You.
Evan strains and struggles. His muscles bulge but cannot move. Paralyzed.
For the first time, he lifts his gaze to brave Jack’s stare directly. Jack’s eyes are not what Evan expects. They are filled not with accusation but with love.
Yet the finger still points.
And Evan realizes.
Not: You did this.
But: You hold the key.
Evan feels it roiling inside him, years of pent-up anguish and guilt and grief, an age-old whirlpool of despair. It is every feeling he had consigned to the depths of his gut, every unspoken word he has packed down his throat.
It reaches a vomit pitch, and he understands that it will no longer be denied.
Acid burns up his esophagus and claws crablike into the back of his mouth.
His lips strain at the sutures.
And then rip free.
It breaks through, a howl cracked out of the hidden core of himself, expressing the inexpressible.
It says, Help me.
34
What It Is You Do
Evan bolted awake, aware of a presence in the dark room.
He’d meant only to lie down for a moment after the boy’s phone call, but the lingering effects of the sleeping gas must have put him out briefly.
Someone stood at the end of the bed.
Was he out of time?
He sat up, blinking rapidly to stimulate his night vision, the shock collar shifting painfully around his neck.
The form emerged from the darkness, curved and feminine beneath a thick bathrobe from the spa.
She parted her robe. Beneath it one arm clutched something to her stomach.
Drawing near, she set the object on the edge of the bed, out of view of the remaining surveillance camera.
The car jack.
“Make them pay,” Despi whispered.
He stared at the slender tool indenting the sheets.
“You were trying to get it,” she said. “I don’t know what for. But you have it now. So do what it is you do.”
“I can’t take this. If he finds out—”
“He’ll what? Hurt me?” She gave a quiet little laugh. “Hurt me more?”
“You. Your family. You have too much to lose.”
“As do you,” she said. “You have one hour until he comes for you.”
He felt it then, the swirling blackness at the heart of himself, the inner whirlpool from his dream. “Don’t help me.”
“No. You don’t get to tell me this. You don’t get to decide.”
Evan stared at the car jack, wanting it desperately. For himself, yes. But even more for Alison Siegler, for the boy waiting for his help.
He said, “But he’d kill you, your family. You can’t take that risk.”
“I can’t? Or you can’t?”
He thought of Jack’s eyes, conveying urgency and love. His finger pointing at Evan through the crimson sea. You hold the key.
“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t be responsible for something that could hurt you.”
She gave a laugh that held no humor. “We don’t get to choose that. That’s part of being human.”
He looked down at his hands, clenched loosely in his lap.
“You can’t do it on your own,” Despi said.
She studied him, one eyebrow arched in an unspoken question. Her robe hung open, showing the slope of her divine belly—Venus at the Bath. She was waiting to knot the sash again and leave, either with the car jack or without.
He looked down at it there on the sheets. If he accepted it, he had to accept all the responsibility that came with it.
He looked back up at Despi.
He nodded.
35
Into the Snowy White
In a single shirt and sweater, Evan felt less bulky than on his previous excursions. He had to be for what he was about to do.
He stepped out onto the balcony. The moonless sky was black as pitch, broken only by flurries of snowflakes that swept through the welded bars. A trio of guards clustered around the fire outside the barn, warming their hands, Kalashnikovs resting at their sides. They did not look over.
He had a limited window of time out here in the dead of night. His gloveless hands already felt cold, and the more numb they got, the more useless they’d be.
Raising the scissor jack, he jammed it between two of the bars. Then he cranked the handle. The jack expanded, irising open with enough force to lift a four-thousand-pound car.
The bars bowed. Evan kept rotating the handle, leaning into the effort. The sounds of creaking metal intensified. The resistance grew stronger, his forearms straining. And then two of the bars gave way at the welded joints, popping free. One struck him lightly in the chest and clanged to the floor of the balcony. The other plummeted into the snowy white.
He shot a glance at the guards by the barn, but they were telling stories, focused on the flickering light of the fire, not the darkness beyond. Sticking his head through the gap, Evan looked down, but the fallen bar was lost to the white bank below, the thin black slot in the ground already being layered over.
Onward.
He squeezed his head and one leg through the hole, then drew his body carefully behind him. The bag of Doritos crinkled in his waistband, where he’d tucked them. The RoamZone phone bulged in his pocket, awaiting the kid’s next call. Despite the extra baggage, Evan made it through the gap.
The bars provided a ready grip from the outside. The only problem was how cold they were, sticking to his palms. When he adjusted his grasp, he left some skin behind. He lowered himself down into a squat, his ass hanging in thin air, his heels cantilevered off the outside edge of the balcony.
He checked the guards, firmed his fists. Then he let his feet slide free, his legs dangling. For an instant his grip faltered, and he thought he was going to plummet two stories onto the open ground, landing in full view of the guards. But somehow he held on.
Bucking his legs, he swung himself out and away from the chalet and then back in. Another swing built momentum, and as he flew toward the building, he let himself drop. He landed off balance on the slick balcony below, his heels skidding out from beneath him. He hit the balcony flat on his back.
Manny was standing on the other side of the sliding glass door right in front of Evan, peering directly at him. Evan’s inhale caught in his throat. Then he realized: Manny couldn’t see him. The room lights were on, and he was using the glass door for a mirror as he buttoned his shirt.
Evan lay perfectly still. Snow fell on the side of his cheek.
Two feet to the glass. Two feet more to Manny.
Manny’s mouth twitched to the side as he finished with his shirt, and then he flashed his golden smile at himself and turned away to grab socks off the bed.
Evan rolled smoothly back over his shoulders and out of view.
The neighboring balcony was within reach. He jumped onto it from the railing. He came down awkwardly but at least didn’t Charlie Brown the landing like last time.
The attached room looked empty. He checked the sliding glass door, found it locked.
Onto the next balcony, another graceless ballet leap through elegantly falling snow.
This slider opened under his touch.
He entered a dark bedroom that looked to be a match of his own. Moving swiftly, he crossed to the door, cracked it, and peered out. His vantage showed a clear shot up the hall to the stairwell.