option is to get to my feet. As soon as I try to sit up, however, I realize that there's something wrong with my legs, and when I look down at my feet, I see that my ankles are chained together.
"That's to stop you running," says the man from nearby.
Turning, I see that he's sitting in a chair on the other side of the kitchen, with the rifle laid across his knees.
"I don't want you getting the jump on me," he continues, "and since I'm getting on, I figure I need to give you something of an unfair disadvantage. Don't be angry. It's just the breaks." He pauses. "I also don't want you running off any time. Just remember, if you cause any trouble, it's easier for me to just blow your goddamn head off."
I reach down and pull at the chains, but they're attached too tight, and there's some kind of manacle around each ankle.
"You won't get them off," the guy says. "No point trying."
"You don't need to do this," I say, trying to get the manacles loose. They seem pretty old and rusty, so I'm hoping that maybe they're not as strong as they look, although so far I'm definitely not having much luck. "I just came here to look for help. My brother was hurt."
"So you shot him."
I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
"I took a look under that tarpaulin," he continues. "You got him good, right in the face."
"He was dying," I say bitterly. "You don't understand."
"Maybe," he replies, "and maybe not. All I know is that I saw you shoot a man, and that makes you kinda untrustworthy in my eyes, especially since you also broke a window in my place. Tell me, what am I supposed to think, huh? You're a murderer and a thief, so how do I know you're not a liar too?"
"I'm not a murderer!" I shout, getting to my feet.
"You're not?" he asks, smiling as he aims the rifle at me. "Well, it seems to me that you shot a man in the face when he was still alive, and I don't think he was begging you to kill him, was he? You're not an executioner, are you?"
"He was in pain!" I shout, feeling as if I want to go over and beat the crap out of this guy.
"Take one step closer," he replies, "and I'll pull the trigger."
I stare at him, and after a moment I realize that he's almost certainly telling the truth. There's just something about him that seems kinda crazy, as if he'd have no hesitation in killing me in cold blood. For one thing, he's got small, beady eyes that seem to be fixed on me at all times; for another, it's increasingly clear that he's got some kind of weird set-up out here in the middle of nowhere, as if he's one of those people who like to live far away from everyone else.
"You have to listen to me," I continue. "My brother and I, we're driving from Oklahoma. We're getting away from the stuff that's happened there."
"What stuff?" he asks.
"The stuff. Everything!" I pause, and finally I realize that if this guy has been living out here in the middle of nowhere,