From a Dead Sleep Read Free Page B

local talk amongst the citizens of Winston, where gossip was as common as the fields of purple and white columbines that decorated the surrounding landscape.
    He dreaded the thought of another encounter—especially one that would surely leak to the public—but he knew he hadn’t a choice.
    His heavy breathing and pounding feet hindered Sean from hearing the rattling frame and purring engine of the old, red pickup truck that approached him from behind at a snail’s pace.
    “Hey, Sean!” a gravelly voice sounded out, causing Sean’s head to quickly spin.
    The view of old Milo Coltraine’s gray-bearded face, hanging outside the window of his 1972 Chevy pickup, was a welcome sight. Sean came to a relieved halt and doubled over to suck in air. His hamstrings ached, and his throat felt raw. With his chest mightily expanding and contracting, he scurried up to the driver’s side door, his hand clutched at his side. He hadn’t the energy for a drawn- out explanation of what had happened at the bridge, but Milo was certainly eager to talk.
    “I hear Moses Jones gave ya quite a spankin’ last night!” Milo hollered, following up with his trademark obnoxious laugh that resembled more of a howl.
    The wide suede cowboy hat he always wore made Milo look like an old gold prospector from another era. At the same time, his weathered skin and the space at the center of his crooked teeth invited comparisons to a desert lizard.
    Without wasting another second, Sean’s large hand latched onto the outside handle and quickly yanked the truck’s driver side door open. Milo’s eyes bulged in surprise and his laugh disappeared, not expecting such an intrusion.
    “Move aside, Coltraine!” Sean snarled before shoving his open hand firmly into Milo’s shoulder.
    “Hey!” Milo screamed, his voice reaching even a higher pitch as Sean shoved him effortlessly across the bench seat.
    Milo was a very short, top-heavy man with little coordination. His legs kicked wildly in the air as he struggled to keep from being knocked to his back.
    “What in the hell are ya doin’, boy?”
    The truck never even came to a stop. It coasted slowly as Sean lifted himself up into the driver’s seat with a hardening grunt. The door closed behind him.
    “Sean! Dammit!” Milo yelled, after managing to lean forward enough to latch his frail and freckled fingers onto Sean’s wrist.
    Sean effortlessly shook his arm free and stomped his foot down on the gas pedal. The sudden jolt of acceleration forced Milo’s body to sink deep into his seat. Sean’s legs barely fit around the steering wheel, and his knees dug into the dashboard. He felt like a canned sardine and quickly grabbed a side lever above the floorboard and yanked on it to slide the bench seat back.
    “Jesus, Milo! How short are you?” Sean grumbled more in the form of an accusation than a question.
    A cardboard air freshener, shaped like a pine tree but having long ago lost its scent, swung from the rearview mirror as wind and dust filled the car through the open window. Two empty boxes of cheap cigarettes fell off the dashboard and onto Sean’s lap.
    “I ain’t playin’ ‘round!” Milo threatened after finally managing to sit up straight. “Pull over and get outta my truck!”
    Milo’s breath smelled strongly of corn chips, which was confirmed by the handful of crumpled-up Big Grab Fritos bags wedged into the middle of the seat cushion.
    “I’m not playing neither!” Sean barked without taking his eyes off the road. “Listen to me! A man just died! I need to get into town and tell Lumbergh!”
    Milo didn’t immediately respond, taking a moment to let Sean’s claim bounce around the walls of his head. “Whatcha’ talkin’ about, A man just died? What man?”
    “Back at Meyers Bridge! Just now! He shot himself!”
    Milo hesitated again before responding, glaring suspiciously at the side of Sean’s face.
    “Are you shittin’ me, boy? There’s a dead fella at Meyers