“Jess didn’t know what you were doing?” I hate that there’s even a question at all.
“No,” she says firmly.
If I didn’t have a gun pointed at me, the relief of it would drop me to my quaking knees. “The others? How did you know about Ryan Petronis?”
Allison glances around the woods. Where is Sam? Is he alone? Has Greene found him? I ache all over, inside and out. Pray that Greene has him or that he’s somehow made it back to the house, to Jess. Or, at the very least, is safely hidden behind a tree somewhere.
“His mom. At the rehab facility in Arlee. Jesus, you didn’t know I went there for rehab, did you? And Jess didn’t think it was important enough to mention?”
I’m stunned. I guess not. I guess Jess was trying to keep me out of her personal business in a lot of ways over the past year. I stay quiet but keep connecting the dots.
Allison drunk at the fundraiser, one of the only times I saw her.
The packed, Teflon-colored suitcase Vivian and Ryan’s mom posted on Facebook. She was headed to rehab.
“Poor Ryan,” she says like she’s read my mind. “My heart breaks for him and his family.”
“And the woman in Santa Monica? Vonda Loman?”
“That bitch,” Allison mumbles. “Poor Gus. Losing Somer like that. And Lauren losing her daughter.” I don’t know who she’s talking about, but I’m sure they’re somehow connected to people hurt by Loman and Mooney.
Her voice is distant and low. She doesn’t sound like the Allison I know. The idea that she’s separating from herself to shoot me out here is terrifying.
“Gus who? Lauren who?”
“Enough,” Allison says. Her eyes flicker in all directions, looking for Greene or Sam. No twigs have snapped.
“It’s everywhere, and it’s getting worse. All the fuckingenabling. All the delusions. It’s a goddamn crisis.” She practically spits it. “An epidemic of heartlessness. And you, you’ve followed right along. You were something in our department—a breath of fresh air—but I find you’re as corrupt as all the assholes.”
The ground I’m standing on is crumbling. Firm soil turns to mud. I’m falling away. I’m about to tumble down a deep, endless black pit. Without planning to, I lower my hands and take a tiny step closer, toward the barrel of her gun, like I’m asking for it, despite my terror. I want to pressure her a little, make her nervous enough to maybe make a mistake.
“You don’t think I live with this every day of my life?”
“Stop!” she barks. Her voice pierces the quiet woods. “I mean it. Hands back up.”
Her gun is far from steady. She’s not cocksure of the plan.
The light between the pines is brightening. I get a better view of her face. It’s puffy and her eyes have a frantic, electric glow. Her face flushes an angry red, and her hair is stringy and haywire. She looks on the brink. I’ve seen the look in people who’ve departed from reality before, who’ve entered some alternate sense of their own making. She doesn’t remotely resemble the Allison I know.
There’s no logic in this, no calculus explaining her need to hurt others the way she’s been hurt by Leon’s departure from her life because of what Railes did. WhatIdid.
“Allison, listen,” I say forcefully. “I know you’re devastated. I know you’re grieving, but there’s help for—”
“Stop!” Her eyes burn. “There’snot. It’s all bullshit. All of it. He’sgone. Everyone tells you so much crap.He’s in a better place.”
She’s slipped into a cloying, higher-pitched tone, her face twitching.
“He’s an angel looking over you. He’s living on through your memories. God wanted him by his side because he was so special.It’s all bullshit! People need topay. Don’t you see? People need to wake up. They need to do the right thing.You, you needed to do the right thing.” Her voice has now gone tinny and desperate. But also determined.
I’m losing her. I need to do something.
“And,” I press. “Allison, listen to me, this is important, it explains howafterColeman was killed, it didn’t help. I thought Jess’s nightmares would go away, but they didn’t. I thought I’d feel relieved he was gone, but I don’t.”
“No!”
Her voice slices the chilled air like a chain saw through an old cottonwood. I force myself to stand still. Be calm.
“You donotget to say these things to me after my boy is gone,” she snarls. “Besides, you’re wrong. It does feel good. Askens was the first. He was going to be the only one. But afterward”—a broad smile consumes her face in a frankly awful way—“I had a purpose. I foundpurpose. Isn’t that what you wanted, Crosbie Mitchell? Why you became a cop?Purpose?And I got relief, too. There was such huge relief in it, so don’t tell me it doesn’t help. It took the pain away. I kept thinking about how good it must have felt for you to watch Coleman go down, and I wanted that, too.”
