“Get away from me.” His tone was a knife slicing at her.
Sadie crossed her arms over her chest to keep from shaking, from crying. “The gun and the gloves. Where did you get them? Do you still have them?”
“Leave,” he said. His eyes seared her. “Turn around and leave here right now and do not come back or, I swear, I will kill you.”
“Ford, you have to listen to me. I’m—”
“Security!” he yelled.
“Don’t do this.”
“Get away from me.” His face was a mask of twisted pain. “Never come back.”
“Okay,” she said, turning to go. “Okay.” She started walking, then running, then sobbing. This is what a heart breaking feels like, she thought. This is it.
She stayed sitting in her car outside the hospital, staring into space, for the next hour. She was empty, completely spent. She had no idea where to go or what to do. She felt like she had burned every crucial bridge in her life that day. Mind Corps, poof! Pete, poof! Self-respect, poof! Poof poof poof! All up in smoke.
God, she was a fool. What had she expected him to do? To think?
Hi, you hate me, you put your head through five mirrors to make that point, so I was thinking…
She noticed a white van pull up in front of the hospital, but she didn’t really think about it until ten minutes later when visiting hours were over and Ford came out. Before Sadie could even get her door open, two guys in blue jumpsuits and ski masks had grabbed Ford, pitched him into the van, and taken off with him.
She veered into traffic after them, wishing that her red convertible was slightly less conspicuous on the streets of City Center. She almost lost them at an intersection when two other white vans turned between them, but she managed to pick her van out by a dent on the bumper—the plates were covered with mud. They followed a circuitous route, finally pulling up in front of the old downtown post office.
The façade looked like a neoclassical temple, and despite obvious signs of decay, its high arched ceiling still conveyed a regal air. There were towers of discarded cars inside and out, as though taking the place of the customary statues of gods and goddesses.
When the men in the blue jumpsuits dragged Ford out of the van he looked lifeless, but they didn’t carry him like a corpse, so Sadie assumed they’d beaten or drugged him, possibly both.
She slipped inside the building, behind a truck with no wheelbase, to watch. They left Ford slumped against a pile of tires and went back to the van, returning with another body. Willy’s.
It took all three men to drag him toward a green Chevelle and maneuver his bulk into the backseat. Once he was set, they started trying out different positions with Ford.
They weren’t wearing ski masks anymore, and she recognized all of them from her first day in Syncopy when Ford had played poker at the castle: the short guy with the red hair, the guy with the big ears, and the one with the slicked-back hair who had upset Linc. He seemed to be the leader, standing at a distance and studying the tableau they’d set up.
“Can you make him lean against the side of the car, Red?” he asked.
These were guys who knew Ford. Who seemed to like him at the Castle. Yet they thought nothing of beating him or—whatever they were now doing. How was that possible?
“Orders are to make it look like an accident, not a photo shoot,” Red protested, moving Ford around like a rag doll.
If the Pharmacist was dead, right there in the backseat, who were they taking orders from?
The one with the big ears said, “Maybe we leave him bending in at the window, like he was giving Willy here one last—”
“That’s enough, Friend,” the guy with the slicked-back hair interrupted. “What about putting him on his face?”
“That’s good,” Red agreed. “Then if we start the fire in the backseat, and sort of sweep it out and around, as if he accidentally poured fluid over here—”
Like a play, Sadie thought, feeling chilled. Making it look like Ford killed Willy and then died in the fire he lit to eliminate the body. A little elaborate, but guaranteed to make the papers.
When they’d set the scene, two of them left, and the one with the slicked-back hair lit a match and dropped it in the back with Willy. He crossed himself, kicked Ford in the ribs, and jogged after the others.
Sadie didn’t wait for the van to pull out before she sprinted to the old Chevelle.
There was lighter fluid everywhere, so once the fire caught it would move fast. The backseat was halfway on fire, and she caught a whiff of something that smelled like meat on the barbecue. Willy, she thought, and gagged.
You don’t have time for that, she told herself. She flipped Ford onto his back and tried to pull him by the legs as the first offshoot of the fire began to spread, following a vein of lighter fluid.
He was really heavy, and not moving. There was no way she was going to be able to carry him, and there was no way to drag him across the debris-covered floor.
He let out low moaning noises, and his eyes were partly open, but only the whites showed. Definitely drugged.
“Ford, can you hear me?” she whispered, getting her face next to his.
No response.
“Ford, we have to get you out of here.”
Nothing.
Her head was resting against his chest, and through his shirt she made out his heartbeat, faint but regular. It was so different hearing it here on the outside than in his head. There it was organic, a familiar part of life. Here it seemed like something that went on its own, something impersonal. Everything was so different on the outside. He was so different. So much more opaque.
“Ford,” she whispered to him. “I promise I’ll leave you alone, never see you again. Just please, help me get you home.”
Still nothing.
“Ford!” She sat up, her hands gripping his shoulders, putting everything she had into it, all her anger and fear and longing and hope and love. “Ford Winter!”
So softly she almost missed it, he whispered, “Present.”
She laughed through her tears and hugged him. “Good boy,” she said. He was the same. The exact same guy she’d lost her heart to.
He was still only half conscious, but with his help she managed to get him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her as they stumbled forward, their progress slow and awkward. He seemed limbless and nerveless and—
The room contracted and they were thrown forward when the Chevelle exploded in a hot white ball of flames.
Chunks of burning metal showered them, one of them hitting him on the shoulder, but he barely noticed as they struggled back to their feet.
The fire was higher now, the air thick with smoke, and two of the columns had caught, sending flames licking at the roof.
“Almost there,” she told him.
“Hoooooerr,” he answered.
“What?”
“Hot in here,” he said and started pulling at his shirt.
“Not now,” she said. “Let’s get outside and—”
The light turned blinding white as another car exploded. The shock wave sent them sprawling forward. He braced himself against the carcass of a jeep but pulled his hand away fast and stared at the palm. “Burning,” he said, holding it out to her.
Was that a siren?
“We need to go faster,” Sadie urged.
They were five feet from the door when a loud rumble shook the walls and floor. With a crash the ceiling began to collapse, folding in on itself like a flaming origami crane.
Using strength she didn’t know she had, Sadie hauled Ford those last five feet and pushed him onto the ground, throwing her body over him. The entire roof caved in, sending burning chunks of wood and metal and glass and billowing clouds of smoke rolling toward them.