Of course I do, and I always will. So I run with him, fast as I can go. Bianca runs beside me, terrified and miserable. Just seeing her this way shatters my heart, it does. All my life, I have thought of Bianca as a sister. Now, whether ’twas by accident or not, she has killed the woman who was almost a mother to me. We can’t leave her behind to deal with Mr. Carboni or the police, but faith, I don’t know how I’ll ever look at her the same way again.
Mind you, I still love her. I cannot bear witnessing her pain.
We land at the bottom of the stairs, in the subbasement. It’s dark and cold, the cement walls crowded by clunking pipes and boxes. Damien runs over to one of the walls, and ’tis hard for me not to ask what he’s up to. The light is dim, but from what I can see, there’s nothing there. Then suddenly, the wall opens up into a door that wasn’t there before, and he swings his arm so me and Bianca squeeze through, into a corridor lit by pale lamps. I peer deeper within, and I realize ’tis not truly a corridor but a tunnel carved out of one.
Damien sees my question before I ask it. “Carboni sends stuff through here all the time. Hooch, cash, girls,” he tells me softly, and I realize he has worked here before. What kind of life does he live when I am not around? “This’ll get us far enough that we can take a bus without being noticed.”
Maybe there’s hope after all. Hope’s a quare thing, isn’t it? Shows up in the places you don’t expect. Saints preserve us, I never thought I’d be thanking the likes of a gangster, but here we are, using their tunnel to go free.
“They’ll never get us,” Bianca says darkly as we go deeper into the tunnel. “I can protect us.”
Damien and I stare at the gun in her hand with disbelief.
“What sort of eejit keeps a murder weapon?” Damien exclaims as quietly as he can. “Get rid of it.”
“Holy God above!” I cry at the same time. “Put that away!”
But her eyes are wild. I can see we’ll not move her on this. “They’ll never catch me,” she growls. “Never.”
Damien and I exchange a glance, then he leads us on. “Come on. We’re outta time.”
The tunnel is rough. The floor, walls, and ceiling aren’t cemented here; ’tis only dirt, packed down by boots. The farther we go, the cooler the air, and the narrower the passageway becomes, with rocks and holes under our feet and roots grabbing at our bodies. Lately I’ve found I can smell everything better than before. I heard someone say ’tis because of the baby. Well now, I smell dirt and sweat and a sharp edge of alcohol, which is no surprise. This is a smuggling tunnel, after all. I wonder what and who has come through here before us.
Then I remember: Damien has.
I hear men’s voices near the entrance of the tunnel behind us, coming closer. We speed up, but then Damien stops with a sound of dismay. I crash into him and put my hands on his hips to catch my balance. He is staring into the darkness, and when he turns to me, I see desperation.
“What is it?” I ask.
“The gate. ’Tis locked. I’ve never seen it locked. I didn’t think…” Damien looks into my eyes, and I see so much regret and heartbreak there. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I’m so sorry.”
He thinks he has failed me, but he’s wrong. I was the one who nicked Mr. Carboni’s book. If I hadn’t—
“Stop!” a man shouts, then everything happens at once.
Bianca fires the pistol down the tunnel, flashing orange into the darkness and deafening us all. I scream, then I hear a man grunt nearby. I think she got him! But then someone fires back, and Bianca collapses beside me.
“No!” I scream, falling to my knees. “Bianca! Get up!”
It’s hard to see in the dark, but I can’t miss the dark stain spreading quickly over her front. She’s staring straight up at the ceiling, and her lips are moving, but she’s making no sound. I put my ear over her mouth, but I still can’t hear anything. Is she trying to talk to me? Is she praying?
“Oh, Bianca,” I cry, grasping her arms. “Please don’t die. Please, please…”
At last, her gaze seems to focus, and it holds mine. A tear rolls down her face when she blinks. She’s crying but not making a sound. Inside, I’m screaming. I feel like that bullet tore through me as well.
“Love you, Rosie,” she whispers, ripping me apart.
“Oh, Bianca! I love you, too. Please don’t leave me!” I drop lower so my cheek is against hers, and I’m holding her as tight as I can, sobbing. “Bianca, please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
She goes limp. Her body is suddenly heavier in my arms. “No, no, no,” I whimper.
I’m aware of Damien bending down, touching Bianca’s pale throat. His voice cracks when he tells me, “She’s dead.”
“No!” I cry, but I know he’s right.
“Come, Rosie.”
I sit up and see how very still she is. Gently, Damien closes her eyes, for they glow white in the darkness, then he leads me away from Bianca.
