For a moment, he says nothing, then his shoulders drop and his posture shifts. “He’s the boss.”
“Of?”
“The Lye. of Freddy. Benny. Me…”
My chest cramps and I can’t breathe.I can’t breathe.
“Art?” His name’s heavy on my tongue, so I have to spit it out.
Lance sighs, dropping his head. “It’s complicated, Half-Pint.”
“So you know something.” I step closer, craning my neck and getting in his face. “You’re down there every night. You’re part of whatever this is, so don’t act like you’re innocent here.”
“You think I chose this? You think I want to be down there?”
I falter. Because yeah, I did.I do.
“I didn’t choose any of it, Genevieve.” He’s staring past me, into the dark trees. “And I can’t leave.”
My breath sticks in my lungs. “What do you mean you can’t leave?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No.” I grab his arm, my fingers barely big enough to grasp ahold of him. “Please.What do you mean you can’t leave?”
“It means what it means,” he says. “I’m not one of them, Half-Pint. I’m just the dog they keep on a leash.”
The dog they keep on a leash.The words sit in me wrong, like swallowing something whole that was meant to be savored. “You’re saying you’re not fighting down there by choice?”
He nods.
The moonlight catches the edge of a scar along his jaw that I’ve seen a hundred times but never really looked at. All this time, I thought he was part of it. And he still is, I guess, but if he’s not down there by choice, then…
My fingers twitch on his arm. This is aperson. Warm and real. And someone—this Brutus guy—isforcinghim into the cage?
“Come on,” he says. “We can’t stay here. Let me take you home.”
My hand drops away, and I wrap my arm around my stomach, not sure if I’m trying to shield myself from his touch or the truth. “I can make it home myself.”
I turn and start walking. I don’t look back, but I listen for his footsteps behind me.
They’re there.
When we get back to my car, the adrenaline drains. I’m torn.I need to be alone, need to try and rearrange the puzzle pieces that have just been tossed into my brain, but I’m scared. And I’m not naive enough to think Lance will listen to me if I tell him I’m fine. Maybe if I say someone’s there already…Rosalie? No. We’re not friendly enough.
My limbs are still shaking, and I reach up to tweak my earlobe without thinking.
“You know, you do that every time you’re about to lie,” he says.
My hand freezes. “I do not.”
“Three times since we walked down here alone.”
“Maybe I just have itchy ears.”
He doesn’t smile, but his expression softens. “Maybe you’re full of shit.”
“Fine. I’m freaked out, okay? I don’t like that I can’t go on a walk without being hunted through the woods. I don’t like that my whole life was apparently orchestrated by people I’ve never met. And I especially hate that it’syouwho keeps showing up when everything falls apart.”
