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“You figured me out. Are you in the alley, Abby? That’s where people are running to and from. Tell me if you’re in the alley.”
In the distance, police sirens wail, but they won’t get here fast enough. This will be over soon. Too soon. A dry heave runs up my throat as the images of all I’m leaving behind flash in my mind and I shake my head to ward off the panic. There’s a job to do. A job...a life that’s left undone.
“Logan, listen to me. 5212 Brook Street. Go there. The back door key’s in the birdhouse in the backyard. Second-floor bathroom, move the towel shelf, pull up the wallpaper, take the door off. You’ll need a screwdriver. There’s an envelope. You’ll know who to give it to. It needs to be done tomorrow. Before 3:00 p.m. Do you understand?”
“Where are you, Abby?”
I don’t want to die. Not tonight. Not now. I needed time. Time to make things right. Time to be redeemable. Just time. “There’s enough money in there for a few weeks and after that...”
I don’t know what comes after that. “Ask Isaiah. He’ll think of something. But only then. He’ll understand. He’ll figure out what to do. He won’t fail me on this.”
“Stop screwing with me. Are you in the alley?”
Yes. “Stay out. They’ll shoot whoever enters.”
A crunching of debris under heavy footsteps and I rub my forehead. It’s not Linus. Linus would have given me a heads-up. I wonder if this is how my dad felt, if this is how my grandmother felt, I wonder if this what everyone feels before they meet death...I wonder if they feel like they’re falling into an endless pit of cold.
“I’m here,” Logan says. “Just stay with me.”
He is. God knows he is. Though my knees are weak, I struggle to my feet. I’m Abby. I’m the daughter of Mozart, a legend of the streets. Some people at school call me names. They label me a slut, call me evil. Some call me a killer. But they’re wrong on the last part. They’re wrong on most of it.
When I’m standing tall, I speak what normally doesn’t come naturally—the truth. “No matter what, I liked you.”
Logan begins to talk, but I turn off my phone, drop it to the ground and smash it with my foot. I’ll not take down anyone else with me, legally or illegally. Won’t allow my phone to be the trail of bread crumbs. A dark form slowly approaches, the moonlight glinting off the gun.
He doesn’t see me against the wall, but I’m not stupid enough to think he won’t find me. My slick palm causes a weak grip on my switchblade. That Hunger Games nonsense where the underdog can win with a stick is bullshit. I could try to fight, but I’d rather not be tortured.
Escape is my only option. Fighting signifies I have a choice and I don’t. Set fates typically end in the cruelest fashion.
I don’t close my eyes as the shadow inches closer, I only try to imagine what it would have been like to lie in Logan’s truck, listening to a babbling brook and staring at the starlight.
And bunnies. I would have loved to have seen bunnies.
Pretty images of a pretty world that doesn’t exist.
Garbage crackles under his feet in his search for me and intuition causes him to swing in my direction. Adrenaline shoots through my veins, fear floods my mouth, I duck, a shot to the wall behind me, loose rocks cutting my face, my knife slips and the cut into his body misses the mark—off to the side.
He grunts, I push him away, willing my feet to move faster, willing air to push further into my lungs.
Then there is another bang and then there is...
Logan
I’m running and it’s not fast enough. My shoulder rams into people and they shout at me as I pass, but I don’t care. My cell’s in my hand, next to my ear, and it’s ringing. Over and over again. Abby hung up. We were disconnected. The world is functioning in slow motion.
Police sirens wail. From multiple directions. From every direction. People are screaming. My sight is on the alley. Abby’s in that alley.
As I approach it, a girl stumbles out and she latches onto me. She has blond hair, but the rest of her is covered in red...marked by blood. Chunks of something on her shoulder. Her eyes are too wide and she shakes. “They’re killing people. They’re killing people in there.”
I grab onto her arms, not caring what I’m touching. “Did you see a girl? Long dark brown hair? Your height? My age?”
She nods, too quickly. “She was with a guy, they went left. He came out. She didn’t. I was hiding. My boyfriend said he’d be right back.” She’s growing higher in pitch and tears fall from her eyes. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Help me! Please help me! They shot my boyfriend!”
The girl starts screaming and her panic becomes a pulse in my brain. I release her and race into the darkness. A deafening bang reverberates against the walls and instinct causes me to slam my back into the concrete.
Abby. It’s her name in my heartbeat. Her life as a prayer. Please, God, protect Abby.
“Let’s go!” A deep voice yells and there’s footsteps. Several of them. I crouch against a Dumpster. Two people run past and across from me, a shadow emerges from the alley to the left—Abby’s alley.
