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It’s already been a few minutes since he phased into Perry. He usually changes back after five or ten minutes—sometimes not for days, but in this escalated environment with me panicking, who knows what will trigger him.
I thank God that the two of them aren’t here. I motion toward the door and we hobble out. Lanston’s Mercedes isn’t here. Momentary relief floods me and my thigh starts throbbing again, reminding me that I’m potentially bleeding out.
“Oh, I parked up there.” I point down the alley toward the lookout. It’s secluded up there; the only people who visit there regularly are me and Jericho… I try to shake the fear that he might not be alive anymore.
Perry laughs. “Why did you park so far?”
I feign a lighthearted shrug and bend over to pretend to tie my shoe. Perry stares out toward town, smiling, indifferent to anything around him.
I look over his belt, finding the revolver I knew he’d have saddled in the holster. He carries it everywhere.
As I stand, I bump into him and grab the gun, shoving it in the band of my pants. Perry looks at me like I’m acting weird and shakes his head disapprovingly.
“You can’t keep getting drunk like this, Liam. Neil’s covered for you so many times. You’re breaking Mom’s heart, you know… following right in Dad’s footsteps.”
That was a low blow I wasn’t expecting.
I was a careless teenager—perhaps I did deserve everything Crosby did to me. It certainly felt earned.
“I know,” I say in a hushed tone. “I promise I’ll stop.”
He smiles. “Good.”
Does it make me a monster if kill him? My heart wavers. He doesn’t mean to be Crosby. He doesn’t…
I stop hobbling as we reach the base of the stairs and ask him for his phone. He rolls his eyes like he can’t believe I lost my phone too.
I dial 911 and wait patiently as the phone rings. Calmly and discreetly, I tell the operator to come to the corner of Berry Street and Tallsaid. When they press me on why, I simply hang up.
“A taxi was probably smart. You shouldn’t be driving when you’ve been drinking,” Perry scolds me.
I flinch. Talking about drunk driving usually triggers him.
He stands placidly for a few seconds and then darkness shrouds his features. His eyes flame with icy fire and that deranged anger takes over again.
I don’t waste a second.
Taking the stairs two at a time sends shock waves through my stabbed leg, but as my fear has reignited, so has a fresh wave of adrenaline.
Crosby watches me with cold, daunting eyes before he sprints up the stairs after me.
I just need to lead him away from them.
42
Wynn
We drive slowlydown the alleyway. Police lights are flashing and an officer is taking photos of something at the base of the cement stairs leading to the lookout.
Lanston shares an uneasy look with me.
We were at the coffee shop for a little over an hour. I’m tired and just want to lie in bed and mope. One look at Lanston tells me he feels the same way.
The officer waves at us to stop.
“We got a phone call from a man asking to meet him here. Have you two seen anything unusual?”
My heart sinks when I catch sight of blood at the base of the stairs. The only trouble this town has seen has been at the hands of Crosby. Call it whatever you want, but I know it in my bones.
