The Unusual Second Life of Thomas Weaver Episode Two (The Unusual Life Of Thomas Weaver Book 2) by Shawn Inmon Read Free Book Online Page A

type. “But those are the only people I ever see out there.”
    “Oh.” Thomas chuckled. Lame. Come on, Weaver, get it together. “I missed the bus home on Monday and had to wait for Zack to get done with track practice. I…just went for a walk in the woods, something to do.” Lame, lame, lame.
    Michael's eyes said: I hear you, but I do not believe you for one damned minute. He squinted into the setting sun, looking over Thomas’s shoulder. “Yeah, no big deal. I just never see anyone out there, other than the stoners. So, big race for your brother, huh?”
    “Yeah. I think so.” What the hell do you want?
    “Best in the state this year, maybe?”
    Thomas just nodded. And you care...why, exactly? Where the hell is this going, you animal torturer and future serial killer?
    “Not going to be valedictorian in our class, but not too far off, either, right?” Michael shaded his eyes with his right hand, stared at Zack. His eyes met Thomas’s for a brief moment, took his measure, then flitted away. “Must be tough, having a brother that’s so damn good at everything.”
    “Lucky for me, he’s cool about it.”
    The single nod again. “Even worse.” Michael said, smiling and tapping a two finger salute against his forehead as he stood up and walked down the bleacher aisle. Thomas watched his retreating back, his characteristic walk. When Michael got to the parking lot, he scissored his long, lean frame into a deep blue sports car that Thomas recognized as a Karmann Ghia. Of course. What kind of a teenager drives a Karmann Ghia?
    An asshole teenager with a rich mommy and daddy, that’s who. As Michael drove off, Thomas let out a long, shuddering breath and sank back down against the bench. That can’t be good. I never talked to him the first time around. I must be changing things.
    Of course I am. How could I not? And now, I’ve drawn the attention of a serial killer and I’m in his sights. Awesome.
    Thomas walked back to the Camaro to wait for Zack. That's right. I am changing things no matter what I do. The longer I go, the less I'll be able to predict. In real life, I never had any interaction with Seth. Carrie's world is already a little different. It's like a map with a lot of detail near the You Are Here, then less and less, until it's just blurred colors and traces of lines near the edge .
    There is no guidebook for this. They don't even give you a brochure .
    Half an hour later, Zack appeared from the direction of the track. His Adidas hung over his shoulder, tied together at the laces. His hair was messy and still sweaty. He opened the driver’s door and immediately filled the car with teenage boy funk: the combination of body odor, sweaty clothes, and a splash of the Brut cologne that he always kept in his track bag.
    Thomas said nothing. Zack pulled the 8-Track out of the player and switched the AM radio on instead. Barry Manilow’s melodious lyrics explained, in so many words, that Barry wrote lyrics. Zack shook his head, punched a button, and The Eagles’ Take It to the Limit came on. Zack sang along under his breath, tapping time on the steering wheel.
    I can't get over how it feels to see him alive, setting records, just not being gone. I wish I could tell him everything. He had my back in the lunchroom. Why does he still seem like my older brother, when he’s eighteen and I’m in my fifties? It would be nice to be able to tell him the truth.
    I can see it now. "Zack, I gotta tell you something. I’ve already lived through this once, and in a few months, I might kill you in a car wreck. I’m going to try and change that, but I don’t know if it can be changed. I’m really sorry I killed you." And what’s the end game of that conversation? A long, worried talk with Mom, a consultation with some doc up in Portland, and a long stay in a nice, padded room?
    Nope. I’m on my own.
    Zack drove slowly through their neighborhood, his need for speed quenched for the moment by his own legs.