“And then what, Iris?” I ask. I’m so tired. My legs ache. My head is fuzzy from lack of sleep. I’ve spent all night searching for a missing girl, and all morning trying to save that same girl from my sisters. To know that Iris and Moody would do this has changed something in me—something that I know can never be fixed. I never thought that my sisters would test my loyalty, but that’s what they’ve been doing all my life, isn’t it?
I couldn’t love Elaine because being adopted into a new family would betray the family that I had with them. I couldn’t call Colin my brother because he wasn’t my blood but they were. I couldn’t tell them about this baby because there’s no room for it in our trio, just like there’s no room for Edison. There’s no room for anyone or anything but them.
“Run if you want,” I tell her. I don’t want to kill Edison. I don’t want to be any of the names on our pile of unused IDs. “I love you so much, sister. But I’m done.”
When I step into the flashing lights, I know that this marks a seam in the map of my life. I’ll never be able to go back to the moment before this decision.
I don’t know what will await me. Aiding and abetting. Accessory after the fact. Unlawful imprisonment. Desecration of multiple corpses. Once my photo is on the news, I may even be blamed for murders my sisters committed; with both of them on the run and unable to testify, the county sheriff will need a witch to burn for his bid at reelection. Whether the murders were committed by me or one of my identical sisters, I’m the warm body they’ll have, and I’ll do just fine.
Sadie is wrapped in a blanket in the back of a cruiser, talking to an officer who leans against the open door. She’s safe. She’ll go back into the waiting arms of her father. Edison will be so, so happy. That littlebrat who broke her heart will be grateful too, and maybe he’ll treat her better—not that she should give him the chance.
I’ll never see Edison again. The thought is too big for me to stop and consider now, but I know that the decision has already been made. If I ran with my sisters, he would hear the story from Sadie and piece the rest together on the news. And if I turn myself in, he won’t want to visit me. He’ll hate me either way. He’ll still love Jade for a while, mourn her—not me—until she fades away and he finds a worthy woman to love.
A floodlight blinds me; a muffled voice shouts through a megaphone for me to put my hands up, and I do.
I don’t know where Moody and Iris have gone. They could be crouched behind the shrub to my left, or halfway across the desert by now. They may have split up and will use their burner phones to plan their rendezvous in New Mexico.
I may never see them again. Another thought I’m not strong enough to face just yet.
And then I’m not alone. I know my sisters by more than just sight. I know the way their footsteps fall, the way they breathe, smell, approach. That’s how I know Iris is the one to grab my arm and try to pull me back into the wilderness with her. It took all my strength to leave her, but it turns out she isn’t strong enough to let me go.
Another shouted command. “Put your fucking hands up!” But she doesn’t. She thinks she can evade them the way that we always have.
“Iris,” I hiss.
“Don’t turn yourself in!” she cries. Her voice is trembling. All of her is. “You’re going to ruin your life, and you’re the only good one, you idiot!”
But it’s too late, and I don’t get a chance to say this to my sister before the first shot is fired.
One second, Iris is beside me. The next, she’s lying at my feet.
It is as though someone has reached into my chest and ripped the breath right out of me.
I’m frozen. The entire world gone still. There is nothing beyond this blinding glow of the police light, and the rain, and Iris’s blood spilling out onto the dirt. My breath hitches, coming in shallow gasps, and my hands are still up over my head.
When the scream comes, it’s my voice, but I’m not the one who made the sound.
Moody comes running out of the shadow of a giant boulder in the distance.
“Hands up!” the same voice shouts, and the fact that she listens is enough to make me believe there is a God. I’m grateful to whatever entity has compelled my stubborn sister to listen, because I can’t lose her too.
Over the squall I think I hear Iris make a sound. I can’t be sure if she moved, or if it’s just the flashing lights playing tricks with her shadow.
I’m too numb, too startled, too drained, to do anything but oblige when someone handcuffs my wrists behind my back and pushes me forward.
“She’s innocent!” Moody is screaming from where she stands, someone else pinning her wrists. She’ll say anything to stop them from shooting me, now that she’s seen what they did to Iris. “She didn’t have anything to do with it!” She’s still shouting as the officer pushes her into the back of a cruiser. She’s begging him to let me go, to check Iris for a pulse. She’s saying, over and over, that this is all her fault.
We’re locked into the backs of separate cars, and we both watch, helpless, as an ambulance speeds up onto the grass and theparamedics sprint over to Iris. I don’t know where she was shot. I don’t know if she’s alive. I don’t know if she can hear Moody—but I do. As my car starts to pull away from the scene, I press myself against the glass and I see Moody’s red and teary face looking back at me. We’re five years old again, being ripped away—this time for good.
29
I don’t talk when I’m brought to the interrogation room. Not even to ask for an attorney. I ignore them when they ask me if I’d like something to drink, something to eat—even though I feel like I’m about to pass out. This pregnancy has ruined my stamina, and maybe if I told them that I was pregnant, they would have to bring in a nurse to make sure I’m okay. But I sit in silence, staring at the wall, until the interrogating officer finally gives up on me and says, “Take her back to holding.”
Then, and only then, do I say, “I want my phone call.”
I’m brought to the sheriff’s office. He leans back in his swivel chair and lifts the corded phone off of the receiver. “Number,” he says.
“Five-five-nine—”
