“Of course not,” I say, nodding as if he’s just informed me that he won’t be taking an umbrella with him since it’s not raining outside. There’s a long pause between us. “You know, you’re the only guy I’ve ever been with.”
“Is that supposed to impress me, or please me, or something?”
“No. I just thought you should know.”
“Okay,” he says. He picks the tire iron up again and I close my eyes. I kind of think he’s going to break my neck again, like maybe he’s testing my limits, like I do, like maybe he’s going to see how long it takes me to heal this time. But I give him too much credit; he’s not that clever.
Nevertheless I’m shocked when he drives the tire iron through the unhealed wound he gave me earlier. The pain is excruciating.
I guess I black out again, or die again, I’m not sure which. I’m not sure there’s a difference.
°
I head home to make sure Ben and Liesel are okay. Clark’s already gone and Jasper is safe, at least so far, so Ben and Liesel are the only other people in the world I love, so it stands to reason they’re the only other people that are in danger. I land on the fire escape outside Liesel’s bedroom and wrench open the window. Liesel sees me, or perhaps hears me from the hallway and comes running.
“Bonnie!” she shouts as I climb through her tiny window. She rushes over and grabs my hand as I angle my long legs through the small space, nearly smashing Joan against the sill in my awkwardness. Once inside, I collapse on the bed. Joan is damp with my blood and tears, mewing angrily at either being wet and bloody, or having nearly been killed, maybe both. “What’s wrong?” Liesel asks, sitting next to me and trying to look past my hair and into my tear-stained face.
“Clark is gone,” I choke on the words. “I went to his apartment and it’s completely destroyed,” I say. Liesel looks at the back of my shirt torn open by the bullets, and covered in blood, my skin still riddled with half-healed bullet wounds.
“What happened to you?” she asks.
“There must have been someone still there. They shot me about a thousand times. I never even saw them. But when I woke up they had taken the stone, which can only mean that it was Lola, or someone working with Lola…” I trail off miserably, trying to shush Joan with haphazard strokes on the head. Liesel nods, but her face crinkles up with concern, sadness creeping into the corners.
“Have you seen the news?” she asks, the corners deepening.
“No, why?” Even as I hear the words come out of my mouth I know it’s Lola. What else could it be? Liesel takes me by the hand into the living room, where Ben sits in front of the TV, his eyes wide, his cheeks pale. The TV is on, but muted. I plunge ungracefully onto the hardwood floor and watch the news reports come in from Los Angeles. There’s actual grainy night footage of Lola, in flight, kicking a freaking helicopter out of the sky.
“Oh my god,” I say, setting Joan onto the floor, where she begins to lick herself clean.
“Yeah,” Liesel says quietly.
“How long has this been going on?”
“It started a few days ago…right Ben?” Liesel asks. Ben nods silently and Liesel continues. “So, it must be, I don’t know, maybe, three or four days now?”
“Oh my god,” I say again. Cursing myself for taking so long with all my damn soul searching. My dream vision thing must have had me out for days, not just one night. “How many people have died?” I ask, my voice catching quietly in my throat.
“A lot,” she says, lowering her head.
“I think it’s 1231 at last count,” Ben says. “Including law enforcement,” he adds quickly, never taking his eyes off the television. Liesel kicks him. “Ouch!” he laments, rubbing his shin and then looking at me. “Oh, sorry Bonnie. It’s, it’s a lot of people. Mostly law enforcement at this point. It was actually under 500 and they thought mostly civilians that got caught in the crossfire as she was taking over, but then on the first night she just went batshit crazy and flew over the FBI and LAPD perimeters dropping – well they’re saying they were grenades. There’s a lot of really gruesome footage. She’s also got hostages, they think.”
“What!?” I say, swinging my head around to face him.
“Yeah, there’s some 1600 people unaccounted for and they think she’s using them as hostages. Like the first day they cut the power, and she sent one out with a note pinned to her shirt to have it turned back on or she was going to start killing people. They called her bluff and she killed some guy. Threw him from inside the perimeter into one of the FBI trailers. She must have thrown him half a mile. They haven’t even been able to identify the guy yet. So far no more hostages have been killed as far as they know, but they don’t know if she’s feeding them or using them for target practice or what because she’s not talking. She’s just kind of announced herself as the King of Los Angeles and she’s even got her people building a wall,” Ben says pointing to the screen where you can faintly make out what looks like a wall being built partway inside Lola’s perimeter.