Read Online Inside Out by John Ramsey Miller - Free Book Online
Authors: John Ramsey Miller
Tags: Fiction
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dining room. Winter caught a glimpse of the table as the door closed. The Devlins sat facing each other across the polished walnut, again holding hands. Jet opened the door by pushing it with her hip, turned and reentered the kitchen carrying an empty pitcher. Winter glimpsed the hands again, joined in the center of the table.
“Winter is a scholar. Got a master's degree from Sewanee. Taught at private high schools. What was it you taught? Poetry?”
There was a muffled burst of laughter from the dining room. Winter wondered what the Devlins found so funny.
“Literature,” Winter told the marshals.
Martinez pushed her chair back and stood. “I'm going to catch a nap before my shift.”
Yet another happy burst of laughter from the dining room. Winter wondered what sort of jokes a killer told his wife to entertain her. In his experience, a woman who could be in love with someone who had forfeited his soul probably had denial down to a religion.
13
Winter's dream might have been complex and rambling, but all he remembered of it when he awoke was how it ended. He was in a house, in a bed with Eleanor. They were very young. Rush, who technically shouldn't have been there at all, was sitting on the bed staring angelically at Winter and his mother. He talked about how wonderful it was to be able to see again and how great it was having his mother back, due to a time machine's reversing everything bad that happened the day their plane crashed. When something touched his shoulder, Winter jerked awake to find that Greg, lit by the yellow light bleeding in from the bathroom, was staring down at him. Winter sat bolt upright, and Greg jumped back reflexively, putting his hands up as if to protect himself.
“Your turn on deck,” Greg said as he dropped down on his own bed, yawning.
Winter swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the carpet.
The roar of the surf drowned out every sound past the railing, ten feet beyond the wicker chair that Winter had backed up against the house, in the shadows. He had set the 9-mm Heckler & Koch MP5 machine pistol on the table beside the chair.
Constant motion,
he thought, watching the froth as the water gobbled up the shoreline. Sharks moving from birth to death, octopuses slithering from rock to rock—monsters galore, always moving in search of food. He remembered how Rush had always worn tennis shoes in the surf after he had once stepped barefoot on a crab.
The creak of the front door opening had the impact of a sudden slap. Winter sat upright, reached for the H&K, and placed the gun in his lap. Martinez stepped out, nodded at Winter, then opened the door to let Mrs. Devlin come outside.
Sean Devlin carried a cup of coffee in both hands as she moved to the porch rail. She stared out at the ocean, set her cup on the railing, zipped up her canvas jacket, and flipped up the collar. Then she lifted the cup and took a sip. Martinez crossed her arms against the chill.
“You can go back inside,” Sean Devlin told her. “You're cold.”
“No can do,” Martinez replied cheerfully.
“He's right there,” Sean said. She tilted her head toward Winter. “How many guards do I need? Does one always have to be a woman?”
“Not necessarily,” Martinez said.
“Go back inside,” Winter told Martinez.
Martinez looked uncertain. “Okay, Winter, I'll be in the security room.”
Winter held up his walkie-talkie, then clipped it back on his belt. “If I need anything, I'll call,” he promised.
Martinez went back inside, leaving Winter to watch over Sean.
She seemed somehow sad standing at the banister for a silent five minutes as she stared out at the waves, sipping coffee like she was the only soul for miles. When the cook's cat leaped up onto the rail beside her she gasped, knocking her cup over the rail, where it landed soundlessly in the sand. She laughed, reached out tentatively, and touched the cat's head with her fingertips. The cat nuzzled against her and
“Winter is a scholar. Got a master's degree from Sewanee. Taught at private high schools. What was it you taught? Poetry?”
There was a muffled burst of laughter from the dining room. Winter wondered what the Devlins found so funny.
“Literature,” Winter told the marshals.
Martinez pushed her chair back and stood. “I'm going to catch a nap before my shift.”
Yet another happy burst of laughter from the dining room. Winter wondered what sort of jokes a killer told his wife to entertain her. In his experience, a woman who could be in love with someone who had forfeited his soul probably had denial down to a religion.
13
Winter's dream might have been complex and rambling, but all he remembered of it when he awoke was how it ended. He was in a house, in a bed with Eleanor. They were very young. Rush, who technically shouldn't have been there at all, was sitting on the bed staring angelically at Winter and his mother. He talked about how wonderful it was to be able to see again and how great it was having his mother back, due to a time machine's reversing everything bad that happened the day their plane crashed. When something touched his shoulder, Winter jerked awake to find that Greg, lit by the yellow light bleeding in from the bathroom, was staring down at him. Winter sat bolt upright, and Greg jumped back reflexively, putting his hands up as if to protect himself.
“Your turn on deck,” Greg said as he dropped down on his own bed, yawning.
Winter swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the carpet.
The roar of the surf drowned out every sound past the railing, ten feet beyond the wicker chair that Winter had backed up against the house, in the shadows. He had set the 9-mm Heckler & Koch MP5 machine pistol on the table beside the chair.
Constant motion,
he thought, watching the froth as the water gobbled up the shoreline. Sharks moving from birth to death, octopuses slithering from rock to rock—monsters galore, always moving in search of food. He remembered how Rush had always worn tennis shoes in the surf after he had once stepped barefoot on a crab.
The creak of the front door opening had the impact of a sudden slap. Winter sat upright, reached for the H&K, and placed the gun in his lap. Martinez stepped out, nodded at Winter, then opened the door to let Mrs. Devlin come outside.
Sean Devlin carried a cup of coffee in both hands as she moved to the porch rail. She stared out at the ocean, set her cup on the railing, zipped up her canvas jacket, and flipped up the collar. Then she lifted the cup and took a sip. Martinez crossed her arms against the chill.
“You can go back inside,” Sean Devlin told her. “You're cold.”
“No can do,” Martinez replied cheerfully.
“He's right there,” Sean said. She tilted her head toward Winter. “How many guards do I need? Does one always have to be a woman?”
“Not necessarily,” Martinez said.
“Go back inside,” Winter told Martinez.
Martinez looked uncertain. “Okay, Winter, I'll be in the security room.”
Winter held up his walkie-talkie, then clipped it back on his belt. “If I need anything, I'll call,” he promised.
Martinez went back inside, leaving Winter to watch over Sean.
She seemed somehow sad standing at the banister for a silent five minutes as she stared out at the waves, sipping coffee like she was the only soul for miles. When the cook's cat leaped up onto the rail beside her she gasped, knocking her cup over the rail, where it landed soundlessly in the sand. She laughed, reached out tentatively, and touched the cat's head with her fingertips. The cat nuzzled against her and
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