Page 115 of Gunnar

The trees close in around us as we leave the clearing, the headlights cutting a narrow path through the dim light.

Gunnar leans back in the seat, his gaze fixed ahead.

After a minute, he says, “You remember what happened that night in the garage?”

I go still. I’ve been trying not to think about it, but every moment of that night is still there, emblazoned on my brain.

“Yes,” I say at last.

When I glance at him, he’s watching me. His expression softens, and he reaches out and squeezes my hand.

The warmth spreads through my body, all the way to my heart.

I straighten up and stare at the road ahead, replaying it.

“He came up behind him,” I say. “The other man was already on his knees. Hands up.”

I keep my eyes on the road as I talk.

“He shot him once. It was quiet. Not like in the movies.”

Gunnar doesn’t interrupt.

“He just stood there for a second, looking at him. Then he shot him again.”

I swallow.

“After that, he lowered the gun. Looked at the body first.”

I take a breath.

“Then he looked at me.”

I can still see it.

“He just stood there… fixed on me.”

“What do you mean?” Gunnar demands.

I look at him, startled at the tightness in his voice. “As if he’d already picked me,” I say.

“What?”

I think about it.

“Like I wasn’t getting away,” I say. “He had time.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Then?” he grunts.

“Then he started walking toward me,” I say. “He knew exactly what he was going to do.”

“The police. They were coming up from below. Tires, shouting. He heard them.”

“And then?”

“He looked back at me again,” I say. “Still no panic. Just… recognition?”

I pause, trying to make sense of it all.