Donnie retreats. He needs another drink. Needs something to stop this pain in his heart.
He walks down Pine and into the cemetery. It’s an old one with headstones so ancient they’re covered in moss, the inscriptions worn off.
When he and Benny were kids, they’d play kick the can at the old cemetery in Chestertown.
They’d hide behind the tombs and in the overgrown weeds. The graveyard was nothing like this one with its well-maintained grounds. A good number of the Chestertown tombstones were kicked over or covered with graffiti. He remembers that Annie was superstitious and wouldn’t play there. She’d do this funny thing where she’d hold her breath when they’d walk past the cemetery, as if a spirit might get inside her if she breathed in.
Why does everything remind him of that time in his life? Of Benny and the kids at Savior House?
It starts to rain, which is about right.
Donnie hears someone call his name. More with the “Mr. Danger” nonsense. The rain is matting his hair on his face, and he brushes it aside with his hand.
An unfamiliar young woman with a large black umbrella approaches. She’s dressed in matching black with a strand of pearls laced around her delicate neck and seems to have followed him out of the church.
She looks him directly in the eyes, projecting what seems to be empathy. “I’m sorry about what happened at the service.” She glances back to the scene of Donnie’s latest humiliation. “The judge wouldn’t have liked that.” She pauses, explains, “I’m Zola. I was Judge Wood’s law clerk.”
Donnie stands there in the rain, not sure what there is to say.
“He talked about you a lot.” The young woman gives a tentative smile.
This surprises Donnie for some reason, the thought of Benny talking about him to his law colleagues. Donnie’s always assumed that he was a secret, an embarrassment to Benny.
The woman continues, “He told us how the first thing you did after your record became a hit was pay his college tuition.”
Donnie feels a tear spill from his eye. Remembering Benny protesting about the money—he was so proud and wanted to make it on his own steam. Donnie insisted, saying, Better the money goes to your education than up my nose. He was only half kidding, but he thinks it’s the reason Benny accepted the gift.
“He had your first album framed in chambers. A photo of you both when you were boys,” Zola says.
This nearly levels him.
Now Zola’s eyes well up. “He called me that day.”
Donnie studies her. What day? he wonders. The day Ben was killed?
“He made me promise that if anything happened to him I’d tell you something. I told the FBI about it, but I don’t know if they told you, so I wanted to…” Her voice trails off.
The hairs rise on Donnie’s arms and the back of his neck. His eyes tell her to continue.
“He said to say you’re the bravest person he’s ever met. His brother…”
“… from another mother,” Donnie says, finishing the familiar sentence.
Zola offers a sad smile.
Donnie’s chest shudders. Tears mix freely with the rain on his face.
“And he said—and I didn’t understand this part—but he said you would.”
Donnie’s eyes lock on Zola’s as the wind dimples her umbrella.
“He said to tell you that you all had it wrong. The proof is with Boo Radley.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
JENNA
From the street, behind the shield of her motorcycle helmet, Jenna watches the man at the cemetery.
He was hard to miss, given the spectacle he created outside the church. Her heart aches, remembering the boy he was. So sweet. So fragile. She wasn’t at Savior House for long, but long enough to succumb to Donnie’s charm.
The rain’s coming down in a mist, and she wipes the helmet’s shield with her hand.
A woman holding an umbrella is speaking to him. He seems devastated. Even from this distance she can see it on his face. A similar expression she remembers from a rainy night twenty-five years ago on a patch of misery in Chestertown.
She watches as the two finish their conversation and head in different directions. The woman with the umbrella returns to the service; Donnie plods through the tombstones, lost in his head. In despair.
There’s no sight of the killer—the young woman who should be in college and going to parties, cheering on the football team, cramming for finals, but has chosen a life of murder for hire.
Jenna glances over her shoulder. The town car is still at her six. The same car was lingering near the church earlier. Is the female assassin inside?
No, she doubts that. Even an amateur wouldn’t be so obvious. The car is making its presence known. As if to signal that the occupant isn’t intending any harm.
We’ll see about that.
Grasping the handgun in her jacket pocket, she supposes it’s time.
She climbs off the motorcycle. But she doesn’t remove the helmet. Her eyes follow Donnie as he disappears down the street. He won’t be hard to find later.
The town car doesn’t follow Donnie. Yeah, it’s definitely here for her.
Jenna crosses the street. The car turns on its lights.
She grips the gun, walking toward the car head on, which is now slowly heading her way. A game of chicken. She scans the area. The escape routes. The places to take cover if bullets fly. But her instincts tell her there’s no threat.
The car edges closer.
She keeps walking.
Then the town car jerks to a stop; the driver gets out. He has the unmistakable bulge of a firearm holstered at his chest under his suit jacket. He walks slowly, deliberately, to the back door and opens
it.
He gestures for her to get inside.
Jenna takes off her helmet. Shakes out her hair. The gun is still clutched tight in her right hand.
She peers inside the vehicle.
“It’s been a long time,” is all the man says.
And with that she gets inside.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
NICO
Nico stuffs his clothes in his travel bag and proceeds to the hotel’s counter to check out. He hates Philadelphia. Hates Pennsylvania. When he was a kid, he swore he’d leave and never come back.
West Virginia isn’t exactly paradise, but it’s not here. He needs to get back to his life and the show before Davis steals his job. Before the FBI calls him in for questioning and his life really falls apart.
He would’ve left last night if there’d been any flights out. He feels bad about missing Ben Wood’s funeral, but it is what it is.
Out front to catch a cab, he’s taken aback by the mob and the blinding light of camera flashes. The paparazzi shout questions at him.
“Nico, is it true the explosion was intentional?”
“Nico, how are you feeling?”
“Nico, are you afraid for your life?”
“Nico, are you worried a deranged fan is after you?”
He shields his eyes with his hand and his mind jumps back to Mine B. The bright light on his attacker’s miner’s helmet.
He says, “No comment,” and pushes his way to the cab.
“Come on, Nico,” a paparazzo says. “Give us something, don’t be an asshole for once in your life.”
Nico looks at him. “My dad didn’t teach me much, but he said there’s one great thing about everyone thinking you’re an asshole.”