Slow. Real. Knowing.
She falls.
Asleep.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, and I feel her in my arms. My own eyes try to sleep as well, but they don’t. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought. I can’t even hear the river anymore.
When.
The figure enters the cave. He walks in and pauses. He sees. Us.
He has a weapon. He looks. Smiles.
Even though I can’t see his face, I know he smiles. “What do you want?” I ask, afraid but quiet so I won’t wake the girl in my arms.
The figure says nothing. He keeps stepping forward. Slow. Reeling. No.
There’s a sound, like a slit, and smoke rises from the weapon the figure is holding. It rises up to his face and wraps itself around it. It tells me that something terrible has happened, and Rebecca Conlon stirs slightly on my lap.
A match is struck.
Light.
I look at her.
Know!
This.
She’s hurt, for sure, because I see blood dripping from her heart. Slow. Real.
I look up. The figure holds the lit match and I see his face. His eyes and lips and expression belong to me.
“But you promised,” I tell him, and I scream, to try and wake up. I need to wake up and know that I would never ever hurt her.
CHAPTER 13
As usual, Dad and I went to work on Saturday, at the Conlon place.
Rather than keep you in suspense (if you even still care by now), I might as well let you know that this time she was there, and she was as brilliant as ever.
I was still working under the house when she cameto me.
“Hey, I missed you last week,” I said when she showed, and immediately chastised myself in my head — the statement was so ambiguous. I mean, did it mean
I missed you
as in I just didn’t see you (which was the intended message), or did it mean
I was really heartbroken that you weren’t here, y’ stupid bitch?
I wasn’t sure what me I was sending out. Overall, I could only hope she thought I was saying we just didn’t see each other. You can’t seem too desperate in a situation like that, even if your heart is annihilating you from the inside.
She said, “Well …” God, she said it with that voice that made her real. “I wasn’t here on purpose.” What the hell was this? “What?” I dared to ask. “You heard.” She grinned. “I wasn’t here …”
“Because of me?”
She nodded.
Was this bad or good?
It sounded bad. Very bad.
But then, it also sounded good, in some sick, twisted way. Was she having me on? No.
“I didn’t wanna be here because I was” — she swallowed — “scared to make a fool out of myself — like last time.”
“Last time?” I asked, confused. “Wasn’t it me who said something stupid?” It was me all right, who said, “I like workin’ here.” I remembered it and cringed.
We were both crouched down under the house and these wooden beams hovered over us, warning us that one loss of concentration would leave our heads nice and bruised. I made sure not to stand up straight.
“At least you said
something.”
She pushed her argument.
Suddenly, something poured out of me.
I said, “I wouldn’t hurt you. Well, at least I’d try like hell not to. I promise.”
“Pardon?” She stepped away a bit. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if … Did you have an okay weekend last week?” Drivel. Drivel talk.
“Yeah.” She nodded and stayed where she was. “I was at a friend of mine’s house.” Then she slippedit in. “And then we went over to this guy’s place — Dale.” Dale.
Why was that name so familiar?
Oh no.
Oh, great.
“Dale Perry?”
Dale Perry.
Greg’s mate.
Typical.
A hero like that.
I could tell she really liked the guy. More than me. He was a winner. People liked him. Greg did.
Though he could depend on me.
“Yeah, Dale” she replied — confirming my worst fears — nodding and smiling. “You know him, do you?”
“Yeah, I know him.” It dawned on me then as well that this Rebecca Conlon was most likely one of the girls in the
She falls.
Asleep.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, and I feel her in my arms. My own eyes try to sleep as well, but they don’t. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought. I can’t even hear the river anymore.
When.
The figure enters the cave. He walks in and pauses. He sees. Us.
He has a weapon. He looks. Smiles.
Even though I can’t see his face, I know he smiles. “What do you want?” I ask, afraid but quiet so I won’t wake the girl in my arms.
The figure says nothing. He keeps stepping forward. Slow. Reeling. No.
There’s a sound, like a slit, and smoke rises from the weapon the figure is holding. It rises up to his face and wraps itself around it. It tells me that something terrible has happened, and Rebecca Conlon stirs slightly on my lap.
A match is struck.
Light.
I look at her.
Know!
This.
She’s hurt, for sure, because I see blood dripping from her heart. Slow. Real.
I look up. The figure holds the lit match and I see his face. His eyes and lips and expression belong to me.
“But you promised,” I tell him, and I scream, to try and wake up. I need to wake up and know that I would never ever hurt her.
CHAPTER 13
As usual, Dad and I went to work on Saturday, at the Conlon place.
Rather than keep you in suspense (if you even still care by now), I might as well let you know that this time she was there, and she was as brilliant as ever.
I was still working under the house when she cameto me.
“Hey, I missed you last week,” I said when she showed, and immediately chastised myself in my head — the statement was so ambiguous. I mean, did it mean
I missed you
as in I just didn’t see you (which was the intended message), or did it mean
I was really heartbroken that you weren’t here, y’ stupid bitch?
I wasn’t sure what me I was sending out. Overall, I could only hope she thought I was saying we just didn’t see each other. You can’t seem too desperate in a situation like that, even if your heart is annihilating you from the inside.
She said, “Well …” God, she said it with that voice that made her real. “I wasn’t here on purpose.” What the hell was this? “What?” I dared to ask. “You heard.” She grinned. “I wasn’t here …”
“Because of me?”
She nodded.
Was this bad or good?
It sounded bad. Very bad.
But then, it also sounded good, in some sick, twisted way. Was she having me on? No.
“I didn’t wanna be here because I was” — she swallowed — “scared to make a fool out of myself — like last time.”
“Last time?” I asked, confused. “Wasn’t it me who said something stupid?” It was me all right, who said, “I like workin’ here.” I remembered it and cringed.
We were both crouched down under the house and these wooden beams hovered over us, warning us that one loss of concentration would leave our heads nice and bruised. I made sure not to stand up straight.
“At least you said
something.”
She pushed her argument.
Suddenly, something poured out of me.
I said, “I wouldn’t hurt you. Well, at least I’d try like hell not to. I promise.”
“Pardon?” She stepped away a bit. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if … Did you have an okay weekend last week?” Drivel. Drivel talk.
“Yeah.” She nodded and stayed where she was. “I was at a friend of mine’s house.” Then she slippedit in. “And then we went over to this guy’s place — Dale.” Dale.
Why was that name so familiar?
Oh no.
Oh, great.
“Dale Perry?”
Dale Perry.
Greg’s mate.
Typical.
A hero like that.
I could tell she really liked the guy. More than me. He was a winner. People liked him. Greg did.
Though he could depend on me.
“Yeah, Dale” she replied — confirming my worst fears — nodding and smiling. “You know him, do you?”
“Yeah, I know him.” It dawned on me then as well that this Rebecca Conlon was most likely one of the girls in the
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