Read Online The Evil That Men Do by Dave White - Free Book Online
Authors: Dave White
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Family Life, Domestic Fiction, Mystery Fiction, Brothers and sisters, Police Procedural, Alzheimer's Disease, Ex-police officers, new jersey, Aging Parents, Private investigators - New Jersey
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was a gas explosion here.
Carter noticed the irony of the thought and stepped through the door onto the sidewalk. It was after midnight and the street was nearly empty. A few college kids spilled out of the bar up the street. To his right, on the corner of Church and Bloomfield, a homeless guy eyed him up and started to walk toward him. The last thing Carter wanted to do was hand out money.
So he turned his back to the homeless guy and headed toward the college kids. He whistled a John Mayer song to himself as he walked, then stopped and cursed the song. It was stuck in his head after Kate made sure she put the CD on the restaurant stereo. On repeat. The worst part was that the speakers were turned so low you didn’t even know you were listening to it until three hours later, when all you could think about was how her body was a fucking wonderland.
The waitresses didn’t understand music. There were good bands out there, smaller bands that played the same type of music as John without the overdone radio play. Amos Lee, Band of Horses, The Format — Christ, anything but John Mayer.
He turned into the parking garage, thinking that tomorrow he’d bring his iPod. The music would be much more eclectic.
Carter paid the parking fee, a measly two bucks, and started up the stairs to the second floor. He heard footsteps descending above him and thought he’d stay as far to the right as he could when he reached the first landing. The person coming down was definitely moving quickly, maybe one of the college kids late in meeting his boys for shots.
Turning on the landing toward the next flight of stairs, Carter kept his head down and saw only the black boots of the person he was trying to avoid. The feet were coming directly for him, and he looked up much too late.
Pain erupted from the side of his head, and like he was a spectator in his own body, Franklin Carter felt himself slip to his knees. Another shot to the head; the world didn’t go completely dark, but Carter was dazed. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew he was being dragged along the concrete steps.
He fought to stay conscious and to focus on what was happening, but everything was fuzzy and muddled. He couldn’t think clearly. Hearing sliding doors close and feeling rope being tied around his wrists didn’t mean much to him. He couldn’t put it all together, no matter how he tried to fight through the pain in his head.
The only thing he could think about was John Mayer waiting on the world to change.
God damn John Mayer.
As she typed the code into the lock, Susan Carter decided she was going to have to get used to it. With all the shit that was going on in their lives, there would be nights when Franklin wouldn’t come home. And they definitely wouldn’t be able to visit her mother together. He was a busy man.
So when he hadn’t come home last night, after his late night earlier in the week, she’d just figured this would be par for the course.
That hadn’t kept her from almost being sick in the bathroom when she noticed his side of the bed hadn’t been disturbed.
She also found it odd that she hadn’t heard from Jackson yesterday.
But Susan put it all aside and plastered a smile on her face when she entered her mother’s room.
The nurse smiled at Susan and said, “She’s awake today. And she seems to be pretty aware.”
“Is she getting better?”
The nurse frowned. “No, but it’s encouraging that you might be able to talk to her for a while. It can’t hurt.” She left them alone.
Susan had to fight to keep the smile on her face. The woman in bed wasn’t her mother anymore. It was a facsimile. The body was the same, albeit thinner and more pale. But inside it wasn’t Isabelle Donne. Even though her mother blinked and smiled when Susan sat, there was a void behind the eyes. There wasn’t the same recognition. It wasn’t the woman who yelled and grounded her when she took the car without asking. It wasn’t the
Carter noticed the irony of the thought and stepped through the door onto the sidewalk. It was after midnight and the street was nearly empty. A few college kids spilled out of the bar up the street. To his right, on the corner of Church and Bloomfield, a homeless guy eyed him up and started to walk toward him. The last thing Carter wanted to do was hand out money.
So he turned his back to the homeless guy and headed toward the college kids. He whistled a John Mayer song to himself as he walked, then stopped and cursed the song. It was stuck in his head after Kate made sure she put the CD on the restaurant stereo. On repeat. The worst part was that the speakers were turned so low you didn’t even know you were listening to it until three hours later, when all you could think about was how her body was a fucking wonderland.
The waitresses didn’t understand music. There were good bands out there, smaller bands that played the same type of music as John without the overdone radio play. Amos Lee, Band of Horses, The Format — Christ, anything but John Mayer.
He turned into the parking garage, thinking that tomorrow he’d bring his iPod. The music would be much more eclectic.
Carter paid the parking fee, a measly two bucks, and started up the stairs to the second floor. He heard footsteps descending above him and thought he’d stay as far to the right as he could when he reached the first landing. The person coming down was definitely moving quickly, maybe one of the college kids late in meeting his boys for shots.
Turning on the landing toward the next flight of stairs, Carter kept his head down and saw only the black boots of the person he was trying to avoid. The feet were coming directly for him, and he looked up much too late.
Pain erupted from the side of his head, and like he was a spectator in his own body, Franklin Carter felt himself slip to his knees. Another shot to the head; the world didn’t go completely dark, but Carter was dazed. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew he was being dragged along the concrete steps.
He fought to stay conscious and to focus on what was happening, but everything was fuzzy and muddled. He couldn’t think clearly. Hearing sliding doors close and feeling rope being tied around his wrists didn’t mean much to him. He couldn’t put it all together, no matter how he tried to fight through the pain in his head.
The only thing he could think about was John Mayer waiting on the world to change.
God damn John Mayer.
As she typed the code into the lock, Susan Carter decided she was going to have to get used to it. With all the shit that was going on in their lives, there would be nights when Franklin wouldn’t come home. And they definitely wouldn’t be able to visit her mother together. He was a busy man.
So when he hadn’t come home last night, after his late night earlier in the week, she’d just figured this would be par for the course.
That hadn’t kept her from almost being sick in the bathroom when she noticed his side of the bed hadn’t been disturbed.
She also found it odd that she hadn’t heard from Jackson yesterday.
But Susan put it all aside and plastered a smile on her face when she entered her mother’s room.
The nurse smiled at Susan and said, “She’s awake today. And she seems to be pretty aware.”
“Is she getting better?”
The nurse frowned. “No, but it’s encouraging that you might be able to talk to her for a while. It can’t hurt.” She left them alone.
Susan had to fight to keep the smile on her face. The woman in bed wasn’t her mother anymore. It was a facsimile. The body was the same, albeit thinner and more pale. But inside it wasn’t Isabelle Donne. Even though her mother blinked and smiled when Susan sat, there was a void behind the eyes. There wasn’t the same recognition. It wasn’t the woman who yelled and grounded her when she took the car without asking. It wasn’t the
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