Free The Unlucky by Jonas Saul Page A
Authors: Jonas Saul
his pocket and the large iron gate began to close.
She waited, judging how far away he would get before the gate would close completely. The gate was slow, but if she ran through now, all he had to do was turn around to see her out in the open.
But the gate was almost closed now.
Go! Sarah winced and tightened a fist at the loud shout in her head. As she opened her eyes, she jumped from hiding, ran the short distance to the opening in the gate and hopped out of sight of the road. A moment later the gate closed, clunking into place with finality.
A buzzing hum, like the sound of a busy beehive, started at the second the gate closed.
Electricity . The fence was wired. What the hell for? What are they afraid might get in?
Sarah turned around slowly on the gravel driveway and surveyed the cottage’s facade.
Or better yet, what are they afraid will get out?
On the outside, the building appeared to be like any other in these parts. Big for a cottage, though. She headed to the side of the four-level side split fully detached house. Something told her—whether it was Vivian, or her intuition—that the house was devoid of hostiles. Knowing she could relax, she eased the gun back into her belt line and began to examine the building from the outside.
Ten minutes later, other than uncut grass, dirty windows and a ratty interior—whoever lived here didn’t keep a clean home—Sarah took one of the Adirondack chairs from the back porch and carried it up to the small thatch of trees on the side corner of the lot for shade. She cursed herself for not having brought water. There was nothing she could do about it now. When this stake-out task was done, she would drink a keg of water, pouring half of it over her face and body. Then she would pop more painkillers and get some rest.
And lay off the whiskey, she thought.
She found a spot in the trees that gave her a clear view of the front gate. Shrouded as she was in deep shade, anyone coming in the gate wouldn’t readily see her, nor would they know to look her way.
Her head back, feet out, she crossed her hands on her stomach and closed her eyes. A catnap would help. Could be the residents had gone to work and wouldn’t return until evening.
A voice startled her. She jerked awake and sat up.
It sounded like someone had pleaded for help. The gate was still closed, the electricity humming softly. The air was still, only the distant sound of the highway reached her. She waited, breathing slowly in order to listen. Whatever the noise was, it didn’t come again.
Must’ve been in my head.
She leaned back in the chair and kept her eyes open as long as she could. Eventually they closed and Sarah fell asleep.
When the call for help came from the house again, she was too far under to hear it.
Chapter 10
Belinda McCarthy sang along with the music of Toronto band Moxy Früvous as they boasted through her car stereo speakers about being the King of Spain as she drove along Highway 11.
Thirty more kilometers until her turn, the music loud, window open, the wind rushing past her face, hair blowing over her shoulder in the wind. Nothing better than a summer drive toward Rama.
Casino Rama, on the other side of Orillia Ontario, had filled this part of Highway 11 with traffic since it opened in the ’90s. People from southern Ontario flooded the road, racing north in hopes of popping the big one and living on easy street after that.
But Belinda knew different. There was no easy street. There was only life and what you made of it. Instead of hoping a fortuitous win would come your way, or lightning would strike, why not set out and take from life what you want? Only then could you be truly happy.
She sang louder, the cigarette clutched between her yellowed fingers forgotten, the ashes about to meet her flesh. A quick flick of her wrist and the butt was out the window, flying under the wheels of
She waited, judging how far away he would get before the gate would close completely. The gate was slow, but if she ran through now, all he had to do was turn around to see her out in the open.
But the gate was almost closed now.
Go! Sarah winced and tightened a fist at the loud shout in her head. As she opened her eyes, she jumped from hiding, ran the short distance to the opening in the gate and hopped out of sight of the road. A moment later the gate closed, clunking into place with finality.
A buzzing hum, like the sound of a busy beehive, started at the second the gate closed.
Electricity . The fence was wired. What the hell for? What are they afraid might get in?
Sarah turned around slowly on the gravel driveway and surveyed the cottage’s facade.
Or better yet, what are they afraid will get out?
On the outside, the building appeared to be like any other in these parts. Big for a cottage, though. She headed to the side of the four-level side split fully detached house. Something told her—whether it was Vivian, or her intuition—that the house was devoid of hostiles. Knowing she could relax, she eased the gun back into her belt line and began to examine the building from the outside.
Ten minutes later, other than uncut grass, dirty windows and a ratty interior—whoever lived here didn’t keep a clean home—Sarah took one of the Adirondack chairs from the back porch and carried it up to the small thatch of trees on the side corner of the lot for shade. She cursed herself for not having brought water. There was nothing she could do about it now. When this stake-out task was done, she would drink a keg of water, pouring half of it over her face and body. Then she would pop more painkillers and get some rest.
And lay off the whiskey, she thought.
She found a spot in the trees that gave her a clear view of the front gate. Shrouded as she was in deep shade, anyone coming in the gate wouldn’t readily see her, nor would they know to look her way.
Her head back, feet out, she crossed her hands on her stomach and closed her eyes. A catnap would help. Could be the residents had gone to work and wouldn’t return until evening.
A voice startled her. She jerked awake and sat up.
It sounded like someone had pleaded for help. The gate was still closed, the electricity humming softly. The air was still, only the distant sound of the highway reached her. She waited, breathing slowly in order to listen. Whatever the noise was, it didn’t come again.
Must’ve been in my head.
She leaned back in the chair and kept her eyes open as long as she could. Eventually they closed and Sarah fell asleep.
When the call for help came from the house again, she was too far under to hear it.
Chapter 10
Belinda McCarthy sang along with the music of Toronto band Moxy Früvous as they boasted through her car stereo speakers about being the King of Spain as she drove along Highway 11.
Thirty more kilometers until her turn, the music loud, window open, the wind rushing past her face, hair blowing over her shoulder in the wind. Nothing better than a summer drive toward Rama.
Casino Rama, on the other side of Orillia Ontario, had filled this part of Highway 11 with traffic since it opened in the ’90s. People from southern Ontario flooded the road, racing north in hopes of popping the big one and living on easy street after that.
But Belinda knew different. There was no easy street. There was only life and what you made of it. Instead of hoping a fortuitous win would come your way, or lightning would strike, why not set out and take from life what you want? Only then could you be truly happy.
She sang louder, the cigarette clutched between her yellowed fingers forgotten, the ashes about to meet her flesh. A quick flick of her wrist and the butt was out the window, flying under the wheels of
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