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“Do what?”
“Play and sing like you did. Like…a fucking miracle.”
“Nah. Everyone’s heard that song. It’s a million years old.”
Holden shook his head. “They’ve heard the song, but you put your heart and soul out there. That’s not something people hear every day.”
Amen. I didn’t have the words to tell Miller the truth, but Holden did. He spoke for both of us.
The front door banged open and the football team poured out.
“I said, get the fuck off my property!” Chance raged.
Miller and Holden scrambled to their feet, and that’s when I heard it. Police sirens. Distant but growing closer. A cold sweat broke out over my body as that day came surging back, ten years old but as clear as yesterday.
My mother on the kitchen floor. The blood…
There was so much blood and she wasn’t moving and then the sirens came. The sound of help. Too late, too late…
I stood on the grass, hardly able to move. Dimly, I noticed Amber giving Miller his guitar case and then Holden flying at us.
“Time to go.”
Feeling drunk, I followed him and Miller to a black sedan parked across the street with a uniformed driver waiting in the front seat.
“Good evening, James,” Holden said as we climbed in the back, him wedged between Miller and me. “Would you be so kind as to remove us from the immediate area?”
The car doors closed, and the siren sound was cut in half but still coming. I turned my head to the window and shut my eyes, wanting to see nothing but black. Not her. Not the bloody bat rolling across the bloody floor…
“Home, sir?” James asked, driving fast and taking us away from the scene. Soon, the sirens faded in the distance and I let out a breath.
“Fuck no,” Holden said. “Thoughts, gentlemen?”
Miller leaned over to shoot me a look, a question in his eyes. There was only one answer. I nodded.
“My place,” Miller said and told James the address.
At his shitty complex that looked exactly like my shitty complex, James parked the car and we climbed out.
Holden eyed the building. “Cozy. After-party at Chez Stratton?”
“Not quite,” Miller said. “How long will James wait?”
“As long as I need him to.” Holden lit a cigarette. Cloves, judging by the sickly-sweet smell. “Fear not, James is being well-compensated for his time.”
Miller shot me another look. I nodded.
“Okay. Let’s go,” he said, and we took Holden to the Shack because it was his now, too.
Chapter Five
The weekend rolled around with no word from Violet. My texts went unanswered. Phone calls went to voice mail. At History class on Monday, she was late. Violet was never late. Fear and guilt that something terrible had gone down at the party wracked me.
Baskin called roll.
“Watson?”
“Here.”
