The Search Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Geoff Dyer
closing. He pulled on his clothes, warm from the heater, damp. He tossed a few things from the bathroom into his hold-all and moved out into the corridor, locking the door behind
him. A sign said emergency exit. It had not been used in a long time and he had to wrench it noisily open. The fire escape was behind the neon welcoming you to the Monroe Diner. He pulled the
emergency door shut and zig-zagged down the rusted steps. Rain purpled and greened around him. Hanging from the lowest rung he dropped to the wet tarmac. He moved round the parking lot to the car
he had seen from his window. By now they would be on their way up to his room. All the doors were locked. He scanned the ground, found a large stone. Lightning flashed lazily. When the thunder came
he hurled the stone through the driver’s window. As he opened the door the interior light flashed on for a moment, a dim echo of lightning. He swept glass from the seat, pulled the ignition
wires from the steering column. As soon as he touched them together the engine sparked into life.
He edged round the diner and out on to the rain-slick street. Two hundred yards down the road he flicked on the headlights. In a film now, he thought to himself, someone hidden in the back seat
would put a gun to his head and whisper, ‘Freeze.’ Suddenly nervous, he looked over his shoulder, almost disappointed to find no one there.
Wind and rain howled through the broken window. He was chilled from his damp clothes. Twenty miles out of town he pulled over and clambered awkwardly into a sweater and jeans.
He stretched the wet shirt over the broken window. It bulged and sagged and made no difference, but with dry clothes and the heater blowing he felt better.
As soon as he was warm he became sleepy. When he felt himself nodding off he slapped his face and turned off the heater until he was cold and alert, miserable again. Alternating between shivers
and yawns. There was no question of stopping – he had to put as much distance as possible between himself and Carver before morning. Assuming it was Carver. He went over the scene back in
Monroe and realized that for all he knew the occupants of the car were simply travellers who had decided to rest up for the night instead of pressing on through the storm. Rather than being a
stroke of luck that he had been at the window as the car drove in, it could equally have been whatever was the opposite of a stroke of luck – he was too tired to think of the word, maybe
there wasn’t one – that they came along when they did and set off his paranoia like an alarm. Shit! He pounded the steering wheel and accidentally sounded the horn. He reassured himself
by playing the scene over again, this time focusing on his reactions – on how it hadn’t occurred to him even for a moment that the car hadn’t come for him. Even if they
didn’t convince, the double negatives at least obscured the issue. Anyway, there was no going back. There was no going back but either way, he thought, going back over the same question
again, he should get rid of the car as soon as he could – but wherever he left it it would still point in his direction. As soon as they found the car, any lead he had built up effectively
counted for nothing – but he couldn’t abandon the car in an unfindable place without marooning himself. The relentless orbit of thoughts tired him but at least, he reasoned, setting off
the whole process again, at least it kept him from falling asleep.
The rain showed no sign of letting up. When he could barely keep his eyes open he pulled off the road and squelched up a narrow lane. He turned off the engine, climbed over the seat and curled
up in the back.
Rain hammered on the roof of his dreams.
CHAPTER THREE
He was woken by the alarm of bird calls, a wet sun squinting through branches. He opened the door and pissed yellow into the trees. All around was the slow drip of last
night’s rain. His mouth was dry and he cupped a
him. A sign said emergency exit. It had not been used in a long time and he had to wrench it noisily open. The fire escape was behind the neon welcoming you to the Monroe Diner. He pulled the
emergency door shut and zig-zagged down the rusted steps. Rain purpled and greened around him. Hanging from the lowest rung he dropped to the wet tarmac. He moved round the parking lot to the car
he had seen from his window. By now they would be on their way up to his room. All the doors were locked. He scanned the ground, found a large stone. Lightning flashed lazily. When the thunder came
he hurled the stone through the driver’s window. As he opened the door the interior light flashed on for a moment, a dim echo of lightning. He swept glass from the seat, pulled the ignition
wires from the steering column. As soon as he touched them together the engine sparked into life.
He edged round the diner and out on to the rain-slick street. Two hundred yards down the road he flicked on the headlights. In a film now, he thought to himself, someone hidden in the back seat
would put a gun to his head and whisper, ‘Freeze.’ Suddenly nervous, he looked over his shoulder, almost disappointed to find no one there.
Wind and rain howled through the broken window. He was chilled from his damp clothes. Twenty miles out of town he pulled over and clambered awkwardly into a sweater and jeans.
He stretched the wet shirt over the broken window. It bulged and sagged and made no difference, but with dry clothes and the heater blowing he felt better.
As soon as he was warm he became sleepy. When he felt himself nodding off he slapped his face and turned off the heater until he was cold and alert, miserable again. Alternating between shivers
and yawns. There was no question of stopping – he had to put as much distance as possible between himself and Carver before morning. Assuming it was Carver. He went over the scene back in
Monroe and realized that for all he knew the occupants of the car were simply travellers who had decided to rest up for the night instead of pressing on through the storm. Rather than being a
stroke of luck that he had been at the window as the car drove in, it could equally have been whatever was the opposite of a stroke of luck – he was too tired to think of the word, maybe
there wasn’t one – that they came along when they did and set off his paranoia like an alarm. Shit! He pounded the steering wheel and accidentally sounded the horn. He reassured himself
by playing the scene over again, this time focusing on his reactions – on how it hadn’t occurred to him even for a moment that the car hadn’t come for him. Even if they
didn’t convince, the double negatives at least obscured the issue. Anyway, there was no going back. There was no going back but either way, he thought, going back over the same question
again, he should get rid of the car as soon as he could – but wherever he left it it would still point in his direction. As soon as they found the car, any lead he had built up effectively
counted for nothing – but he couldn’t abandon the car in an unfindable place without marooning himself. The relentless orbit of thoughts tired him but at least, he reasoned, setting off
the whole process again, at least it kept him from falling asleep.
The rain showed no sign of letting up. When he could barely keep his eyes open he pulled off the road and squelched up a narrow lane. He turned off the engine, climbed over the seat and curled
up in the back.
Rain hammered on the roof of his dreams.
CHAPTER THREE
He was woken by the alarm of bird calls, a wet sun squinting through branches. He opened the door and pissed yellow into the trees. All around was the slow drip of last
night’s rain. His mouth was dry and he cupped a
Similar Books
Hidden ( CSI Reilly Steel #3)
CASEY HILL
The Florentine Deception
Carey Nachenberg
Room for Love
Andrea Meyer
Brie Learns Restraint (After Graduation, #5)
Red Phoenix
Saving Max
Antoinette van Heugten
The Case of the Piggy Bank Thief
Martha Freeman
The Shoemaker's Wife
Adriana Trigiani
His Young Queen: (Steel Jackals MC #1)
Tiff P. Raine