Desert Places by Blake Crouch, Excerpt from Chapter 5
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I wanted my glasses. Do you think I could have my things now? Oh, you mean this Nonchalantly. He pulled out my 357 out of his jeans pockets. I did tell you to bring the smith and Wesson didn't I? His voice filled with angry sarcasm as his cold eyes dilated and burned through me. I'm sorry, I said, shifting uncontrollably on the couch, mouth running dry. Wouldn't you have done the same? I mean, I didn't know. Trying to put me in your shoes won't work. He walked to the record player and lifted the needle. The cabin now was an absolute silence. He moved to the center of the living room. You ****** up Andy, I told you just bring clothes and toiletries and you brought a gun in a box of bullets. He spoke casually as though we lounged on the back porch, smoking cigarettes when you don't follow my instructions, that hurts both of us. And the only thing I can think to do is show you that not following them isn't in your best interest. He opened the cylinder of the 357 and showed me five empty chambers. You ****** up once, so we'll load one bullet. He took around from his pocket and slipped it into the chamber. I grew sick with fear, Orson, you can't, Andy Andy Andy never tell a man with a loaded gun what to do? He spun the cylinder, flipping it back into the gun and cocked the hammer. Let me explain how this punishes me also, because I don't want you to think I'm doing this just for kicks. I've gone to a great deal of trouble to bring you out here. And if your luck suddenly runs out and the 20 chance of this bullet being in the hot chamber bites your ***. I've done a lot of work for nothing, but I'm willing to take that chance to teach you a lesson about following my instructions. When he pointed the gun at my chest, I uselessly held up my hands. He squeezed the trigger click and took a bite of his apple. I could hardly breathe, and as I buried my face in my hands, Orson put the record back on. The music started again and he snapped his fingers to the offbeat, smiling warmly at me as he returned to the couch. When he'd removed the round from the chamber, he set the gun on the floor and plopped down beside me. A wave of nausea watered my mouth and I thought I might be sick. Holy ******* ****! He's out of his ******* mind! I'm going to die! I'm alone in a desert with a psychopath who is my brother, my ******* brother. Andy, you're free to roam around the house now and in the desert. The shed outside is off limits and I'm gonna lock your door every night when you go to bed. You can quit pissing in that bowl shower at the well by the outhouse. It's cold, but you'll get used to it. The electricity comes from a new generator out back, but I've been too busy to put in plumbing. May I use the outhouse now? I asked, scarcely able to muster my voice. Sure. Always let me know when you leave. Don't ever want to have to come, find you still shaking. I crossed the room and opened the door to sunlight, ripening upon the russet wilderness. I shivered. Girding the white bathrobe I'd worn for the last two days more snugly around my waist. When I reached back to shut the door, Orson stood in the threshold. I have missed you, he said. I looked at him and for a second he was vulnerable, like the brother I loved when we were young. His eyes pleaded for something, but I was in no condition to consider what they wanted. Who was she? I asked. He knew damn well who I meant. But he said nothing. We just stared at each other, a connection kindling that had lain dormant almost to its death. There remained combustible matter between us. I wasn't going to wait for him to close the door, so I turned away to walk down into the chilled desert. Andy, he said, and I stopped on the steps, but I didn't look back. Just a waitress.