Out of the Black by John Rector Page A

forward and examined my face in the mirror. It didn’t look as bad as I’d expected. Most of the blood was gone—probably washed off from the hose in the cell—but there was a deep gash along the right side where the old man’s cane had hit, and another over the bridge of my nose.
    Not too bad, considering.
    I turned on the water and started washing the remaining blood from my face and chest. I’d gotten most of it off when I heard a noise coming from the front of the house.
    I shut off the water and listened.
    There were footsteps on the porch.
    I took the gun from my belt, switched off the flashlight, and walked out of the bathroom and stood in the doorway between the hall and the living room.
    I heard the thin chime of keys. Then the lock turned.
    I lifted the gun, clicked the safety, and took aim.XIs out of
    The door opened to moonlight, and a dark silhouette stepped into the house. I sighted the gun as the figure turned and closed the door.
    For a moment, nothing moved.
    I could hear my heartbeat, loud in the center of my head, and I blinked hard, trying to push away whatever fog was left.
    I held my breath.
    There was a small click, then a beam of light came on and scanned the room. When it passed over me, the figure jumped and dropped the flashlight.
    My finger twitched on the trigger.
    I pulled back at the last second.
    I turned on my flashlight and shone it on Carrie. She was standing in the doorway, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. She stared at me for a moment then dropped her hands to her chest and said, “Matt?”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “I saw the light,” she said. “I thought it might be you. I wanted to see if—” She stopped, looked around. “You didn’t find her?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “What does that mean?”
    I slid the gun into my belt and turned back to the bathroom. “It means I don’t have her yet.”
    “Where is she?”
    I didn’t answer. Instead, I set the flashlight back on the sink and finished scrubbing the blood off my skin.
    Carrie followed me, stopping in the doorway.
    When I looked up at her in the mirror, she gasped.
    “Oh my God.” She stepped into the bathroom and pulled at my shoulder. “Let me look.”
    I told her it was fine.
    She reached up and felt the sides of my nose with her fingertips. “You need a doctor.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    Carrie put her hands on either side of my head and ran her thumbs over my cheeks and around my eyes. “Does anything else hurt? Is anything else broken?”
    I reached up and grabbed her wrists. “I’m fine, Carrie.”
    For a moment, neither of us moved. Then Carrie’s eyes filled with tears. She leaned forward and rested her head against my chest. I put my arms around her, and we stood like that for a long time.
    After a while, I said, “I need you to do something.”
    “What?”

24
    I waited a few minutes before walking down the hall to Anna’s room. Her door was half-open, and in the shadows, I could see that all the drawings and signs had been taken down. I stopped outside and stared at the thin split in the wood where the tip of the knife had gone through, then I reached out and pushed the door open.
    Carrie was sitting on Anna’s bed, crying, staring down at her hands folded in her lap.
    Anna’s room was spotless. The bloodstained carpet by her door had been cut out in a large square, revealing the scarred hardwood floor beneath.
    “Did you do this?” I asked.
    “I had to do something,” Carrie said. “I couldn’t stand knowing it was there.”
    I stepped into the room and checked the other side of the door. The wood had been scrubbed clean, but the deep gash where the knife went in was wide and visible.
    “I’m sorry I hit you.”
    “No,” I said. “I understand.”
    “I don’t think you do.” She looked up at me, her eyes wet and bright. “I was here when they took her. I couldn’t do anything.”
    “No one is blaming you,” I said. “It’s okay.”
    “It’s not okay!”