I nod, not brave enough to look at her face. “But he went to prison. Julia and I testified, and she…well, you remember her back then. Pure as the driven snow. Turned out there were a lot of other foster kids he’d abused. A real saint, that one.”
“God, Rune.” Charlotte’s voice catches, and when I steal a glimpse at her, tears are pouring down her cheeks. “How could you keep this inside, all this time? I’m your best friend! You were going through so much, and— Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to think about it. It was separate from my life with you, you know? I didn’t want it to contaminate what we had. I was afraid you’d look at me differently if you knew.” I swallow hard, then force myself to hold her gaze. “Do…do you hate me, Charlotte? Now that you know what I’m capable of?”
She’s still crying, but when she meets my eyes, the expression in hers is fierce. “Hell, no. You were so, so brave, Rune. You should’ve been awarded a goddamn medal for what you did, not gotten locked up. Personally, I wish you’d burned the son of a bitch to ashes.”
She throws her arms around me, holding me close. Between us, Valentine chirrups, none too happy at being squashed, and Charlotte draws back with a tearful laugh.
“I’m glad you told me. But…why now? And what does this have to do with Donovan?”
“Julia came back tonight,” I tell her. “She’s doing so well. She went toHarvard, if you can believe it. She has this amazing career… But she told me the monster’s getting out of prison early, forgood behavioror some shit. And I—I guess it just gotto me. I passed out, and Donovan happened to be driving by, and he caught me.”
“That bastard’s getting out?” Charlotte has her don’t-fuck-with-me attorney face on now. “Oh,hellno.”
“That night, he made so many threats…” I swallow hard. “I’m scared of what he’ll do, Charlotte. I don’t want him anywhere near me, or Julia either. She and I put him away for years. I’m afraid he’s going to come after us. And I just wondered if maybe you could look into it. Find out when exactly he’s going to be released, and the conditions…”
She takes my hands, gripping them tight. “Of course I will. That man will never touch either of you again, Rune. I’ve got your back.”
I hear her. I know she means it. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t forget the moment that the ocean of blood consumed me, the waves sweeping over my head, dragging me under. Or that implacable voice, ringing in my ears:Our day will come.
I hope neither one has anything to do with the monster.
But I’m terrified I’m wrong.
Chapter
Fifteen
I wakeup the next morning, determined to have a good day if it kills me. Or at least, a better day than yesterday, which really shouldn’t be hard.
Every inch of me aches as I drag myself into the shower, and small wonder. My knees are scraped, and though I can’t see it, I’m pretty sure my butt’s bruised. But after I pop an Advil and do half an hour of yoga, I feel marginally better. I heat up a frozen breakfast burrito, wriggle into my second-favorite pair of jeans and the white, drape-collar top Charlotte bought me for my birthday, do my makeup and tame my hair, and I’m ready to go. Grabbing Donovan’s sweatshirt and my laptop bag, I head out the door.
Don’t think about the monster, I tell myself, and mostly, I manage it, except for the part where I make sure my mace is clipped onto my keychain and there’s no one lurking on the porch or the sidewalk.
Things look up from there. I’m worried my car won’t start, but miracles of miracles, it does. I get a spot right in front of Smashbox, my favorite barista makes me a perfect chai, and Sloth Security recognizes me and lets me right up.
Score: Rune, 4. Fate, 0.
I know I need to find out what that horrible premonition means. I need to call an alarm company and wait to hear what Charlotte discovers. Right now, though, I just want to go to work, like a normal human being.
But ‘normal’ goes out the window when I walk into the office that Donovan and I are supposed to share.
The first thing I notice is that the place is spotless. The desk that must be Donovan’s has a closed laptop, two curved monitors, and absolutely nothing else. No cup of cooling coffee or scattered papers. No framed images of the extraordinarily photogenic Jenny. It’s the desk of a man with an obsessive need for order. Or maybe a control freak.
Shocking, I think as I place his sweatshirt in the middle of it, just to mess with him.
Whatisactually shocking is the desk on the other side of the room, set at an angle to give whoever sits at it the ideal view of the window that overlooks Orchard Street. On it is arranged, with perfect precision, a Smashbox to-go mug, a vase of asters, a granola bar, and, inexplicably, a small stuffed mouse toy, with a feathered tail.
I’m staring at this bizarre collection of objects when someone clears his throat behind me. I turn to see Donovan standing there, wearing dark-wash jeans that look like they were custom-made for him and a blue button-down that does altogether too good of a job at bringing out his eyes. “Um,” he says. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say back, feeling oddly self-conscious.
Both of us fall silent, and I heave an internal sigh. If this is going to be the scintillating level of our conversation, it’s going to be a long six months.
“So,” Donovan says, shoving his hands into his pockets, “what do you think?”
I tilt my head, confused by the question. “What do I think? I think that if Robert’s Rules of Order were an object, it would be your desk.”
