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I found an afghan on the sofa, a jacket in the hall, and took the rain slicker. I used them all to make a kind of nest for my unconscious, bound sister and helped Gerard carry her down the stairs. I tuck her in as carefully as I could as he lashed her to one of the supporting beams. I left the flashlight there, pointed up, to give her some light. Then we trudged back up the steps and shut the door, putting the beam across it.
“Is this really necessary?” I asked.
“Is what necessary?” Gerard asked. He had picked the gun back up and was examining it.
“Locking her in the basement. Can’t we just keep her up here?”
“Eet is better to keep her there. She is dangerous now. In the morning we will release her.”
It made sense. Kind of. As much sense as anything could make. I looked down at poor Henri, his crumpled body on the floor.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
Gerard looked up at me and smiled.
Okay. So we made out on the couch for an hour. I don’t think it’s fair for anyone to be judging me. Yes, I know. Dead guy. Sister tied up in basement. I know, I know. But there was nothing else to do except watch Mission: Impossible in French. They say that stressful situations bring people together. It’s true. No, it’s really true. I’m sure there’s something in the DSM-IV about it.
So yes. Couch, dark living room, rain outside, French countryside…the rest of the picture sounds right, doesn’t it? We had just paused because our lips had gone a little numb when we heard Marylou screaming in the basement.
“She is awake,” Gerard said calmly, stroking my hair.
I buried my head into his chest and put my hands over my ears, but nothing drowned it out. She was screaming my name over and over.
“Can’t we let her out?” I asked. “We have the gun. We can tie her up in the kitchen where it’s warm. She’s going to need water and food….”
“She will be fine,” he said. There was a firmness to his voice I didn’t like.
“She can’t hurt us,” I said, sitting up. “There are two of us. I’m not saying that we let her run around, but…”
“You have no idea what she can do.”
In the dark all I could see was the outline of his hair, his bright eyes. His hand was on my leg. I felt his fingers tighten and tense.
“The infection,” he said, “you do not understand. You do not know what eet does. You have no idea. I have seen what eet does. That is not your sister right now, Charlie. She was gone by the time you got to the part about the guillotine.”
“The part about what?”
“The part about the guillotine.”
I went back through my mind, back to the moment where I was standing there with Henri and he was talking and talking and I asked to use his bathroom…. He had never said anything about a guillotine. I’d cut him off. I never got the whole story.
Which meant that possibly…possibly I had never been infected. I had never passed it on to Marylou.
But Gerard seemed to know a lot about this Law of Suspects thing.
And he was sounding calmer and calmer, the tone stripped from his voice, just like it had been from Henri’s. But Gerard would never let himself listen to the story….
Gerard had been tied up in a chair, alone with Henri. Helpless.
His fingers flexed again. He was staring at me in the dark, his expression unmoving.
“Right,” I said, trying to sound cool. “That part. That was the freakiest part.”
I couldn’t take Gerard, not physically. All I had was the gun, and I was not going to shoot him. We hadn’t known each other long, but I liked him. He was a good person. He had almost gotten himself killed trying to protect me.
“I was thinking,” I said. “The car. We should really check the car. I’ll bet there’s enough gas. Henri was probably lying about that.”
“Where is there to go?”
