Grace Lost by M. Lauryl Lewis Read Free Book Online Page B

water sitting on top.  A pipe went almost to the
ceiling before exiting out the back wall.  There was an old sheep skin
lying in front of the fireplace with two bean bags nearby.  It was clearly
meant to be a place to relax.  Not far from the fireplace was an old shelf
that held a couple of shoeboxes. The bottom shelf had a bottle of tequila,
three-quarters full, a single shot glass, a cheap lighter, and a clay
pipe.  A small wooden table was situated under the shelf and held a
variety of dusty candles.  Against the front wall was an old dingy full
size mattress.  The far side of the room was dedicated to
horticulture.  Raised boxes full of soil were carefully laid out, with
grow lights hanging from the ceiling above.  Wires were wound around the
rafters and dangled off to the side, gathered near the floor and taped together
as they led to a single power source.  The plants that had once flourished
had long ago dried up and fallen to join the soil from which they had
grown.  Jugs of water sat on the far ends of each of the four
planters.  I watched as Gus plugged the grow lights in.  They didn’t
turn on.
    Gus lit a couple more of the
candles with the lighter from the shelf, took his cowboy hat off, and laid it
on the ground next to the wood stove to dry.  “Zoe, do you think you can
try to start a fire in the wood stove, darlin’?  It’s going to get cold at
this elevation tonight and we should try to get our clothes dried out.”
    “Ya, sure. I can try.”
    “Good girl.  There’s some
newspapers and kindling under the little table, and I’ll try to find some
bigger pieces of dry wood from the pile outside.  Boggs, you want to get a
few things from the car and bring them in?”
    “Ya. We have a couple of sleeping bags and some food.  Do
you think the water in the jugs is ok?”  Boggs motioned toward the half of
the room meant for gardening.
    Gus thought a moment, and then
spoke.  ”I think so, but we better boil it first just to be safe. We can
use the kettle on the stove.”
    Boggs left the little building
we’d be calling home for the night and walked to the car. Gus left a moment
later.  I was left in the damp room by myself, and started working on
lighting a fire. I crumpled some old pages of newspaper from under the
table.  The kindling was brittle, lighting without much effort.  The
little fire was about to die down to useless embers when Gus finally returned,
his arms full of pieces of firewood that looked relatively dry.  The
little stove would only hold two or three wedges of wood at a time.  Boggs
entered soon after, balancing a cardboard box in one arm and a couple of the
bags from the ARCO dangled from his other hand.
    “I think all we have left are the
sleeping bags and pillows.  The rest can stay in the car.”
    “I’ll grab them,” said Gus. 
He left for the car and Boggs helped load the woodstove.
    “He seems ok, Zoe.  Gus I
mean.”  Boggs looked at me.  “The sun’s going to set in about an
hour. I think we should try to rest here tonight and figure out a plan for
tomorrow.”
    “ Ya, sounds ok,” I mumbled.  I was feeling tired from everything we had been
through in one day.
    “I’m going to need to help Gus
drag his uncle’s body away, or the stink’s going to get in here. We’ll do that
while you get settled in.  Take your wet clothes off and lay them out by
the fire. You can stay in one of the sleeping bags and try to sleep till
they’re dry.  I want you to keep the door locked though, ok?  
We’ll use the key to get back in.”
    Gus came back in with the sleeping
bags and pillows, and a roll of toilet paper.  Boggs relayed the plan to
him, and the two headed out.  Since Gus took the toilet paper with him, I
figured nature called.
    “Lock the door, Zoe,” reminded
Boggs.
    I did as instructed then watched through
one of the small rectangular openings next to the door as the two men walked
toward the fallen corpse.  As they each took a leg