Violet Grenade(105)

Angie is about to drop down into the car when I catch sight of Eric. He has the gun, the gun I figured was smoldering inside the fire. He points it directly at Angie.

Cain yells her name, and Angie straightens. I don't know why she does it. She should have jumped inside and stepped on the gas, but now Eric has a clear shot, and he's going to kill her. Then he's going to kill us all.

Angie utters a single word.

Just one.

It's enough.

Angie's Doberman appears from the smoke like a hound from the mouth of hell. He's on Eric in a heartbeat. The gun fires at the sky, and my heart explodes inside my chest. As Wilson takes himself to bed, covers his frail body with warm blankets, I'm reunited with fear. The fear of losing another person I care about. I scream for Angie to get inside the car.

But Angie stays put.

She watches as her dog tears into the man, snapping jaws and bloodied muzzle. She could pull him off at any moment. It might take only a sharp word to stop the dog's attack. But she doesn't do a thing. She only stands by, overseeing the officer's death. The same man who chose each and every girl who worked this home and hand-delivered them to Madam Karina.

When Eric's fingers stop twitching, Angie pats the side of her leg. The dog trots over, chest damp with blood. With the dog by her side, Angie takes three quick steps toward Mr. Hodge and Madam Karina. The madam's eyes are closed, her checkered dress blackened by smoke and debris, but Mr. Hodge is fully conscious. He scoots backward and drags his lover after him, away from the woman whose dog just killed a man.

Angie points a thick arm at Mr. Hodge and says something. Then she looks at the few girls still crowded around the roaring house, engulfed in flames, and says something to them, too. Satisfied, Angie turns toward our idling vehicle and gets inside. The dog jumps over her and lies across Poppet's lap, dampening her clothes with blood. I wonder how Kali survived being poisoned, but then I think of how much Angie loves those dogs. If anyone could've saved one of them, it's her. As Poppet hugs the animal, my heart aches for Angie and the dog that didn't make it.

Angie breathes hard for several seconds, and then turns to Cain and me in the back seat. "No one will ever hurt you guys again," she says with finality. Angie looks at Poppet next and nods. Then, slowly, she puts the car into reverse and backs out the gate. 

Gravel crunches under our tires as I gaze at the house.

Eric is dead, and Madam Karina hasn't opened her eyes in a long time, but it's the girls I watch. They hold one another and look around for someone to rescue them. I hate them for what they put me through. But as angry as I was then, now I pity them. A part of me hopes they, too, find a path leading to a better life.

Cain wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I lean into him. For the next several minutes, we drive in silence. When we near the train, Cain tells Angie to stop. It takes all three of them-Poppet, Angie, and Cain-to talk me out of driving straight to the Pox County jailhouse. But in the end, they make me see sense. We have to get out of town. We have to expose what happened here, and send the authorities-those who can actually be trusted-to release the girls being held and talk the others into getting the help they need to start again.

Angie takes the longest to jump onto the train, even taking into account my injured arm. But with Cain's help, she manages. Cain is last to leap on, one arm around the dog. The Doberman licks Angie's face, leaving slobber on her cheek.

When she calls me over, I don't hesitate. I scoot under her waiting arm, and Poppet leans back on my knees. Cain sits beside me, one hand rubbing my back. After we catch our breath, he leans close, his mouth brushing my ear.

"Are you … you again?" he asks, simply.

I nod against his lips. "You?"

"Here," he replies. "Don't leave like that again, okay? Stay with me. You promised."

Cain presses his lips to my cheek, and I smile against his touch, my eyes closing. I don't know where we'll land, but I hang on to the dream that we'll end up in Kansas, Cain on the field and Poppet and I in the stands. Angie will grunt that she's happy at home making chili and cornbread, and it'll be waiting for us when we return. And dammit, be careful walking back, because the sidewalks are slick with ice and she's got enough to do without one of us spraining an ankle.

The train chugs down the track, thunk-thunking over the rails and ties, and Angie begins to hum. Kali lies down at our feet and closes her eyes, and Poppet says, "One day, we'll forget any of this ever happened. It'll be all fuzzy, like a dream."

"Yeah," I mumble. "We're just getting started."

It's the last thing I say before the world slips away.





Chapter Sixty-Eight

Good-bye

The room is bare, the floorboards cool beneath my feet. Wilson lies in a twin bed, a crisp white sheet pulled tight across his chest. His eyes are closed. A shadow dances over his body, making it difficult to get a firm grasp on his features. It's like trying to recall someone from your past in detail, but all you can manage is a blurred image. Blackness stretches across his cheeks and nose and eyes-a mask I can't see behind. But it's his face. That much I recognize.