Unspeakable Read Online Free PDF

with the speed of light, she issued a parental order. "Aw, Mom. Please. Why can't I stay here with Grandpa and Jack? I hate going to the dumb grocery store."
    With her arm held shoulder high and straight as an arrow, she pointed an imperious index finger at the passenger door of the car.
    Jack patted David's shoulder. "Better mind her."
    "Will you still be here when we get back?"
    "We'll see."
    "I hope so. Well, bye, Jack."
    "Bye."
    David trudged around the rear of the car. As he passed his mother, he ducked his head so that she couldn't read his lips and muttered, "You're a mean ol' mom." It was all Jack could do to contain his grin, but he soberly tipped the brim of his hat. "Ma'am." She climbed behind the wheel and closed the door. After securing her seat belt and making sure that David had done the same, she turned to Jack. Through the open car window she signed something that he supposed was " Thank you."
    He watched them drive away. When they reached the main road, they turned toward town. The wrought-iron letters bridging the main drive spelled out CORBETT CATTLE RANCH. Not very elaborate or imaginative, Jack thought, but certainly informative.
    He turned to gaze at the house. It was a neat two-story, white frame structure with dark green shutters accenting the windows. Ferns on stands stood sentinel on either side of the front door. Pots of blooming flowers sat on the edge of each of three steps leading down from the deep porch. Functional columns supported the roof above it. It was a pleasant-looking place, but nothing distinguished it from thousands of other such ranch houses scattered across the south central states.
    Jack crossed the yard and went through a gate, walked past a large barn and a corral where several horses were eating hay from a trough and whisking flies with their tails. Beyond the corral, he opened the gate into a pasture, where he kept on the lookout for cow chips as he moved through the grass.
    He thought of a countless number of reasons why he should retrace his steps to his truck and drive away.
    He had heard the news of the prison break all the way down in Corpus Christi. Even though it had taken place in Arkansas, it was big news across the region. Though most viewers had probably listened with half an ear and readily dismissed it, the story had galvanized him. Almost before he realized it, he was speeding toward Blewer. He had arrived at midnight and checked into a local motel.
    He wasn't particular when it came to lodging, and the room was comfortable enough, but he'd lain awake the remainder of the night, watching the John Wayne Flick Festival on a cable station and arguing with himself about the compulsion that had caused him to abandon a good job and come here.
    Of course he'd been doing that all his adult life—moving at the drop of a hat. He was a loner, an adventurer, a drifter, having no ties to anything or anybody. All his worldly possessions he could carry in his truck. He went where he wanted and stopped when he took a notion. If he liked the place, he stayed. When he tired of it, he left. He had a driver's license and a Social Security number, but no bank account or credit card. He lived on cash earned by doing what interested him at the time.
    At dawn, just as Rio Bravo was ending, he'd gotten up, showered, shaved, and climbed into his truck. While sipping a cup of good coffee at the doughnut shop across the highway from the motel, he reached a compromise decision: It was a bad idea, and risky to boot, but he was going to do it anyhow.
    He had to do it.
    Over the years he had come this way many times, just passing through, taking a curious look around but never stopping. Whenever in the area, he drove past the Corbett place and wondered about the people who lived inside the wrought-iron gate. But his wonder had never been so urgent that he stopped to inquire.
    When this was the last place on the planet he should be, why did he feel it necessary to be here?
    Carl Herbold's