The Summer I Died: A Thriller by Ryan C. Thomas, Cody Goodfellow Read Free Book Online

life, but not one they can necessarily see or are even aware of. Like me for instance. Sure I drink, I don’t deny it. I got my problems — hell, we all got our problems — but suppose that’s my purpose, suppose my drinking causes a reaction somewhere else. And suppose that reaction is doing some good. Why else would He have drawn a cross in wine? See, Jesus was born to die on that cross, saved humanity by giving His life on it. That cross was His purpose for being. I think He was telling me my purpose in life was to drink — my cross, if you will, is to drink wine . . . or beer anyway. ”
    He looked down at his beer can , kind of chuckled ; this was fucking torture. I could feel time stopping, the hair growing on my legs.
    He continued: “ I mean, beer, wine, same thing really. I just wish I knew how it was helping. ”
    If ever there was a man trying to justify his vices, Tooth’s dad was him. I don’t believe in God; I guess because my parents never made me go to church, but I do like to think there are things out there, out beyond space and time, that have a better understanding of life. Not in a religious way; I don’t think we should worship them, but it’s nice to think we’re not alone. And perhaps someday we’ll meet up with them, whatever they are, and learn from them. But I sure as shit didn’t think Jesus, even if He did exist, would make an appearance just to get a man drinking. First time I heard this story, I figured someone in their bathrobe must have stopped to get a drink from the fountain, saw that it was flowing with rust, and walked away. The blue cross? Who kn ows ? Reflection from overhead lights most likely. I just figured the old man’s brain was pickled.
    “ Could be, Mr. Elliott. But I gotta help Merv. ”
    “ Help him with what? ”
    Tooth’s father didn’t complain much about what Tooth did, but guns were something else. He might be a drunk, but he was still a good man.
    “ We’re gonna grab some tools and go work on my mom’s car, ” I lied.
    He took another swig of his beer and looked out toward the road. “ Want me to help? ” he asked. “ I’m good with cars. ”
    Like the cavalry, Tooth popped his head out the door and said, “ Roger, c’mon, before the Second Coming. We got shit to do. ”
    I left Mr. El l iot on the porch with his beer and followed Tooth to his room. It was as messy as it had been the last time I was there. A mattress on the floor covered with a sleeping bag, a small television on an old footlocker with a Playstation beside it. The floor seemed to be made of used clothes so rank with stink they’d fused together like a giant quilt. Several beer bottles sat atop the furniture, reeking of week-old Budweiser. Not to mention it was so hot inside you could spit and it would evaporate before it hit the floor.
    In the corner was a dresser with every drawer pulled out so that it looked like poorly-constructed steps. Tooth slid it out from the wall and pulled out another black case like the one we’d just brought in . He opened it up. Inside, a black 9mm lay like a sleeping adder. He took it out and handed it to me.
    “ Feel how light it is. ”
    I hefted it and aimed it at the wall. It was far lighter than the .44, maybe about two pounds tops, and smaller as well. It fit in my hand like it had been built only for me.
    “ Make sure you check the chamber before you go pulling the trigger , ” he told me. “ Never too sure when I’m drunk whether I clear it out or not. More than once I found a bullet in there. ”
    I used both hands and cocked it like I’d seen in so many movies, sliding the chamber back and letting it snap forward again.
    “ It’s empty, ” I told him.
    He was smiling at me, like Dr. Frankenstein marveling at his monster. I must have looked hypnotized because he poked me. “ Go ahead, pull the trigger, see how little tension there is. ”
    I pulled the trigger with ease and the gun went click . A wave of anticipation washed