Driving A Bargain

No. It came to him in a flash what Forsythe was doing. He was going to walk the long way around—a full mile out of his way—so that he wouldn’t have to go past the spot where he’d hit Tammy Jameson.

Jerry wondered if he’d avoided the spot entirely since hitting her or had got cold feet only once the cross had been erected. He rolled down his window, followed Forsythe, and pulled up next to him, matching his car’s velocity to Forsythe’s walking speed.

“Hey,” said Jerry.

The other guy looked up, and his eyes went wide in recognition—not of Jerry, but of what had once been his car.

“What?” said Forsythe.

“You look like you could use a lift,” said Jerry.

“Naw. I live just up there.” He waved vaguely ahead of him.

“No, you don’t,” said Jerry, and he recited the address he’d gone to to buy the car.

“What do you want, man?” said Forsythe.

“Your old man gave me a good deal on this car,” said Jerry. “And I figured out why.”

Forsythe shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. I know you do.” He paused. “She knows you do.”

The guy told Jerry to go … well, to go do something that was physically impossible. Jerry’s heart was racing, but he tried to sound cool. “Sooner or later, you’ll want to come clean on this.”

Forsythe said nothing.

“Maybe tomorrow,” said Jerry, and he drove off.

* * *

That night, Jerry went to the hardware store to get the stuff he needed. Of course, he couldn’t do anything about it early in the day; someone might come along. So he waited until his final period—which today was English—and he cut class again. He then went out to his car, got what he needed from the trunk, and went up Thurlbeck.

When he was done, he returned to the parking lot and waited for Forsythe to head out for home.

* * *

Jerry finally caught sight of Forsythe. Just as he had the day before, Forsythe walked to the edge of the schoolyard. But there he hesitated for a moment, as if wondering if he dared take the short way home. But he apparently couldn’t do that. He took a deep breath and headed up Thurlbeck.

Jerry started his car but lagged behind Forsythe, crawling along, his foot barely touching the accelerator.

There was a large pine tree up ahead. Jerry waited for Forsythe to come abreast of it, and …

The disadvantage of following Forsythe was that Jerry couldn’t see the other kid’s face when he caught sight of the new cross Jerry had banged together and sunk into the grass next to the sidewalk. But he saw Forsythe stop dead in his tracks.

Just as she had been stopped dead in his tracks.

Jerry saw Forsythe loom in, look at the words written not in black, as on Tammy’s cross, but in red—words that said, “Our sins testify against us.”

Forsythe began to run ahead, panicking, and Jerry pressed down a little more on the accelerator, keeping up. All those years of Sunday school were coming in handy.

Forsythe came to another tree. In its lee, he surely could see the second wooden cross, with its letters as crimson as blood: “He shall make amends for the harm he hath done.”

Forsythe was swinging his head left and right, clearly terrified. But he continued running forward.

A third tree. A third cross. And a third red message, the simplest of all:

“Thou shalt not kill.”

Finally, Forsythe turned around and caught sight of Jerry.

Jerry sped up, coming alongside him. Forsythe’s face was a mask of terror. Jerry rolled down his window, leaned an elbow out, and said, as nonchalantly as he could manage, “Going my way?”

Forsythe clearly didn’t know what to say. He looked up ahead, apparently wondering if there were more crosses to come. Then he turned and looked back the other way, off into the distance.

“There’s just one down the other way,” said Jerry. “If you’d prefer to walk by it …”

Forsythe swore at Jerry, but without much force. “What’s this to you?” he snapped.

“I want her to let my car go. I worked my tail off for these wheels.”

Forsythe stared at him, the way you’d look at somebody who might be crazy.

“So,” said Jerry, again trying for an offhand tone, “going my way?”

Forsythe was quiet for a long moment. “Depends where you’re going,” he said at last.

“Oh, I thought I’d take a swing by the police station,” Jerry said.

Forsythe looked up Thurlbeck once more, then down it, then at last back at Jerry. He shrugged, but it wasn’t as if he was unsure. Rather, it was as if he were shucking a giant weight from his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said to Jerry. “Yeah, I could use a lift.”