Two Girls Down(81)

He had gotten closer, off the porch now, on the ground, level with Dena but still a few yards away. Dena still wasn’t crying yet but was close, her arm loose around Bailey, the hand with the gun wiggly, like the weight would bring it down soon.

“Dena,” Cap said, tried to put on his best Dad voice—firm and kind. “I know this all probably got out of hand very quickly, right?”

She nodded.

“I know, and your dad knows, that you really didn’t have anything to do with this—that John talked you into it, and you did whatever you did because you love him.”



She kept nodding so he kept talking.

“You don’t want anything bad to happen to these little girls. You’re just trying to find a way to fix all this.”

Now the tears came, just some thin trickles, her cheeks pinched.

“So let’s fix it,” Cap said softly. “I can help you. I can talk to the police for you. They’ll listen to me.”

Dena’s jaw jutted out in belligerence.

“How’m I supposed to know that?” she said, her voice tense and muted from her stuffed nose. “Why should I believe you anyway?”

Cap tried to sift out where she’d go next. She was damaged enough to have come this far, but how much further could she go, and which way would she break? Was she so desperate she was about to give up, or would she instead take a nosedive into a dry quarry and take whoever she could grab with her? He had to place a bet and pray on that ticket like anyone else.

“Because I’m going to put my gun down. Right here, okay?” he said, gesturing to the ground at his feet. “That is how sure I am that you’ll know what to do next.”

Dena sniffed and her mouth went slack. Cap continued.

“That is how sure I am that your dad was right about you.”

Dena shut her eyes for a short second and wiped them with the top side of her wrist.

Cap started to kneel.

“I’m putting my gun down now,” he announced. “No fast moves.”

He placed the Sig on the patch of wild grass in front of him. Came back up to standing with his hands in the air. Dena watched him, her breath staggered and short. Bailey watched him too and started to move her mouth, trying to talk, but no sound came out. She gripped Dena’s arm like it was a pull-up bar.

“Okay, Dena,” Cap said. “Now it’s really up to you.”

The moments that followed stretched long, each one packed full. Acid swirled in Cap’s stomach, coffee surging in his throat. Dena kept her gun pointed at Cap, her hand still shaking. Cap reminded himself to breathe slowly, drops of sweat running from his underarm down to his ribs.

Then Dena began to unlock her arm from Bailey, slowly at first, Bailey still hanging on. Dena moved quicker then, shaking Bailey off and putting her free hand on the gun. Bailey stood motionless, arms at her sides but fingers extended, tense. She was looking at the ground, but her eyes moved all around, to her feet, Cap’s feet, the porch. Cap thought she looked possessed.



His mouth was dry but he swallowed anyway. He had to keep talking but not patronize her. She still had the gun.

So all he said, all that was in his head, was the simplest thing he could think of.

“Thanks, Dena. Thank you.”

Then he shifted his gaze down, to Bailey.

“Bailey?” he said.

Bailey made little fists. Her arms were impossibly thin. Pretzel sticks. The pink dress hung off her, too big. She didn’t look up, but blinked. Cap knew it was good to get any kind of reaction because it meant that even if she was out of it she was not in shock.

“I know your mom,” he said.

Bailey looked at him like he was speaking a language she understood only a few words of.

Dena breathed hard through her nose and pointed the gun at Bailey for a second, only to nudge her.

“Go,” Dena said. “Go with the man.”

Something about Dena’s delivery wasn’t convincing, a singsong bounce in her voice, her eyes skimming from Bailey to Cap and back. Cap glanced at his gun, thought about how long it would take to grab it, just in case she was having second thoughts about where this was going.

Bailey took a couple of steps and then stopped, arms still pinned to her sides. Cap kept his hands raised slightly above his head but watched Dena move from side to side, like a catcher settling in his spot.

“Come on,” Cap said to Bailey, just above a whisper.

Bailey started moving forward again and was almost to him. Sweat streamed down his temples. He could hear nothing—no birds, no breeze, just the sound of Bailey’s small feet shuffling through the dirt.

And then the front door slammed open and there was Vega, half her face covered in blood, aiming her pistol at Dena.

Dena fired at Vega, missing, hitting the door and shattering the frame, splinters falling on the porch in a cloud.



Bailey froze and screamed, a foot away from Cap, and Cap yelled, “Vega, don’t!”

But Vega wasn’t hearing him.

Cap threw his body over Bailey, nesting-doll style, as Vega started to shoot. Shot one was at Dena’s hands before she could fire again; the gun flew to the ground and Dena let out a piercing scream that sounded like a birdcall, blood spraying. She fell back against the car, hands curled into her chest, and howled, started to slide down but didn’t get far.