Read Online The Boy Who Killed Grant Parker by Kat Spears - Free Book Online Page B

disciples continued to laugh with more enthusiasm than the situation really warranted. Instead of walking back to the circle of firelight, I walked toward what I hoped was the direction of town.
    I heard my name called. Maybe the voice was Grant’s, though I couldn’t tell from that distance. The tone insisted on my return to the group, but I ignored it and kept walking. I wasn’t sure I was headed home. I was just headed away.
    I’ll admit I was a little scared, afraid I would encounter a bear or even another cow, but going back to Grant and his friends was not an option. I was already embarrassed. If I had to face them now it would do nothing but compound my humiliation. I chose a cowardly exit while in my heart hoping that it conveyed only contempt and anger. My mortification manifested both mentally and physically, and I felt sick to my stomach.
    *   *   *
    Once I reached the road I walked quickly, my head down, angry with myself. Angry with the world. In my mind I was plotting the quickest way I could get back to DC. Maybe my mom would take me back. Maybe she would forget this idea of me forging some kind of relationship with my dad, would see that it was useless. After all, she had raised me, and she was nothing like my dad. I thought about calling her then. Calling to tell her I was done with Ashland and was coming home whether she liked it or not. I had friends in DC who would let me live with them. Maybe I could take the GED, graduate early, and get a job until I got accepted to some mediocre state university a thousand miles from either of my parents.
    There were no streetlights on the outskirts of town, and the houses were dark and quiet, watching me with silent judgment as I passed. I had no concept of how far we had driven outside of town, but it took me over an hour to reach civilization on foot.
    On the empty residential streets I wandered a circuitous route, so lost in my thoughts I didn’t even notice as a car slid up alongside me, creeping at the same speed as I was walking. I half-turned to look over my shoulder, expecting to find Grant or one of his friends in the car, coming after me to apologize or try to make nice. I was angry enough to knock someone out but didn’t like the idea of anyone, especially Penny or one of the other girls, seeing me covered in cowshit and shame.
    The car was painted green and white, the colors of the local police department. The passenger window slid down and released a puff of cool air into the night.
    â€œEvening,” came the baritone drawl of the driver as he put the car into park and leaned one arm along the back of the passenger seat to look up at me. Chief Perry.
    â€œHey,” I said through a sigh of defeat.
    â€œPastor Grayson’s kid,” he said, as if the title were an ironic compliment. “What’s your name again?”
    â€œLuke.”
    â€œJesus Christ, boy, what is that smell?” he asked as I leaned over to look into the window and he caught a sudden whiff of me.
    â€œIt’s shit, sir.”
    His left eye narrowed, and I could feel its cool judgment settle on me. “You getting smart with me, son?”
    â€œNo, sir. That smell is cowshit. I’m covered in it.”
    â€œWhat the hell have you been up to?” he asked, neither amused nor sympathetic.
    â€œJust—” I bit off what I was going to say since any explanation I gave would either: one, make me sound like a complete idiot, or, two, take too much energy to explain when I didn’t feel like telling the story in the first place. “I fell in a pile of cowshit.”
    â€œWhen you fell in a pile of cowshit did you also fall into a puddle of beer?” he asked without a hint of humor. “Because I can smell beer on you from ten paces.”
    â€œI had one beer,” I said, hoping that maybe a little honesty would help to keep me out of trouble.
    â€œThey have different laws about underage