Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3) by Brett Battles (most inspirational books of all time TXT) 📗

“Do you drive?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Can you drive?”

“I’ve tried. Once.”

That’s what I was afraid of.

He sees the disappointment on my face and says, “I have friends that do.”

I already don’t want to involve Evan. Bringing one of his friends in, too, seems more than a step too far.

I’m about to say as much when Jar jumps in and asks, “Do you have a friend who drives, whom you trust?”

He smiles. “I do. She’s very trustworthy.”

I look at Jar, as if she’s crazy for asking him that question.

She looks at me and says, “There. Problem solved.”

Twenty minutes later, Bergen shows signs of waking.

“We shouldn’t be much more than an hour,” I tell Evan. “Sit tight and don’t talk to anyone.”

He gives me a thumbs-up like we’re members of a team.

Which in a way we are, I guess.

By the time Jar and I arrive at the Travato and climb in—ski masks and face masks firmly in place—Bergen’s eyes are wide open, though he still looks loopy from the drugs.

As I approach the bed, he stares at me with the same fear as yesterday.

“Please,” he croaks. “I need water.”

I grab a bottle from the cabinet, drop it on the bed, and untie his hand.

He starts chugging the water bottle, a good portion of it missing his mouth and drenching his shirt.

While I was dealing with his water situation, Jar retrieved one of our camp stools from storage and brought it inside. She passes it to me now, and I place it by the end of the bed and sit.

I lock my gaze on Bergen’s and hold my hand above my shoulder. Jar puts one of our dart guns in it, causing Bergen to suck in a breath.

“No, no, no, no. Please. Not again.”

Jar pulls out her laptop and sets it on the counter. A few seconds later, our computerized voice says, “We trust you slept well.”

“You guys can let me go now. I swear, I won’t light any more fires.”

We figured he might say something like this, so it takes Jar only a few seconds to adjust one of the responses we wrote and play it. “There will be no letting you go. You have committed crimes that you will need to answer for.”

“No, please. They’re never going to let me out.”

This time, no extra typing is needed. “You should have thought about that before agreeing to help Charles Price.”

“I didn’t have a choice!”

A few keystrokes and our voice says, “You did, and you still do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can choose to do nothing and face the full consequences, or you can do something that may put you in a favorable light.”

He blinks at this last part. “Like what?”

“This is from last night.”

I hold up my phone and play a montage of our conversation with him at his house.

When it finishes, Jar plays another prewritten bit. “The authorities will likely be more lenient if your confession does not sound like it is being forced out of you. We can give them this, or you can rerecord, telling everything you know.”

“That-that’s it?”

Jar types again. “No. It is not.”

“What else will I have to do?”

She plays him the other requirement, and the color drains from his face.

We may not be offering him the lifeline he wants, but it is one I’m positive he will accept.

We arrive back at the duplex at 3:38 p.m.

Bergen is still in the Travato, once more fully restrained. He is also unconscious again, though the amount of Beta-Somnol we gave him will keep him under for only a few hours. That’s because he chose to do the right thing. If he didn’t, he’d have received another full dose.

I pull the truck all the way into our garage this time. It doesn’t quite fit, but it’ll do.

“You got everything?” I ask Evan.

“We didn’t bring much.”

Sawyer is beside him, clutching Terry the Tiger to his chest. “Thank you very much for letting us stay here,” he says. From the rhythm, I get the sense he practiced the words with his brother.

“You’re very welcome,” I say.

“And thank you for letting us use your computer to watch movies.”

From the surprise on Evan’s face, I’m guessing that part wasn’t something they worked on.

“I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Sawyer turns to Jar. He’s almost as tall as she is. “Thank you.”

She nods. “The world might not always be easy, but you will figure it out. I believe in you.”

He smiles at this. It’s not much, but is more than we’ve seen.

“Let’s get going,” I say.

I enter the garage first and stand at the back end of the truck’s cab, in the narrow walkway I’ve left between the vehicle and the wall. This prevents anyone outside from seeing Evan and Sawyer exit the house and climb into the backseat of the crew cab. Once their door is closed, I go around to the driver’s door and get behind the wheel.

From the living room doorway, Jar watches us back out, and then activates the roll-down door once we’re out of the way. There’s no reason for both of us to go on this trip.

I drop off Evan and Sawyer three blocks from their house, in a parking area behind a closed florist shop, out of sight of the street.

“I’ll let you know when I’m out,” Evan says from the open doorway.

“If it becomes a problem, don’t push it,” I say. “We’ll figure something else out.”

“Don’t worry. It won’t be a problem.”

He shuts the door, takes his brother’s hand, and walks away.

I make it back to the duplex before the boys reach their house, so I’m able to watch with Jar in real time when they step inside.

Kate has been lying down in the master bedroom, but at the sound of the door, she hurries to the stairs. When she sees her boys standing in the foyer, she runs down to them.

There are hugs and tears from Mom, after which she looks them over, as if expecting them to be