My despair dissipates, and I answer the call and bring the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I ask eagerly.
“Mena?” Quentin asks. His voice echoes like he’s in a large space.
“Yes,” I tell him. “How are you? I’ve been worried. Is everything okay?”
“Uh…” He pauses and my heart dips.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Where’s Jackson?”
“Listen,” Quentin says. “It’s going to be all right, but he just went in for surgery.”
“Surgery?” I say, my voice pitching upward. “What happened to him?”
Sydney looks sideways at me, listening to my side of the phone call. She asks quietly if he’s okay. Brynn and Marcella murmur their concern from the backseat. I put the call on speaker so they can listen.
“We’re not sure yet,” Quentin says. “This morning, we met with the chief here in Denver. Those crazy news stories were breaking all over the place, and she was nervous for us. She drove us out herself to the town, and Jackson had to identify the body again. And uh… the situation had… uh… deteriorated.”
Brynn scrunches her nose and sits back in the seat.
“Jackie got upset,” Quentin says, sounding pretty upset himself, “and when he ran out of the house, he fell, busted himself up pretty good. But, turns out it was kind of a good thing.”
“Why would that be a good thing?” I ask. Anxious, I brush my hair away from my face, fidget while I wait for the explanation.
“Because when they took him in for an X-ray, they noticed things weren’t right with his leg. They did a bone scan and found bleeding and a massive bone infection. They think it’s spread to his blood. By the time they took his temp, it was high as fuck.” He exhales heavily. “I can’t believe I’m going through this again,” he says more to himself than to me. “He’s in surgery now.”
Tears well up in my eyes. “Quentin,” I start. “He’s going to be okay, though—right?”
“Of course he is,” Quentin says quickly. But it feels hollow and completely for my benefit. “Look,” Quentin continues, “Jackson’s resilient. In fact, he’ll be out of there soon enough to land himself back here in a few weeks.”
I laugh, feeling a bit better. I’m glad that Jackson has Quentin by his side. He’s a good friend.
“I gotta go,” Quentin says. “I’m borrowing the boss lady’s phone—she’s keeping ours for a while. But Jackson’s sister is on her way here. The boss called her since she was next of kin for Demmy. Either way, Jackson’s not alone. None of us are leaving him.”
“I should be there,” I say.
“Girl, stop,” Quentin says. “I’m sure you’re neck deep in sometrouble right now. But whatever you did to that Anton guy? You wrecked him. Wrecked all those dudes, so good job.”
“Thanks,” I say. “There’s only one other guy we need to talk to.”
“Be careful,” he says. “I’ll call you when Jackie’s out of surgery. Talk soon,” Quentin says, and hangs up. When he does, a sob bubbles up in my chest.
I can’t lose Jackson. I can’t. My body is starting to go into full panic when Marcella groans from the backseat.
“What is with this kid always getting hurt?” she asks. “Are his bones made of eggshells, or what?”
When I look back at her, she smiles—her attempt at levity in an otherwise dark situation. Although I appreciate it, the situation with Jackson is dire. I heard it in Quentin’s voice.
Marcella reaches up to give my shoulder a supportive squeeze.
I sniffle, wiping under my eyes to clear the tears before they can fall.
The girls are dead. Rosemarie’s dead. And honestly, the list goes on. My question now is whether Winston or Leandra will be added.
“We’d better hurry,” I say to Sydney, and the car skids as she presses down on the accelerator.
Leandra’s car is parked in front of Winston’s house, the front tire up on the curb. I guess we found them. Pretty bold move for Winston to be back in his old house after faking his death, but Winston is never subtle. Either that, or he has another plan. But that’s okay, because so do we.
After a moment preparing, the girls and I get out of the car,looking around at the oversized homes with expansive and manicured lawns. None of the neighbors are outside, thankfully. I imagine they’ll be curious when they notice Leandra’s car, especially since Winston is supposed to be dead, but hopefully we’ll be out of here before anyone does.
