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I take a step back and swallow the nausea crawling up my stomach. The girl who busted out of the alley, the one covered in blood, screaming...was that her boyfriend?
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Abby doesn’t remember anything. Because you were our only chance at finding the people responsible for what happened in the alley. People were hurt. People died.”
I point toward the elevator, toward Abby. “You don’t have to explain that to me.”
“Is that right? Because you and your friends have been watching her 24/7 since she arrived and the only other visitor besides the old man who has custody of her is this guy.”
Detective Monroe shows me a picture of Linus. “We know he’s connected to something bad, which means the girl you and your friends care about might be connected to the same bad thing. Maybe he’s pumping her for the same information we need. These people kill. Whether it be through what they sell or by putting a bullet in someone’s brain—they’re killers. If you saw something, Logan, they’re not above hurting you or someone you love. They’re not above hurting Abby again.”
He pockets his phone and draws out a card. “Take it. You might need to call me.”
I accept the card, he leaves, and I drop to the waiting-area couch. The card contains his name, his number. What does Abby sell? Did it kill that kid? Is Abby a killer?
The world was easier when I was able to ignore Abby selling drugs.
“Hate the sin, not the sinner, isn’t that what good people say? Or are you asking yourself at what point does the sin overtake the sinner?” Linus eases into the chair next to the sofa. “I’ve seen that look before. It’s the type people have before they snitch.”
I’m beginning to understand why Isaiah keeps a safe distance from this part of Abby’s world.
“Since the good detective showed you pictures, I’m going to show you a few of my own.”
“What makes you think I’ll help you?” I maintain eye contact, not at all scared of whatever he has to offer.
“Because Abby’s in danger until we find who shot her.”
“I don’t know who shot her.”
“And you’re full of shit. Even if you don’t, you saw something. I need to know what.” Linus turns his phone to me and on the screen is one of the guys who I spotted running before Abby was shot. Another slide of his finger and there’s guy number two. Neither is the guy I saw leaving Abby’s alley. “Did you see either of them?”
“It was dark and all I cared about was finding Abby.”
Deadpan is the only expression this guy owns. “Real Boy Scout, huh? You don’t want to tell me, then tell Abby. She knows how the game’s played. If you’re bent on being Abby’s savior, do me a favor, get her out of town. Less babysitting on my end.”
Without another word, he gets up and leaves. I stare at the detective’s card. Isaiah asked how solid I am on where I stand on this. I’m firm on Abby, firm that she needs help, but I’m not sure if the help Abby needs is help she’ll accept.
Abby
I lost one week of my life in the hospital. One week of sales. One week of summer. One week of seeing my grandmother. I’ve never been so bored and restless in my entire life.
A quick check of my clothes and I step out of the bathroom. Isaiah leans against the wall next to my bag of stuff I collected throughout the week. Clothes sent in from Rachel, books from Isaiah—the good slutty kind and I would have given another day here to see him walk up to a counter to buy those—and sitting on top of the bag is my state-fair-winning prize for being a good little patient, the bunny Logan bought me. His name is Francis and Francis doesn’t like being inside a bag. He’s very demanding for something with furry ears and full of fluff.
Isaiah gestures to the wheelchair. “They’re pretty serious about you riding in that thing on the way out.”
“Linus has boys watching me in the hospital. I’m pretty set on walking out on my own two feet. I’ve got a public-relations nightmare on my hands and I need to prove I’m strong.” I pause to suck up the courage to eat my pride. “Thank you for watching over me when I couldn’t protect myself.”
“I owe you. Always will.”
“You’ve done well for yourself.” I offer Isaiah a sad smile and the same sad smile is reflected only in his eyes. “You’re a far cry from the boy I first met years ago.”
“You could change, Abby.”
“Oh, Isaiah, you really are cute.” I wink. “Have you considered becoming an inspirational speaker? A guidance counselor, maybe?”
His lips tilt up then fall back down.
“After this,” I say, “consider your debt paid.”
