Dirty Secrets

Part 53

"The only way?" he said dripping with cynicism. "Feels like I heard that before. And this is different how?"

"Because this isn't just me trying to figure it out on my own. This is what Clarisse told me."

"A crazy woman who says she talks to dead people and then jumps out a window."

She gave him a cutting look. "I don't believe she killed herself and I do believe that she communicates with dead people."

"Not so loud," he whispered.

She swallowed her anger thinking that she'd miscalculated. Given his near-death experience, she assumed that Jack would at least consider her solution before it was too late. The next time, Keenan would likely succeed. It wasn't a complicated concept to grasp. When she turned to say "good-bye," she noticed that he had softened. 

"So even if I was one hundred percent." He shrugged his injured shoulder, the grimace on his face indicating that he wished he hadn't. "Even if I was back in football shape, I mean there's no way. Just think about it."

"I totally get that. It's a lot to figure out. I know it."

She could almost hear the string of frantic thoughts clicking through his head.

"So, while we're figuring this out..." She showed him her phone. "Download this app."

"What's that?"

"CoverMe. We can send texts, pics, even video with no phone record."

"How?"

She shrugged. "Some super-secure encryption. You can even set the texts and stuff to delete."

"And the cops can't trace? For sure?"

"Google it for yourself. It's legit."

"Okay, so even if they can't trace our phone records, what happens when those cops find you and me back on that hill doing some crazy shit, like lighting a bonfire on his grave? Huh?" He shook his head then added, "I'll tell you what happens. We go to jail. All those secrets and lies and everything we been through, all for nothing."

He wasn't saying anything that she hadn't already considered. She understood fully the magnitude of the daunting task as well as her motivations for undertaking the mission.

"You think I'm hyped to go back out there and relive all that trauma?" she said. "Psychopath graveyard is the last place I ever want to see again. But we need to do something... before we end up dead."

"Look, you said he's getting weaker."

"It's a theory."

"You're smart."

"Ish."

"No. For real. You're smart. So what if you're right? What if we just wait him out? Run out the clock."

"Said the guy who almost got killed falling off a roof just yesterday."

Not far ahead, something landed in the middle of the road with a loud thud. As they drew closer, she identified the object as a man's boot, the kind Keenan wore. A horde of insects buzzed aggressively, diving in and out of the shoe. The frenzied pitch of dozens of insect voices demanding access to a portion of tattered decayed flesh compelled Lyla to cover her ears.

"What the hell," he said. "We buried that boot." He turned his troubled eyes to the sky, as though some logical explanation would manifest itself.

She felt the ground collapse beneath her feet and when she opened her eyes she was back on the burial hill, with night closing in. Brushing the dirt from her arms, her lungs scorched from exertion, she watched Jack plant his shovel into the earth.

Keenan's body was sprawled ten yards from the freshly-dug pit. Hungry flies and beetles had discovered the rancid meat and congregated on exposed flesh.

Jack winced. "Let's get him in the ground."

She rubbed her nose then each grabbed one of Keenan's ankles.

"Ready?" he asked. "One...two...three!"

Lyla planted herself and gave a hard pull. Plop. She landed on her butt with Keenan's boot in her hand. She froze, paralyzed with the revolting image of his detached foot inside the boot. She grimaced, tossing the boot over her shoulder.

"Get up!" said Jack.

"Is his foot...?"

"What?"

"I thought it came off."

He shook his head and pointed. She was relieved to discover that Keenan's shriveled foot remained attached to his withered ankle, his toes curled under.

Jack flung the boot up toward the gravesite. "Come on," he huffed. "Feels like the storm is moving in."

As she rose to her feet she heard the wind building, cutting through the field grass. She clamped Keenan's bony ankle and, despite the unbearable odor, they dragged the corpse up the remaining stretch to the summit and into the ring of gravestones.

The wind attacked, raging, and pelting them with soil and plant matter. Lyla and Jack's eyes were like split seams in the worn fabric of their faces. They maneuvered the body to the edge of the pit and shoved Keenan in. He tumbled into the hole, landing on his shoulder before coming to rest on his back.

"Oh, God." Stomach cramps doubled her over.

He lobbed the loose boot into the grave with the corpse before reaching for his shovel.