If You Wrong Us by Dawn Klehr

his skin. He’s still a boy—an overstretched baby.
    I set him down by the light and prop him up per Becca’s instructions.
    My heart squeezes in my chest. This is so wrong. I wonder what I would do to somebody if they did the same thing to Cassie. But I know I can’t go there right now. We are simply doing what we have to do. It’s what I keep telling myself. It’s just a game. Only a game.
    Yet the battered face and bruised body that’s currently leaning up against the lamppost tells a very different story. We’ve stopped here because we need light, and Becca wants to alert Travis. But I want to delay as long as possible. Where we’re going next is anything but pleasant.
    “Christ, what’s that smell?” I ask, trying not to dry heave.
    “Urine and feces,” Becca answers easily. Unaffected. “I’m sure the pawn defecated on himself during our struggle. It’s pretty common in this type of situation.”
    The fact that she’d know this makes me go cold.
    “Here,” she says, handing me the newspaper. “Just like we planned to do with Travis.”
    We planned to document everything with Travis. Take photos with dates—mark the moment when we took him hostage—in case we needed it later. Now, even though our hostage has changed, the plan has not.
    Holding my breath, I unfold today’s newspaper, rest it on Ethan’s chest, and take a photo with the untraceable prepaid cellphone we picked up a few weeks ago.
    I hold out the phone and show the photo to Becca. She nods, so I take the newspaper off Ethan’s chest, make sure he still has a pulse, and sling him up over my shoulder. We have to walk now.
    Becca shines the light in my path so I can see where I’m going. I raise my eyes to the sky instead, hoping to see Anna’s Star. Though I know it wouldn’t guide me in this direction. It would point me in the direction to get my ass straight home. Shit. Mom would be so ashamed if she could see me now.
    I slow my pace, almost expecting to hear a crack of thunder. I think we’re making the Gods very angry tonight.
    Before I met Becca, I never committed a crime. Not one. No drugs, underage drinking, or speeding tickets. No truancy, assault, or vandalism. I never even pocketed a stick of Laffy Taffy from the gas station like everyone else did back in middle school before the Friday night football games.
    As we walk, I tick off the offenses one by one. I’ve counted a minimum of ten—most of them felonies. Several involving a freaking thirteen-year-old. And if they figure it out, I’ll be charged as an adult and put away for the rest of my life. No question.
    Still, I let Becca lead. Maybe because that’s how it’s always been with us. Maybe because this plan has let me escape what’s really happening in my life. The ultimate distraction. Maybe because doing something feels better than doing nothing .
    It’s like I’m under some kind of spell. Like the way the Manson family followed Charles. Or the way Clyde supposedly followed Bonnie. Or like that one woman in Canada who helped her husband kidnap and kill those girls.
    Love can make monsters out of us. Or is it despair? Whatever it is, it works. I don’t feel like me anymore. I feel like I’ve been swallowed up by a darkness that I never knew was inside. It’s a terrifying place to be—so bad, I’ll do anything to escape it.
    Even continue down the hill to follow Becca’s light.

19
    B ECCA
    E xecuting— executing, ha ha! —a plan like mine required a lot of work. And time. It clearly wasn’t for the faint of heart, or for those looking for the instant gratification most of us thrive on.
    It was about precision, details, sacrifice. I’d learn it would also take nerves of steel to pull off, especially as my game plan adapted and changed, taking on a life of its own. Originally, the objective of the game was to sic the police on Travis.
    He’d given me a lot of evidence on his own: his newly painted Jeep with a huge dent that had been cheaply