“Was? Did you kill Randall?”
He lifts a hand to my cheek. “I saw the light leave his eyes.”
I push harder on the wound as hot liquid seeps onto my cold hands. “We have to get you to the hospital.”
He shakes his head, swallowing like it’s painful. “It’s a stomach shot. I had a window of time. I could see you one last time, or I could get to the hospital and leave you to worry about me.” He smiles weakly. “I couldn’t stand to see you vulnerable and scared. What if you went back for me?”
Tears start to fill my eyes, again trying to make it so I can’t see everything. “No. You have to see a doctor.”
He laughs, cringing in pain. “I am a doctor, let me tell you. No one lives this amount of time with a stomach wound. I’m on borrowed time.”
I slump over the wound, shaking my head. “Borrow a little more. Don’t leave me.”
He lifts a red hand, running it across my cheek. “I won’t ever leave you.” His hand drops to my chest, patting my heart. “I will live here, in the light we made.”
Sobs rip through me. “No.”
He coughs, and I can hear the death rattle. I pull out my phone, realizing I don’t know the address. Desperation and defeat fight for the top spot in my heart. I push off him, turning and running outside. I get to the street, dialing 911.
The operator asks me questions, but I shout at her, “1901 Fairview Avenue. A man has been shot. He’s a surgeon at a hospital in Seattle. He says it’s a stomach wound and he’s dying. Please hurry.” She shouts things at me, but I run back inside, scrambling with my fingers to find light switches so the emergency workers can see their way inside. I hit something and a door opens. I hit something else and light flickers in the back. It’s enough. I leave the door open and run to the flat. He’s still breathing. I cling to him, holding my hand over the wound.
He opens one bloodshot eye. “Why are your hands so cold?”
It makes me smile through the sniffles and tears. “They’re coming. I called for an ambulance. I told them you’re a doctor from Seattle and that you’ve been shot.”
He winces. “They’re going to be looking for me. My blood is at the scene where Randall is dead. They’re going to know I was hurt, and Rory knows I was a surgeon, doesn’t he?”
I swallow hard, nodding after a moment.
“You have to run. You have to leave me here.”
I shake my head but he pushes on me. “GO NOW!” His voice cracks.
I stand, backing away. “I can’t leave you.”
He pats his own chest. “You live in here. You can’t leave me, ever. A person’s heart can’t be given away more than one time. After that it’s not real. It’s forced. I gave you my whole heart, and you gave me yours. We don’t need anything else.” The sirens in the distance change the subject for us. “Go, now. Go to the place you hid from the monsters.”
I turn and run. I don’t look back. I can’t watch him die, and I can’t stay and get caught too. Rory will win. Our best chance is with me free to kill him. I won’t have any fancy way of doing it. I have only one way.
I take the car and drive as fast as I can to North Carolina. His cash is still in the car, thank God. I get some drive-thru food, suffer through it, and head for Pat’s house just as the sun starts to come up. I have no way to contact Antoine, but I have to assume he isn’t in on this. He’s innocent and yet guilty by association. He will give my aunt to Rory and let him kill her but just not know that’s what happened.
I park a block behind the house and run along the road, cutting through yards and hopping over fences, with a great deal of effort. I imagine it was the reason I stayed so skinny, to make running and hopping fences simple.
When I land on the grass with a thud in Pat’s yard, I scan for any movement. I don’t cut across the grass but hug the perimeter. There is a sedan parked out front. It’s beige and has two guys in it. I almost roll my eyes.
I grab the hide-a-key from the planter and unlock the basement door. Slipping into the dark, I close the door and lock it. The shadows in the house remind me I’m scared of the dark. The ache in my heart reminds me I no longer care.
I hurry up the basement stairs, sneaking past the windows on the main floor and rushing the second-story stairs. I creep into Pat’s room, pulling down the attic stairs inside her closet.
The light from the morning sun fills the attic. It’s small and bright, with windows everywhere. I crawl up the stairs, pulling them up with me when I get inside. The space hasn’t changed. There are still Barbie bins and coloring books. The dollhouse is dusty and smaller than I remember it being.