The tightness in my chest springs free in a second. “You . . .” And then I can’t say any more. I can’t even breathe. I’m dimly aware that Wes is chuckling next to me, like he knew it all along. Iris stares at me like it’s Truth and Dare entwined. And I guess it is, because that’s what loving her has been for me. I couldn’t deny the truth of it, so I took on the risk.
“Yes,” she says. “I love you, whoever the hell that happens to be. So no more lying. No more secrets. And no more running cons without including both of us.” She waves at Wes, who’s beaming like we don’t have about ten metaphorical anvils hanging over our heads. “Deal?”
It’s a fair deal, if you’re trusting. I’m not, of course. You don’t have to just be taught to trust, you have to grow up in a life with people who are worthy of it. And the tilting ground Mom put me on was not.
But I had to trust Lee. I chose to trust Wes.
And I risked everything to love Iris.
So I open my mouth to tell her we have a deal, because she deserves that from me, but before my lips can even form the word, a scream that starts and then cuts off in a horrible, gutted sort of way echoes across the hall. The sound sends Iris cringing back against the cupboards and Wes banging up against them just as fast, trying to shield her and grab me close at the same time. My heart doesn’t thump fast this time. This time, it slows down, dread filling the agonizing space between.
I had laid a trap.
Did the wrong person get caught in it?
— 35 —
Katie （Age 10）： Sweet, Spirited, Smart （In Three Acts, Reversed）
Act 3: Sweet
Four Hours After
It’s still raining when I get back from the laundromat. The windows are dark, all the lights are shut off, and his car’s not in the driveway.
I push inside the house through the back door, moving through it in the dark, my shirt dripping pink raindrops as I go. If I can just get to the money that I’ve got hidden in the downstairs bathroom, maybe I can run . . .
I have to pass the living room to get there. I tell myself to be ready, that I can bear it.
Blanket’s big enough for two.
The blanket’s gone now. So are the couch cushions. There’d been blood all over them, and now they’re gone.
Just like him.
It’s like nothing happened, like that moment got plucked out of time, and I stare, trying to make sense.
Come a little closer, sweetie.
Did he clean it up? He must’ve. But I thought . . .
There had been a lot of blood. And yelling as I ran.
I don’t bite.
But he must be okay. If he could drive away.
Right?
“There you are.”
I jump, so close to screaming I have to clap my hands over my mouth.
My mother looks at me from the hallway, a bottle of bleach spray in her dish-gloved hands.
I shiver, suddenly aware of the cold under her gaze.
My first instinct is to apologize. There are bruises on the insides of my knees and I’ve become someone different in the space of those minutes that were maybe hours, but the words on my lips are still I’m sorry.
It’s hard and strange and churning sickly inside me to want to be wrapped in the protection of a person who I think I might need protection from.
“I’m almost done here,” she says. “Then we’re leaving.”
I just stare, barely making sense of the words.
Where is he?
“You’re going to be okay,” and it’s not a question or some sort of vow. It’s not a blessing or a wish.
It’s an order. She says it just like she says Katie. Your name is Katie, and it is so familiar that it almost snaps me out of the grasp of doubt.
What did she do to him? Was it worse than what I did?
“Come on,” she says, holding out her hand. The red almost blots out the yellow rubber.
Where is he?
I can see it in her eyes. There’s too much red on her gloves.
Gone. For good.
I’m rooted by it; the crash of it. The realization that she got back and saw what I did, all the blood and him and just . . .
God, we’re exactly alike, aren’t we?
She says my name. Not Katie. My real name. It jerks me out of the spiral that’s tightening around me.
“Come on. You need to help me get rid of him.”
She’s still holding out her bloody hand.
I take it.
I have no other choice.
— 36 —
11:32 a.m. （140 minutes captive）
1 lighter, 3 bottles of vodka, 1 pair of scissors, 2 safe-deposit keys
Plan #1: Scrapped