Read Online Death's Shadow by Jon Wells - Free Book Online

that gym, he said. During breaks Shane and Carl threw a baseball around outside.
    “Carl,” Shane said, “why don’t you get the bat from the shed, tap a few grounders out there?”
    But Carl would not go to the shed, would barely look at it. Seemed odd. Shane had started observing Carl. It was something he did; he liked to take people’s measure, figure out what made them tick. He could tell Carl was a hard guy, had rage inside, and seemed like the type who could snap at any moment. But still Shane chatted with him. Maybe he could help the guy.
    They had rooms on the same floor of the house, and Shane noticed that Carl kept socks wedged in the spring-loaded door of the bedroom, all night, as though he was afraid to let it close. They continued to hang out together, and by Thursday Carl had started confiding in Shane, talked about hating his father, and told Shane his full name: Carl Hall. He said he was on the run after having robbed a bank in Hamilton.
    That night, after the 11:00 p.m. curfew, it was silent in the house, and Shane heard a knock on his door. It was Carl. Shane invited him in. Carl wore green cargo pants and a T-shirt. He entered, shut the door, and sat on the end of Shane’s bed. He held a pillow in his hands, and as he spoke, Shane watched him squeeze it tighter. He had a sense that Carl was about to tell him something very dark.
    “Shane, I’m not on the run for robbing banks.”
    Carl Hall sat on the end of Shane Mosher’s bed, rocking back and forth, white-knuckling the pillow clutched in his hands.
    “I did something horrible,” he said.
    Carl told Shane a story. He had a girlfriend in Hamilton, he said, and they had a daughter. And Carl knew a guy; he did some drug deals with him. But then this guy harassed Carl’s girlfriend, and his young daughter was there when it happened. There had to be payback. Shane, who lay on the bed, felt a shiver; goosebumps popped on his arms.
    Carl continued. He told Shane that he went to this guy’s apartment and noticed a white van outside the building. He walked up the stairs, had a baseball bat. A fridge blocked the door from the inside, but he was able to get it open. Inside, he saw this guy on his knees, beside a table. Carl hit him in the head with the bat. And again. He heard gurgling sounds. Carl knew it was serious. And then another person came in the room. A woman. Carl’s voice grew sharper telling the story, almost angry.
    “She wasn’t supposed to be there, Shane,” he said, his body shaking. “I knew what I had to do.”
    Shane Mosher outside the rehab centre where he met Carl Hall.
Ron Albertson, Hamilton Spectator.
    Carl asked Shane not to tell his story to anyone. And he said that he was scared. Not of the police, but that karma would get him. That’s why he kept his door propped open at night in the Holmes House rehab centre, he said: because he was scared of what might happen to him behind closed doors.
    Shane kept his expression calm, but inside he was terrified. A killer, a double murderer — and maybe he had killed more than two people, he thought — was sitting on his bed, and had confided in him. What was he supposed to do? Carl left his room and walked back down the hall. Shane did not sleep all night. He made a decision.
    The next morning, Friday, August 24, he packed his suitcase, waited for Shannon to pick him up to go home for the weekend. He was scheduled to resume rehab at the centre on Monday. Shane stood at the front door. Carl walked up to him, looked at the suitcase.
    “Are you coming back?” he asked.
    “Sure, Carl. I’ll see you Sunday night,” Shane said, trying to keep his voice friendly. Then Shane looked down at his own suitcase and saw it, right there on the tag: SHANE MOSHER . Along with his name, there was also his phone number, his family address in Brantford. Right there for Carl to see.
    Shannon’s car pulled up and Shane moved outside with his bag. She walked up the sidewalk to greet him, along