The Orange Houses by Paul Griffin

ain’t safe up there with those girls and their box cutters about.”
    â€œI’m coming with you.”
    â€œNo, kid. You’re safe now. Down here, we’re dead to the world. I’ll come back for you.” He drifted into the dark.
    â€œJimmi, please, don’t leave me.” Her voice box was knotted. No way he heard her.
    She grabbed the stove by its handles and hurried into the tunnel. Jimmi was gone. She tried one offshoot tunnel, then another. She forced herself not to run, get lost, die in this maze. She checked her phone, no signal down here. She made her way back to the cave and balled up on the sleeping bag. She clicked off her aids to block out the stove lamp’s hiss. She closed her eyes and hugged herself. She couldn’t block out the chattering inside her head. She was shaking to break her teeth. She gritted them to keep from biting her tongue as she whispered, “Fatima, please, be okay.”

chapter 36
    MOM
    Forty-nine minutes before the hanging . . .
    Sandrine Sykes mopped up a Target aisle. Some kid had flipped a soda. Over the PA Sandrine’s supervisor called, “Drine S., please come to the manager’s office. Immediately.”
    â€œWhat did I do wrong this time?” Drine muttered.
    The manager met Sandrine halfway. “I’m so sorry, Drine.”
    â€œWhat?” Sandrine said. “Somebody’s dead, right? Oh God, don’t tell me.”
    Â 
    Half O House tower #4 crammed into the apartment. Someone from NaNa’s church led folks in prayer. Someone else yelled, “Y’all hush. Check it.” The man dialed up the TV volume.
    The local newscaster said, “. . . abducted on her way home from school by an emotionally disturbed veteran. What makes this story especially horrible is that Mika, as she is known to friends, is hearing impaired. Semprevivo is thought to be armed with a box cutter—”
    â€œTurn it off,” Drine yelled from the hallway. “Please, turn off the . . . sound.”
    Somebody muted the TV. In the hush, Drine Sykes backed into the bathroom and closed the door. Her back to the wall, she slid to the floor. The noise came back, the praying, the TV blasting the news.
    A round of Bless-eds rang out from faraway, then muffled knocking on the bathroom door. This was it. Someone had come to tell her that her daughter had been raped and murdered and left a mangled corpse on the reservoir slope.
    She watched the doorknob turn. NaNa’s lips moved but no sound came from them.
    NaNa closed the door and knelt before Drine to be at her eye level. She took Drine’s hands away from her ears. NaNa’s voice was soft but firm. “ . . . onna be okay.” NaNa held Sandrine’s hands. Both women’s hands seemed old for their age.
    â€œEverybody says he’s crazy.”
    â€œEverybody says , but nobody knows. But you and me, we know Jimmi since he was a kid now, don’t we? We know him, Drine.”
    â€œHe kidnapped my daughter. He’s snapping. He’s gonna—”
    â€œNo, he’s not. He’s not. Hush now. Sister Sykes, Jimmi would kill himself before he brought harm to Tamika. He brings a world of hurt unto himself, but his heart is pure with the Spirit. I come to you as truth’s witness.”

chapter 37
    TAMIKA
    Twenty-four minutes before the hanging . . .
    Mik shivered in the tunnel draft. So much silence as the second hand on her watch clicked slower than the time it takes to cross one dead universe after another. Finally she felt the vibration. She clicked on her aids to confirm the tremors’ source: skate wheels on cracked concrete.
    An invisible fist broke into her abdomen, opened up with long hard fingers and squeezed her stomach.
    Jimmi stepped off his board into the stove light.
    â€œThank you, Jimmi.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œYou came back.”
    â€œOf course. Couple of Shanelle’s crew still up there, hunting