And now she wanted to be dead. Fuck him, fuck his love for her. First he’d been chased off, then he’d gone back to her, and then they’d taken flight together—practically in each other’s arms. But Doris no longer had faith in anyone.
Glen spotted a small, dark mass flit from one clump of grass to another—a hare darting for cover. It drew Glen’s attention to his surroundings: the gray sky, the cattle fence not far off, the highway at a distance. He gazed at the lights, heard the faint drone of the vehicles. The world besetting the ranch—his and Doris's puny world—loomed closer now. It reminded him.
Promises lacked any real substance, Glen thought. Doris had to know that better than anyone. Our time, our escape was coming to an end. Just that.
He turned to check on Doris. She had fallen behind and was almost too small to make out in the gloom—a speck in the bleakness. He sprinted over and planted the rifle butt in the soil.
“Jesus, I’m sorry.”
She had dropped to her knees.
“Forgive me.”
No reply, not in words anyway. The sight of her grief wrung Glen’s heart. The cause and meaning of his panic and fear cleared off, like beads of vapor wiped from a pane of glass. Glen knelt down and embraced her. Cold wet seeped into his pants.
Rainwater above and below. Warm tears on his hand.
“Don’t worry, my love. You haven’t lost me.”
Hope, give her hope.
I’ll kill you.
§§§§
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