Real Bad Things(80)

“You two,” Benjamin said, as if they had cellmates and might be confused as to whom he was speaking. “Let’s go.”

“What time is it?” she asked Tom.

He checked his watch. “’Bout seven a.m. or so, ma’am.”

Too early for anything but bad news. My God. McPherson. They were sending her to McPherson, Jason to wherever they sent the men. She had expected this, but not so soon. She’d just confessed. She held both hands to her diaphragm and tried to slow her breathing.

“Where are we going?” she asked Benjamin. “What’s happening?”

He held the door open with one hand, the other held a manila folder. No answer.

Tears dropped onto her shirt. “Where are we going?” she asked again, the panic creeping higher in her voice.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Jason told her.

How could he say that? What did he know?

For the first time, his smile didn’t seem forced. So calm. Not a shadow of doom on his face, like he knew something she didn’t. Like everything would actually be okay.

For him.





Twenty-Nine

JANE

Jane’s knuckles hovered above the door handle. As a kid, she had kept a close eye on the door, waiting for the slightest turn of the knob to reveal a figure who meant her harm. Either a stranger or whichever man walked through the door, trailing after Diane. One time, Jane almost hit Jason with a metal baseball bat when he slipped into their room in the middle of the night after using the bathroom or doing whatever. Maybe reading comics on the couch. The terror she experienced standing at that door now felt no less than when she was a child.

Though it was warm out, her breath fogged the dirty glass. Anxiety and adrenaline and doubt surged through her. Maybe she was wrong. She could be overtired. Tired people did dumb things all the time.

She heard the TV on low, turned the handle, and entered.

Diane sat on the couch. She didn’t say hello or offer any other words. The blankets and sheet and pillow Jane used every night were smashed up in one corner of the couch. Diane propped her cigarette on top of her crossed legs. She stared at Jane but didn’t make a move.

Jane looked around the room. “What are you doing up this early?”

Diane responded with what amounted to a low snarl. She reminded Jane of chained dogs she, Jason, and Angie had passed on their walks to school. Their chains looked sturdy, but their mouths told Jane they could snap those chains like twigs.

“I went for a walk,” Jane offered, even though Diane hadn’t asked. “Couldn’t sleep.” She made a show of yawning and stretching even though she felt wired, as if on uppers. “I’ll probably try to get a few hours in, though. In case.”

In case they arrested her alongside Jason and Georgia Lee. The whole lot of them now cast in the same crime.

Diane didn’t move when Jane grabbed her blanket and headed to the hallway. Her ears buzzed with adrenaline.

“Where are you going?” Diane shouted behind her.

“To my old room.”

“Why?”

Jane paused and turned to her. “To sleep.”

“I told you there ain’t no bed in there.”

“I know. But you’re in here. And—”

Diane stubbed out her cigarette and stood. “Nobody’s stopping you from sleeping in here.”

“I thought maybe since you’re up you—”

“I’ve got somewhere to be anyhow.” Diane looked around as if searching for the place she had to be.

“I’ll just grab my things from the bedroom, and then I’ll come back out here.”

“What things?”

“My clothing.” Jane tried to pull on her usual mask of exasperation and sarcasm, but she couldn’t hide what she felt certain was fear coming through her voice. Her tongue practically vibrated with it. “I thought I’d change before taking a nap.”

Diane eyed her. “Why do you need to change?”

“I just need some clean clothes.” Despite her nerves, Jane rushed through the hallway.

Diane followed closely behind. “What are you doing putting your clothes in there?”

“There was nowhere else to put them,” she said. “I didn’t want them to be in your way in the living room.”

Diane made it to Jane’s side faster than Jane would’ve ever expected. Her eyes had that particular raged look in them she got before a fight. The kind she got before every final blowout with a boyfriend that sent them packing. “You should’ve asked me before putting your stuff in there. I told you there’s no room.”

“What does it matter?” Jane grasped the door handle. “It’s just a bunch of shit you don’t use.”

“You don’t know that! There’s nothing for you in there.”

“Yes, there is. My clothes.” She had to get in that room. Find that shoebox. That photo of the old boyfriend. The one with the missing finger. The one who had disappeared. But they all had, hadn’t they? Every boyfriend. Impossible and outlandish possibilities rang like sirens in her mind. They left. They all left. Sometimes they stayed for months, other times only weeks. But they had one thing in common: there one day, gone the next. Without a word. As if they’d never existed. None of them returned. There was never a moment of kissing and making up.