The Runaways

Chapter 11

        “Are you just gonna stand there, Caleb? Get over here, the old man’s heavy!” Cillian said.

I should’ve hit him for complaining like he was. Matter of fact, I thought about clearing the kitchen table just to knock his jaw backwards. It would’ve been enough for me just to see him bleed, but I didn’t make a move.

Two against one would’ve been suicide, so I stood where I was, soaked through my wife beater, just staring at Rusty’s ring.

Cillian and Marcus shuffled past me, both turning purple in the face under Russ's weight. They stumbled through the kitchen, both covered in so much sweat I could smell the stink from where I was.

Marcus nodded me in the direction of the cold store. He must’ve had it in his head that I was gonna go along with whatever he said. He didn’t even look at me when he asked. He didn’t have any plans to either, cause’ if he did, he would’ve seen the resentment scrawled all over my face.

        “Get the door, Caleb!”

He screamed at me, but I didn’t have an inch worth of patience for that kind of crap.

        “Figure out a free hand and open it yourself," I said.

Marcus tensed up and clamped down on his teeth so hard his jaw line jutted right out of his face. He stepped to me, forgetting what he was holding, and Rusty’s head rolled right across his t-shirt and stained the cheap cotton sticky red.

He paled a little, his inner softy freaking out at the sight of blood all over his clothes. Murder wasn’t something Tide was gonna fix.

        “Caleb, get the hell over here and stop standing around like an idiot!"

Marcus' stutter came out from its hiding place whenever nerves got the best of him. He tripped over his C’s and G’s so bad I thought he’d choke on his tongue. Wouldn't have been a tragedy if he did. Cillian scrambled to keep Rusty’s feet at chest-level.

He looked crazy trying to prop up a guy twice his weight. Marcus didn't have the grit left in him to keep helping him out. He'd turned white enough to pass for paper, and looked to me to pick up his slack, like always. Right or wrong, he'd end up getting his way. He always did.

Marcus didn’t wait for me to make a decision, just hauled over Rusty’s body, dropped him into my lap, and bailed. Just like that. He waltzed right into the kitchen, sat down, and propped his feet up. Can’t say I expected him to act any different.

I’d been pissed at him before, but this was something else. This was something that would eat me alive if I didn’t keep an eye on it. Lord knows how long an angry conscience can babysit a bad temper.

Once Marcus’s color came back, he fell right into throwing orders around again.

        “The two of you can leave him in the freezer, we can’t have Russ bleeding all over the welcome mat,” he said.

I barely heard a word. The second Rusty’s head fell into my hands, I started shaking so badly I thought I’d drop him. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t even gonna try.

Maybe Marcus and Cillian were cut out for covering up murder, but I didn’t have whatever it was they did. Maybe I was messed up. Maybe I was the milkman’s kid, ‘cause I was the only one who couldn’t follow through.

        “We can’t do that to Russ, Marcus. Get off your ass and grab a shovel from out back so we can bury him properly,” I said.

        “What’s wrong, Caleb? Worried your girlfriend won’t take nicely to a corpse? Don’t fret too much, she’s not far off from being one herself,” Cillian said.