Page 15

Earl stares at me for a long moment, gun dangling in his grip. “You wanna tell me what you're doing in my house with my naked wife this late at night?”

Paula covers her face behind him, remaining silent.

“I was just, uh… asking about Dennis. My uncle was a little vague on the details, and the other night guard said he⁠—”

“Don’t.” The word cuts through the room instantly. “You don’t say my son’s name in connection with that place.”

His wife wraps her arms around herself. “Earl, please⁠—”

“No.” He spins toward her, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. “I buried what was left of my boy two months ago. I’m not doing this again. Let him rest, Paula.”

“You never say his name!” she shouts, glaring up at her husband. “It's like he never existed. No one talks about him anymore. He was my son too, and I haven't even been able to grieve.”

“I said let it go.” Earl’s voice takes on a dangerous note, the silent threat behind it palpable.

They stand off quietly for a short moment before Earl returns his attention to me. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

For one quick moment, I honestly think he’s joking. “… Seriously?”

“Do as I say, boy, or I'll shoot you for trespassing.”

Paula steps forward quickly. “Earl, don’t do this.”

“He was hiding in my home, stealing my son's things and assaulting my wife. You're damn right I'm doing this.”

“Because he was invited!”

“Sheriff,” I say, turning around slowly. “I think we can all agree this is just a misunderstanding. I wasn't assaulting or stealing anything.”

Earl scoffs at that. “I've got an open window that proves otherwise.”

The bedroom suddenly feels too small, the air hot and thick despite the cool night creeping in. Cold metal clamps around my wrist, and the click of the handcuffs sends a panic through me.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. Why do I constantly get myself into these situations? What the hell is wrong with me?

“Keys,” the sheriff grunts, steering me out into the hall by my arm.

“What?”

“Your keys to the Camaro, give ‘em to me.”

I gape at him over my shoulder. “What the hell for?”

He smirks in a way that makes my skin crawl as we descend into the parlor. “I think I smell some alcohol on you, boy. Can't have you drinking and driving around town. It'll go to the impound lot up in Portland.”

“This is fucking bullshit,” I growl loudly. “You arrest everybody your wife flirts with, or am I just special?”

“Benji,” Paula hisses, but Earl’s expression doesn’t change.

“You got a mouth on you,” he says, yanking me down the porch steps. “Maybe a night or two in a holding cell will shut that right up.”

Rainwater squelches beneath my shoes as Earl drags me across the yard, one hand locked around my arm hard enough to bruise. Paula follows us out barefoot, still in her towel.

“Earl, this is insane!” she screams after him. “You can’t just throw him in jail because you’re pissed at me!”

He ignores her completely. His cruiser sits crooked in the driveway, headlights casting pale beams across the trees. I snap at him as he roughly shoves me into the backseat.

“I’m not resisting, Jesus Christ, stop pushing me.”