Free.
Chapter 5
Walker
RJ finds a live-feed camera in the northwest corner of the storage unit, and we studiously ignore it while we wait for Jansen to wake up. We ignore Evie’s vitriol just as carefully. But the second Jansen’s awake and Emma does a few tests, we prep to move him. Not one of us likes the decision, but it’s better than a privately-owned paramilitary showing up and doing something much, much worse.
The longer we stayed waiting for him to wake up, the more obvious it became that we were just becoming another piece of leverage for Trips’ dad to hold over Trips and Clara. I can’t say I enjoy being leverage, but there’s a lot I’m not happy about right now. This is just another thing on the list.
We end up handcuffing Evie to Emma’s car while the three of us carefully carry a blanket-sling full of injured thief to my SUV, loading him into the empty cargo area. His tears make my own threaten.
God. This is not what we wanted. He was supposed to be getting better, not worse. We knew that his mind was a risk, but I never guessed that being shot was something we should have been prepared for. At least, not yet.
RJ takes off in Emma’s car with Evie in it, planning to ditch her at a bus stop with no cell phone and a handful of cash in time for the morning rush hour. If Evie’s serious about calling the cops on us, it won’t stop her, but we hope it’ll give her a minute to calm down before she turns us in. And we need whatever time we can get to deal with this fallout.
Emma and I bring Jansen to the house Clara named ‘Black.’
Navigating the dreary halls, I can’t help but remember the last time we were here, the terror of running, my gaze unfocused and my head aching, the holes in the wall ominous mouths in the dark. The holes are a lot less terrifying on a fall morning than on a winter night, but the place is still gross. It’s a hell of a lot better than a year’s worth of unaddressed mold damage at ‘Green,’ or being found at our house, so it’s the best option for now.
While waiting for RJ to get back with Emma’s car, I distract myself researching what helps people heal. One thing that comes up is the color green and nature. I know I’m being ridiculous, but the helplessness of watching everyone around me fall apart has pushed me past caring about how ridiculous I look. So after RJ and I buy two mattresses, some comfortable clothes for Jansen, and toiletries, we swing home to gather Prince Fluffington and his things—who somehow seems to know he’s wanted elsewhere. Then, I talk RJ into going with me to a garden center.
I spend way too much money on houseplants and a lime tree before we haul them back to ‘Black.’
After everything is unloaded, we take up our vigil beside Jansen, leaving Emma free to collect her necessities. She feels like shit about taking Evie’s phone, so she’s leaving it with her sister for Evie to come grab. Her silence over her breakup makes me wish Clara were here for her, knowing I’m not the person she would want to commiserate with. RJ would be an even worse option.
Clara could help break the bad news to her as well—Emma thinks she’s staying with Jansen until he’s out of the woods. RJ and I are too afraid to tell her she’s probably going to be stuck here for much longer.
She’s the one who performed illegal surgery. She’s another lever the most evil Westerhouse can pull to make us all dance. The best way to keep her safe is to have her disappear. In a few months, we can set her free with the rest of us, assuming everything goes to plan. But Clara isn’t here to promise everything will be okay, and I’m not able to do it, not with the way things have been going.
The plan we made while sprawled around a campfire in the ocean-scented desert air, feels like pure fantasy now. Watching the waxy white chest of one of my best friends raise and lower with a pained hitch, the second IV bag nearly empty, brings the reality of it all into stark relief.
This is life or death.
Emma explained that because the bullet got his diaphragm, he’s probably going to struggle to breathe for a while. She doesn’t know for how long. I can’t blame her for her lack ofknowledge—it’s not like Jansen’s bullet wound has a lot in common with doggy castration.
RJ looks up from his laptop as I sit back, wishing I could do more to make the sparse room homey. RJ’s done his part, scanning the safehouse for cameras and recording devices and finding it’s clean. A handful of our shell companies seem unmonitored, which is a small mercy in the middle of this bigger mess. He clears his throat, the circles under his eyes deeper than ever after our unplanned all-nighter. “When should we call the center?”
I swallow my useless fear and anger at this whole situation. “Now? He can’t go back, not like this, not after the evil bastard sees that footage. But he still needs his meds.”
RJ sighs. “Were they helping, though?”
“I think so. He was better than before. But…”
“But he just broke out of a secure facility and ran to Clara, only to get shot?”
“Yeah. That.”
A whisper from the mattress has me dropping to my knees next to him. “What, man?”
His voice is a croaking rasp, the words almost indistinguishable. “Get them. I’m sorry…this was on me.” He tries to say more, and I hold up a hand, the pained sound of his whispers telling me it’s too soon for this conversation.
“It’s fine. We’re just glad you’re okay.”
He tries to laugh, but instead tears trickle down his cheeks. “Ow. Pain meds?”
RJ glances at the directions Emma left us. “You can have more in about fifteen minutes.”
Jansen takes stock of the variety of greens I bought for him, then seems to notice his cat curled under one arm. “Fluffington?”
