Page 49 of Bent Heavens

“You were about to show A to every idiot in school. That’s ten times worse! Everyone saying who knows what? A million rumors! Turning A in to the police, it’s so much easier.”

“We just turn it in, we lose control of the narrative. We lose control of everything.”

“This isn’t a contest. We don’t have a choice anymore.”

Doug barked laughter from behind his hands.

“What is this we shit? Since when is there a we?”

“I don’t know. Since forever? Since we were little? We’re friends, Doug.”

His flung his fists from his face. His eyes bloomed with blood vessels scratched open by his own knuckles, the scarlet streaks magnified by thick tears.

“Would a friend do this to me? They were laughing at me, Liv!”

She shrank against the wall. A serrated blade from her dad’s version of a Russian pioneer sword nibbled at her spine.

“Everything got out of hand,” she said. “Nothing ended up how we planned.”

Doug laughed again, a splattery sound that ejected snot, and wheeled away from Liv as if afraid of what he’d do if he looked at her a second longer. He paced right, hit a wall, paced left, hit another. The room was too small to offer escape from the jeering echoes. He planted his hands flat against a wall, nudging aside a ceremonial Egyptian ax and a Renaissance-era hunting cleaver. Liv could see muscles tighten beneath his jacket.

“They call that ‘mission creep,’” he said. “Objectives shift. Happens in any war.” He exhaled, and it narrowed into a high, tinkling whine that made John’s ears perk. “Your own dad, Liv. I tried to save his name tonight. And you ruined it. How could you do that? How are you suddenly okay with A? Did you forget who owned that compass you’re wearing?”

“Go home, okay? Get some sleep. And then in the morning, let’s take A to the police. Let’s do it together. Tell them everything we know. They will help, Doug.”

“Those Bloughton fucks who never gave a shit about Lee? Who never hardly even searched for him?”

“There are other things we can do for my dad. Car, bow, hole—it’s a name, Doug. Carbajal. You and me can investigate that. We can do it together.”

“Oh, did your Mexican boyfriend translate for you?”

Liv drew a breath and held it. “What?”

“You think I don’t know? I know everything, Liv. It’s not hard. All I have to do is pay attention. To my friend. That’s what you said we are, right?”

“Bruno doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“He doesn’t? That’s pretty hard to believe, Liv. We find A, and for a couple weeks we’re good. And then suddenly you’re hanging out with this new guy no one knows, and you change your tune?” He switched to a shrill tone. “‘Don’t use my dog to scare it.’ ‘Where’d you get my Bears helmet?’” Doug’s knuckles were bone white against the wall. “It’s just a coincidence this guy shows up and you start acting this way? Like you prefer A to your own dad? Do I have everything exactly right?”

Liv pressed her skull between her hands. Doug wasn’t going to listen. She’d have to proceed alone with the police. He was humiliated and enraged; if she gave him the night to get his head together, maybe he would see the sense of it. She slapped her thigh to get John’s attention.

“C’mere, Johnny. Let’s go, boy.”

The dog stood. Liv took a single stride toward the door, halving the distance. When Doug spoke, his wry, sly tone was so unexpected it stopped her as solidly as would a piercing scream.

“You think I care what you do with Bruno? I don’t. Kind of makes me wonder, though. What would A do with sexual stimuli? I mean, we’ve done so many experiments, right? Seems like a missed opportunity not to test that, too. Maybe I should go over to the Pink Lady and, you know, rent a dancer for the night. Dress A up in Lee’s clothes and a hat so she thinks he’s a normal guy, and then have her wiggle around. See what happens. Take notes in my book. Worthy of study, don’t you think? Dancers are expensive, though. Maybe if we pooled our cash. Since we’re partners and everything. Since we’re friends.”

Liv stared in disbelief at his hunched form.

“Jesus, Doug,” she said.

Doug’s backbone hitched. Laughter and tears, all mixed.

The shrill mimicking returned. “‘Jesus, Doug.’” His arms shook. “Jesus, Doug.” His legs shook. “Jesus, Doug.” His whole body shook. “Jesus, Doug!”

Lee’s weapons had slept in shadows for so long that Liv had stopped seeing them, but this, she realized too late, had never been the case for Doug. In a single, smooth motion of breathtaking coordination, Doug’s left arm lashed up into the northeast corner of the shed—no, it was the Armory, forever the Armory—and snatched the battered handle of his old companion, the Aztec club Maquahuitl, swiping it from its hooks, and though he was older and stronger now, the wood was still thick and the thirteen sharpened stones still heavy, and it dipped low and lethal like a bladed pendulum, at which point Doug’s other hand joined the first, and now he had control, and the arc continued, missing the ground by inches and swooping back upward to smash into the southern wall.

“JESUS, DOUG!” he cried.