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If what your father told me is correct, Corwin whispers in my head, then they could be supplying methamphetamines up and down the West Coast.
But this looks small-time. Dirty bathtub bullshit in this dirty fucking shack. It smells awful in here, the stench almost making me gag, a mixture of fumes from the discarded bottles. If they are making meth in here, it couldn’t have been a lot, not the size Corwin was talking about. What the fuck did my dad know?
Another muffled growl.
I crane my head to the left.
Abe has his back against the wall, his arms tied behind him, a sharp jut of bone sticking out of his forearm, tearing his flesh. He’s completely gray, sweat pouring off his skin. The cloth wrapped around his mouth and neck looks soaked. Our gazes lock, and his eyes are filled with such relief I can see him trying to smile around the gag. The smile falters as a tremor rolls through him, and he tilts his head back against the wall, his face twisting into a grimace against the pain.
I cry out around the gag, my anger almost overwhelming. How could they want to hurt him? All he wants to do is live out the remainder of his days in this goddamned fucked-up little town. All he wants is to make up problems with his car so he can come and sit and chat with me all day. All he wants is to one day close his eyes, only to open them and see his beloved E
stelle looking back at him. He never wanted this. He never asked for this. It’s my fault as much as it is theirs.
The archangel Michael warned me—you may get the answers you desire. But remember this: sometimes the past is better left alone.
But I didn’t leave it alone. I couldn’t.
I kick my feet and hop/roll over to Abe. By the time I reach him, my wrists are rubbed raw from the cuffs and my whole body is a bundle of exposed nerves, but it doesn’t matter. If we’re going to die in this fucking pit, then we’ll face them together.
I rest my head on his outstretched legs for a moment to gather my strength and he makes a soothing sound at the back of his throat, as if he’s trying to calm me. A sob bursts from my throat, and it’s all I can do to keep from curling up in a ball and waiting for the end. Abe makes the noise again and twitches his leg a little bit. I know he’s trying to let me know he’s here with me, I’m not alone. He doesn’t know that makes it worse. This is my fault.
I lift myself off his lap, jerking myself up despite the sharp flare of pain. I rest my back against the shack wall, brushing my shoulder against Abe’s. I turn my head to look at him. He tries to smile again. I almost break, but not quite. Not yet.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall. Abe lays his head on my shoulder and we sit there, in the squalid dark, water dripping down on us, the storm raging outside. I try to turn my mind off, but I can’t. I think of my mother and wonder if she knows of her sister’s betrayal. What about the rest of the Trio? Nina, surely not, but what about Mary?
I think of Joshua Corwin, special agent with the FBI, now resting in the ground, a hole in the back of his head, his body ravaged to hide his identity.
I think of Estelle, a woman I barely remember but know I love, if only because she loved Abe with her whole heart.
I think of Rosie, sitting in her diner, a mischievous smile on her face.
Doc Heward in his office, squeezing a stress ball with the name of an antiinflammatory medication on the side.
Jimmy Lotem, from the hardware store, and his poor mother with cancer.
Eloise Watkins and her long Friday cigarettes.
Pastor Thomas Landeros, his hand on my back as a coffin is lowered to the ground.
A stone angel, silent but always watching.
The archangel Michael, his secretive smile, his Strange Men.
Big Eddie. Big Motherfucking Eddie. My father. The man I will worship for the rest of my life, no matter how short that might be.
Abraham Dufree, my best friend. The way the skin around his eyes crinkles deeply when he smiles and laughs.
And Calliel. I think of the guardian angel Calliel. His dark eyes. His bright smile. His red hair. The freckles on his nose and shoulders. The way he held me. The way he kissed me. The way he loved me. The sunrises. The dreams he saved me from, even if he was just trying to save me from the truth. The way he protected me. The way he guarded me. The blue lights. His massive wings.
I take in a deep breath and wonder, like my father, if the end will hurt. It’s almost comforting to know even my father had fears, that he wasn’t perfect. He might have been the tallest, he might have been the fastest, and he might have been the greatest man alive, but he was still a man.
The door to the shack suddenly bangs open, letting in a cool blast of air that knocks back the stink of the room. There’s another flash of lightning, followed by a quick rolling blast of thunder. The storm has to be on top of us now.
Griggs is first into the room, his sheriff’s uniform soaked, even with the heavy coat he wears. He sees us staring at him, and he smiles, opening his coat to reveal the hunting rifle. He walks farther into the shack.
And then she follows him in. My aunt. Christie, one-third of the Trio. My mother’s sister. The boss. Her eyes are flat, her mouth a thin line, water dripping down her face, smearing her makeup, making her appear ghoulish. She catches me looking at her and reaches up to wipe her eyes. Her mascara smears, and it looks like she’s now wearing a black mask that trails down her cheeks. “Both awake, I see,” she says.
“We need to do this now and get it done and over with,” Griggs snaps. “Teddy and Horatio will be back with the truck in a couple hours. We need to finish packing up the rest of the site before they return.”
