You Can Run

Orpheus Wheeler stared nervously into the brackish water of the small pond, half- expecting the evidence of his deed to somehow bubble to the surface. But how could that be? His brother's car had sunk fast to the bottom, and was by this time half-buried in slimy sediment. The pond was not deep, and was situated on an abandoned farm a quarter mile behind the modest Mississippi home where Orpheus lived.
Maybe Wade's car would never be found. Years back, the three-acre property had been officially condemned by the township for delinquent taxes and numerous code violations. An old wooden farmhouse a few yards away was about as sturdy as a toothpick structure. If anybody ever went fishing or even swimming in the pond, they'd probably never find the car.
The perfect place to dump evidence.
"Ain't nobody gonna find no evidence!" he reprimanded himself aloud, then looked around fearfully to see if anyone else had suddenly appeared and heard him. Only the crickets and the wind. He breathed a sigh of relief.
He looked at his watch, realizing that he couldn't make out the position of the hands without his tiny flashlight, which he then pulled out of his hip pocket. 10:01. If one of the neighbors saw him returning home, Orpheus would simply claim that he had to answer the call of nature.
You don't have a toilet? Thing isn't flushing. So you walked a quarter mile in the dark? Yes. No! I needed a breath of fresh air! Why didn't you open the window? The window was stuck.
His imaginings grew dark as that October evening, and Orpheus pictured himself sitting inside a cramped room, a lamp with a 60-watt bulb glaring at him, while he was grilled by the cops. He had heard stories. Hell, he'd seen TV shows; he knew what went on during those interrogations.
"The police ain't gonna get involved!" Damn it! Orpheus thought. He had done it again. Another wary glance verified that he was still alone and out of anyone's earshot. He was relatively certain that no one had seen him come here, but decided then to wait until 11:00, or even midnight, to return home. Just to be safe. Hopefully he wouldn't be missed.
Almost certainly questions would be asked, and he would have to field them. It was just an accident, he could explain. He had merely been curious, then careless. Why try to hide it? Had he been more cautious, this whole mess would never have occurred. What would they do, shoot him? He gave a short, embarrassed laugh. He would just come clean with-
So why the hell did you put the car underwater?
Orpheus wished he knew. To call his decision to conceal his act impulsive was wrong; it was clearly premeditated. The only thing to do was to deny all knowledge, deny all responsibility, if he were questioned.
Oh, you'll be questioned.
Orpheus turned his attention towards the front of the abandoned farmhouse, noticing how the door hung on a single hinge. What if someone were hiding inside? What if someone had seen everything, knew everything? Now Orpheus really began to panic.
But the nemesis that he so feared was not to come from some old farmhouse, or
rise from the "depths" of a little old pond. Retribution was closer, creeping up on him silently and patiently.
Trembling all over, Orpheus turned around. Behind him stood his vengeful brother Wade, his blotchy face split with a jagged scowl that resembled an open wound. He approached Orpheus menacingly, his hands at his sides, his fingers curling with fearsome anticipation.
"Orpheus!" he croaked, shuffling forwards until he was inches from his petrified younger sibling.
"What did you do with my Matchbox® Jaguar MK10?"