Echoes

Chapter 17

16 months ago:

The world spun as Charlie fought to regain his senses. Crawling out of the mangled wreckage of the Suburban, every movement sent a jolt of pain through his body. The sharp sting in his side told him that at least two ribs were broken, and the sticky warmth dripping down his face confirmed he was bleeding badly. He spat out a mouthful of blood and dirt, cursing under his breath as he staggered to his feet.

The scene around him was chaotic. The Suburban was nothing more than twisted metal, the smell of gasoline and burning rubber filling the air. Ten meters away, Jason lay sprawled in the tall grass, his chest barely rising and falling. He was alive, but just barely. It would be hours, maybe days before he regained consciousness—if he ever did.

Charlie's gaze drifted back to the vehicle. The cadaver he'd carefully planted in the passenger seat had been his last-minute insurance policy, a morbid plan he'd hoped he wouldn't need to execute. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and if there was one thing he had learned in his line of work, it was that survival often required making the ugliest choices.

Every step was agony, but Charlie gritted his teeth and limped back to the Suburban. He had to move quickly; he knew it wouldn't be long before the authorities showed up, alerted by the explosion or the smoke that was beginning to billow from the engine. Reaching inside the vehicle, he unceremoniously dragged the cadaver from the seat, the dead weight making his ribs scream in protest. He tried not to focus on the lifeless eyes staring back at him, instead hoisting the body into the driver's seat with a grunt.

He fumbled with the lighter in his pocket, his fingers slick with blood and sweat. It took three tries before he finally managed to ignite it, the small flame flickering ominously in the dark. Charlie tossed it into the pool of gasoline that had leaked from the ruptured tank, stepping back just in time to avoid the sudden whoosh of flames that engulfed the car.

The heat was intense, the fire hungrily consuming everything in its path. Charlie didn't stick around to watch. He knew what would happen next—the gas tank would blow, the car would be reduced to a charred shell, and the body would be burnt beyond recognition. No one would question the identity of the corpse; they'd assume it was him, Charlie Knight, dead in a tragic accident. It was the perfect cover.

As he turned away from the growing inferno, Charlie felt a pang of guilt. He wasn't the hero Emily believed him to be, nor was he the loyal friend Jason had once trusted with his life. But he was a survivor, and in his world, that was the only thing that mattered.

His mind raced as he limped away from the scene. He needed to disappear, to lay low until the heat died down. There was only one person he could trust now, one person who had always had his back no matter how deep he'd found himself buried. Marie. The thought of her brought a sliver of comfort, a beacon of hope in the chaos. She'd help him, she always had.

Charlie wiped the blood from his face, steeling himself for the long road ahead. The life he'd known was over, and the man he'd been would be left behind in the ashes. But he wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.