Read Online at First Sight (2008) by Stephen Cannell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephen Cannell
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have to tell her. I couldn't let somebody as sweet and trusting as Paige live unknowingly with a sleazy adulterer. Well, I couldn't, could I?
I was thinking I should try to buy a camera and get some pictures--evidence. And then Chandler pulled the Suburban into a shopping center. It was now almost eleven-fifteen and most of the stores were closed, but the Safeway and a Walgreens were still open. Both were throwing neon light deep into the late-night deserted parking lot.
I pulled around to the side to stay out of sight. For some reason, Chandler didn't park out front, but drove through the parking lot and finally pulled the Suburban around to the same side of the store where I was and parked. I was only ten or fifteen yards away, still in the driving lane. My mind whirled. What should I do? Should I wait? Should I leave?
Without looking at my car, Chandler walked into the drugstore. I stared dumbly at his Suburban. Then I put my rented Taurus in Park with the engine still running. I tried to come to grips with all this.
"Chick, get the fuck out of here," I said out loud to myself. But I remind you, I was not in control, unable to change the course of these this events. I was lost, as if some unknown power was setting up tnis maze and forcing me to run through it. So then who was in control here? Who was making up the rules of this game? Not me--at least that's what I told myself.
And then, for a fleeting moment, sanity returned. I knew I had to get the hell outta there. I knew I had to get away before he saw me.
My willpower surged.
I grabbed the gearshift to put the car in Drive, but as this first sane thought in hours hit me, everything changed. It happened so fast I didn't even see it coming.
I still don't quite understand it. I mean, I know the physics. The chronology. It's the psychology that baffles me.
At the very instant I gained control of myself and reached for the shift knob, Chandler came out the back door of the drugstore carrying a small bag from the pharmacy. He saw my headlights, saw that I had sort of blocked his exit. He started to come toward me, waving for me to back up. In a few seconds he would see me. How could I explain my appearance here to him?
What would I say if he recognized me? "Hey Chandler, whatta you doing here? Small world, right?" He would never go for that. Some coincidences defy explanation and I knew this was one of them. There was no way I could explain this. No way. Or at least that's what I was convinced of at that moment.
He was still walking toward me, gesturing, so I slammed the rental into Reverse and hit the gas.
But I was in the wrong gear and the car lunged forward, not backward. It struck Chandler hard, knocking him down. The front headlight broke and the car shuddered from the impact. Before I could take my foot off the gas, I ran right over him. I heard him scream. I felt the wheels roll over his chest; bouncing the Taurus like a speed bump.
I slammed on the brakes, opened the door, jumped out, and ran around to see. He was lying under the car just in front of the rea r t ires. Only his head protruded from underneath. He was barely breathing. Blood had already started coming out of his mouth. The bag of medicine he'd been carrying was strewn on the pavement. I remember looking down. I read the label:
PAIGE ELLIS:
DARVOCET for pain.
One tablet every four hours.
Funny, how in a time of extreme crisis, something unimportant and stupid like that registers.
"Help me!" he croaked, his eyes bright but desperate.
Then he recognized me.
A strange look of clarity passed across his face. "Chick?" he whispered.
I couldn't answer. I couldn't speak. And then he started to choke on his own blood. It was oozing out of his mouth, oozing around my feet. I jumped back to keep it off my hand-sewn Spanish loafers.
"Chick . . . help . . . " It was such a low whisper--a moan actually--that I couldn't even be sure he'd said those exact words.
I ran back to the driver's side,
I was thinking I should try to buy a camera and get some pictures--evidence. And then Chandler pulled the Suburban into a shopping center. It was now almost eleven-fifteen and most of the stores were closed, but the Safeway and a Walgreens were still open. Both were throwing neon light deep into the late-night deserted parking lot.
I pulled around to the side to stay out of sight. For some reason, Chandler didn't park out front, but drove through the parking lot and finally pulled the Suburban around to the same side of the store where I was and parked. I was only ten or fifteen yards away, still in the driving lane. My mind whirled. What should I do? Should I wait? Should I leave?
Without looking at my car, Chandler walked into the drugstore. I stared dumbly at his Suburban. Then I put my rented Taurus in Park with the engine still running. I tried to come to grips with all this.
"Chick, get the fuck out of here," I said out loud to myself. But I remind you, I was not in control, unable to change the course of these this events. I was lost, as if some unknown power was setting up tnis maze and forcing me to run through it. So then who was in control here? Who was making up the rules of this game? Not me--at least that's what I told myself.
And then, for a fleeting moment, sanity returned. I knew I had to get the hell outta there. I knew I had to get away before he saw me.
My willpower surged.
I grabbed the gearshift to put the car in Drive, but as this first sane thought in hours hit me, everything changed. It happened so fast I didn't even see it coming.
I still don't quite understand it. I mean, I know the physics. The chronology. It's the psychology that baffles me.
At the very instant I gained control of myself and reached for the shift knob, Chandler came out the back door of the drugstore carrying a small bag from the pharmacy. He saw my headlights, saw that I had sort of blocked his exit. He started to come toward me, waving for me to back up. In a few seconds he would see me. How could I explain my appearance here to him?
What would I say if he recognized me? "Hey Chandler, whatta you doing here? Small world, right?" He would never go for that. Some coincidences defy explanation and I knew this was one of them. There was no way I could explain this. No way. Or at least that's what I was convinced of at that moment.
He was still walking toward me, gesturing, so I slammed the rental into Reverse and hit the gas.
But I was in the wrong gear and the car lunged forward, not backward. It struck Chandler hard, knocking him down. The front headlight broke and the car shuddered from the impact. Before I could take my foot off the gas, I ran right over him. I heard him scream. I felt the wheels roll over his chest; bouncing the Taurus like a speed bump.
I slammed on the brakes, opened the door, jumped out, and ran around to see. He was lying under the car just in front of the rea r t ires. Only his head protruded from underneath. He was barely breathing. Blood had already started coming out of his mouth. The bag of medicine he'd been carrying was strewn on the pavement. I remember looking down. I read the label:
PAIGE ELLIS:
DARVOCET for pain.
One tablet every four hours.
Funny, how in a time of extreme crisis, something unimportant and stupid like that registers.
"Help me!" he croaked, his eyes bright but desperate.
Then he recognized me.
A strange look of clarity passed across his face. "Chick?" he whispered.
I couldn't answer. I couldn't speak. And then he started to choke on his own blood. It was oozing out of his mouth, oozing around my feet. I jumped back to keep it off my hand-sewn Spanish loafers.
"Chick . . . help . . . " It was such a low whisper--a moan actually--that I couldn't even be sure he'd said those exact words.
I ran back to the driver's side,
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