The Outliers (The Outliers, #1)(53)

“But she’s dead,” I whispered in the empty foyer. “You got what you wanted.”

Cassie was shaking the baby over her head now.

“Get out of the car, you *!” she shouted. “You think you can f*cking do this to them still?”

I’d almost forgotten about the babies altogether. And all I wanted was for my mom to appear next to me. To shrug and shake her head: you cannot control the world. I wanted that so bad it felt like my heart was going to burst. Actually, I wished it would. As depressed as I’d been, I hadn’t actually thought about killing myself, not seriously, anyway. But did I want to die? Every single second.

Whoever was in the car—I figured it was a he, but I couldn’t see from where I was—must have said something super messed-up then. Because Cassie went crazy.

“Get out here! You piece of shit!” she screamed, climbing up on the hood of his car and slamming the baby down.

And I was glad. I wanted her to smash his windshield. To reach in and grab him by the throat. Because it felt like that guy in the car—who was just some idiot who hated what he thought my mom’s pictures said—was responsible for my mom being dead. And watching Cassie out there, waving that baby around like a lunatic, I felt this tiny flutter of hope. Like someday all the sadness flooding my insides might be lit up like that—into an unstoppable blaze.

My dad drove up while Cassie was still on the hood. He screeched to a stop and jumped out, looking for a second like he might beat the crap out of that baby-dropper. God did I want him to. But he didn’t even look in the driver’s direction. Instead, he calmly talked Cassie down. As soon as she was off the car, the driver sped away. And my dad tossed the doll to the curb, where it sat until somebody—the garbageman, a neighbor, a passerby—must have picked it up and carried it away.

“What did that guy say?” I asked Cassie later when we were back inside on the couch.

“Your dad’s right, it doesn’t matter,” she said, waving me off. “He was a nut ball.”

“It matters.” I stared at her hard.

“Okay,” she said finally. “He said, ‘Beware false prophets.’” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how your mom dealt with those people. But trust me, that particular turtle-ish guy isn’t going to be coming back. When I got up on his car, I think he might have peed himself.”

And I knew Cassie and my dad were right. That man—whoever he was—didn’t matter. None of the people who hated my mom and her pictures did. Maybe I should have even been grateful. Because, in a way, them still hating her kept her alive.

“We’re close,” Jasper whispers. He’s already on the last screws—only one corner and a few along the side left to go. “Hold the board so it doesn’t fall and make noise once I have them all out. We’re going to have to move fast, too. That way, I think.” He points to the other side of the cabin, which backs up to the woods. “No stopping, no matter what. Even if we get separated. Everyone has to just keep running.”

Are we really doing this? My heart is thumping. My body tensed for flight. Yes. Yes, we are. And I know I can. Jasper and I just did this a few hours ago. I nod, ready to step forward and take the board. But Cassie is just standing there, shaking her head.

“I still don’t know if we should—” her voice chokes out.

“Cassie, come on. You’re just freaked out,” Jasper says. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

There’s a loud noise from the front of the cabin then. The lock again, the door cracking open.

“Move,” Jasper says.

We break off in opposite directions, jetting away from the wall and the wood. The scene of our escape in progress. At least the board is still in place. It’s our best chance for them not to realize we’ve found a way out.

I hold my breath as we wait to see who’s coming inside. I pray it is not that toothless man from the window. I do not want to see him up close. But it’s not him who finally steps tentatively inside. This man is youngish and normal-looking, a couple of years older than us maybe, with shaggy black hair and warm eyes behind square, black-framed glasses. He’s wearing dark jeans, lace-up boots, and an orange down vest over a flannel shirt, but even in those clothes he seems more big city than Maine woods.

“Hi,” he says, uncomfortable, even nervous. Aware, maybe, that this situation is profoundly messed up. It could be a good sign. “I’m Quentin.”

He’s got some bottles of water and some granola bars cradled unevenly in his arms. When he goes to put them down on the table, the water bottles immediately roll onto the floor. He scrambles awkwardly to pick them up.

“You know, whatever Cassie’s mom agreed to, she definitely didn’t sign up for this.” Jasper steps forward. His arms are at his sides, but his fists are clenched. “And Wylie and my parents didn’t agree to anything. Keeping us here is false imprisonment.”

Jasper will make an excellent lawyer someday. It’s actually pretty convincing. If only we were in a position to threaten anyone with anything. The guy holds up his hands, eyes wide.

“You’re confused, which totally makes sense. And I was just about to—” The light in the bathroom goes off, making us all twitch. “And there goes the generator again. Wait, hold on one second.” He ducks his head back out the still-open door and returns with two kerosene lanterns. They bathe the cabin in warm yellow light. “Okay, that’s better. Being trapped in the dark is not going to help anything. Listen, to be clear, having you here is for your safety. If you could just trust—”