He charges.
Boot-clad toes meet my ribcage, sucking the air from my lungs. My hands freeze at the wave of pain, but soon they’re at it again. Looser and looser the rope becomes, fueling me with the fire I need to take him down. Just as that second kick comes, I feel it. The rope drops to the floor. I’m free.
The next time that boot comes, it’s in my grip, and I twist. He crashes to the ground, crying out. Takes him a second to level his gaze at me, but when he does, his eyes drop to my freed hands. Then they go wide, and he scoots back on his elbows as I push myself up. Pain licks at my ribs, my wrists, my mouth, my shoulder. Everywhere. I don’t wince. I learned to block out the pain long ago. My eyes narrow in disgust as he cowers before me, his expression a silent plea for mercy. “Thought you wanted a fight.”
Before he can respond, the creak of a screen door has me whipping my head over my shoulder.
Tommy stands in the doorway.
With our neighbor.
My eyes squeeze shut for the briefest second. Why’d you have to come back for me, Tommy? The damn stubborn idiot.
Fingers wrap around my ankle, and I hit the floor. Nausea washes over me as the brunt of the impact strikes my shoulder. I hear a scream, but it’s not mine. Tommy’s running, fists swinging. He’s a lot smaller than I am, lanky too, and the monster knows it. He gives a single solid swing of his own, straight across Tommy’s jaw, and the boy goes crashing down beside me with a thump.
A growl rips through me. Just as I begin to pick myself up, my gaze is locked straight down the barrel of a revolver.
The room stills, silence falling over us like the death sentence we all know this is. I didn’t know there was a gun in this house. The monster’s eyes are wild, manic. And afraid. There’s a tremor in his fingers, causing the barrel to shake. “It’s you or me, boy. You or me.”
I hear aclick. The final nail to my coffin. But the bullet never comes. Because a hardthunksounds behind him. His eyes roll back, and he collapses in a heap before me.
Mrs. Mulligan stands above the three of us, a cast-iron frying pan in her tight grip. Her face is stoic as ever, eyes filled with determination as she stares down at him, but her chest heaves. Slowly, when he stays down, motionless, she lowers the instrument. Shifts her gaze to me and Tommy. And I somehow manage to breathe again. To relax a little.
I don’t know how she does it with the close tabs Chief Mulligan keeps on her, and I don’t know why she risks it, either. But the woman always comes through for us.
“Thank you,” I whisper between pants, one arm wrapped around my tender ribs.
She doesn’t say you’re welcome. Hardly allows us to see the glint of fear in her eyes over the near-death experience we just had. She nods, turns to Tommy, and lowers herself down before him. She places a hand beneath his chin, tilting his head as she inspects his jaw. She looks satisfied when she turns back to me, her eyes roaming over my injuries.
“You boys will be all right. But we need to get out of here. Now.”
“Not yet.” I shake my head. “You need to leave, yes. But us, we’ll never be able to run from him.” We know this, because we’ve tried. She knows this, because she’s the one who’s had to clean our wounds whenever he caught us. And he always catches us.
Next time, he’ll go for the kill. Next time, he’ll go for Tommy alone. Next time . . . well, there won’t be a next time.
When I turn to Tommy, his eyes narrow. There’s that fire again, burning bright, and I know his mind is right there with mine when we shift our attention to the unconscious lump beside us. I feel the outline of the matchbox in my back pocket, red flames dancing in my eyes.
“There’s just one more thing we need to do before we leave.”
Chapter 50
There comesa moment in everyone’s life when you’re hit with a pang of undeniable clarity. Sometimes it’s about your career choice. Or your next love. Maybe it’s finally finding the right major. The right house. The time to walk away, or the time to stay and fight for what you want. The chance to make a mistake you know will be worth it, or the choice to stay on your path.
Or, if you’re me, it’s the moment you choose your fate.
I could look at it like the end of the road. Like the morbid truth it may be. Instead, I decide to see it for the beginning it also is. The end of suffering for a brave and selfless soul and a chance at the peace they so deserve.
I’m gentle and fluid in my movements as I dress for today. A warm, soothing strength flows through my veins. The thin sweatshirt slips over my body like smooth silk, and I’m slow and calm as I brush my hair. I listen to the soft tap of my boots as I glide across the floor, feel the final click of my room’s door wash over me as it closes.
Claire and Bobby catch my gaze, and I smile as I steadily pass them by. It’s not a wide, cheerful smile, but soft and content. Bobby’s brows furrow, but his lips quirk all the same. Claire waves, her eyes lingering on me with a quiet curiosity. Fresh, spring air fills my lungs as I step outside, and I breathe it in. Trees bloom with new life, strangers chatter as they breeze past them, not even noticing the beauty right in front of their eyes.
But I do. I notice everything. From the green leaves to the red dirt. From the blue skies above my head to the sidewalk below my feet. Each step forward is so easy, like this is what I’m meant to do, and I focus on the serenity that knowledge brings me. Not the fear bubbling beneath.
I don’t stop until I reach it, the narrow road I recall so vividly. It looks different now than it did then, though. Then it was clouded and dark. Tree branches were barren, the cold air sharp enough to sting. Today, full-bodied trees shadow the sleepy road, shading it in a cloak of mystery and peace. I make my way to the tree. Our tree. The first one he ever pinned me against, and a crooked smile lifts my lips. I stroke the rough bark, then turn around and lean against it.
Just one more deep breath. One more rush of air before I go. I swallow it down, reveling in the sensation.
And then I’m ready.
