"Slau_0440335574_oeb_itr_r1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Slaughter Karin - [Grant County 05] - Faithless (html))

IN THE BEGINNING

Rain had saturated the forest floor, soaking twigs and fallen limbs so that they bent without snapping. The leaves were laid in a thick, wet carpet, and their footsteps made a shushing sound as they walked deeper into the woods. Genie didn’t speak to him, did not ask questions. His disappointment weighed on her, and she felt the profound sadness of a child who has suddenly lost a much-loved adult’s approval.

She stumbled but he caught her, his hand gripping her arm firmly, reassuringly, in the darkness. She had spent a lifetime in the company of those hands, growing from child to teenager, always knowing they would be there to comfort and protect.

“A little farther,” he said, his usually gentle voice somehow made low by the dark night.

Her eyes had adjusted, and she realized she knew this place. She saw the clearing up ahead. She stopped, but he pushed her, this time his hands not as tender, not as reassuring.

“Go,” he said.

As always, Genie did as she was told, walking straight ahead until the tips of her shoes felt resistance, a rise in the earth barring her way. Unhindered by the trees, the moon shone brightly, illuminating the large, rectangular hole that had recently been dug into the ground. Tucked neatly inside was an open wooden box with a flat bottom and high sides. On the ground beside this was the lid, several thin slats of wood nailed neatly to a crossbar, a metal pipe piercing the middle like a small circular mouth opened in surprise. A shovel was wedged into the mound of fresh earth alongside it, waiting.

He put a firm hand on the small of her back. The pressure was gentle as he said, “Get in.”

IN THE BEGINNING

Rain had saturated the forest floor, soaking twigs and fallen limbs so that they bent without snapping. The leaves were laid in a thick, wet carpet, and their footsteps made a shushing sound as they walked deeper into the woods. Genie didn’t speak to him, did not ask questions. His disappointment weighed on her, and she felt the profound sadness of a child who has suddenly lost a much-loved adult’s approval.

She stumbled but he caught her, his hand gripping her arm firmly, reassuringly, in the darkness. She had spent a lifetime in the company of those hands, growing from child to teenager, always knowing they would be there to comfort and protect.

“A little farther,” he said, his usually gentle voice somehow made low by the dark night.

Her eyes had adjusted, and she realized she knew this place. She saw the clearing up ahead. She stopped, but he pushed her, this time his hands not as tender, not as reassuring.

“Go,” he said.

As always, Genie did as she was told, walking straight ahead until the tips of her shoes felt resistance, a rise in the earth barring her way. Unhindered by the trees, the moon shone brightly, illuminating the large, rectangular hole that had recently been dug into the ground. Tucked neatly inside was an open wooden box with a flat bottom and high sides. On the ground beside this was the lid, several thin slats of wood nailed neatly to a crossbar, a metal pipe piercing the middle like a small circular mouth opened in surprise. A shovel was wedged into the mound of fresh earth alongside it, waiting.

He put a firm hand on the small of her back. The pressure was gentle as he said, “Get in.”