All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(121)

“His name was River.”

“I understand he saved you.”

I bit back a frantic, angry laugh. That lie had been Emmett’s idea. He had found us in the basement before the deputies arrived, and he had put Austin’s gun in Lena’s hand. He had wrapped her fingers around it, careful to press each digit against the metal and the trigger and the guard. Austin had been silent—now, looking back, I recognized the beginning of what Dr. Fossey had described. Jake had been too worried about Temple Mae. Emmett had coached all of us, though, in that harsh, insistent way of his, until we could repeat the lie. Even Austin had repeated it, although he had said nothing else.

The lie was simple, albeit hard to believe: Lena had found us downstairs. We don’t know why she had wanted to hurt us. Maybe it was a robbery gone wrong. River had tried to stop her. She had shot him three times, but he had broken her neck.

That furious laughter fought against my control again. Yes, River was big enough, strong enough, to break her neck. But after he’d been shot three times? And the bloodstains were all wrong, and our story couldn’t explain why Lena had two guns, or why the gun that had killed River was registered to Donald Miller. It was a story as lacy and insubstantial as a snowflake; one hot breath would turn it to steam.

But I, at least, was going to stick to it. Maybe dead, River Lang would do one good thing with his life by saving Austin from being labeled a killer. I wanted to think that the River at the very end, the one whose face I had seen in those final moments, would have wanted to do one good thing with his life.

“I’m wondering,” Dr. Fossey said, “why they all insist that you saved them too? Temple Mae, in particular, was . . . well, she was saying some odd things.”

“I don’t know. She’s hurt. She’s not thinking right.”

“Well, Mr. Eliot,” Dr. Fossey paused, studying me. “I’m thinking very clearly, and I think it would have been almost impossible for a man who had sustained such severe injuries to exert enough force to break a woman’s neck. I think it would have to be someone else.”

My heart picked up. “Adrenaline. He was probably pumped full of it.”

“Yes,” Dr. Fossey murmured, still examining me with eyes like ashy snow. “Well, Mr. Eliot, I would tell you that such an explanation is highly unlikely, although technically, I suppose possible. And I would also tell you that, if someone else had managed to stop that woman—even if he were, for perfectly valid reasons, unwilling to be recognized for what he had done—well, that person would be a hero in my book. I have no truck with monsters, and I am genuinely in favor of shoveling them into the furnace like dead wood.” She lifted her light, bird-like touch from my shoulder, dipped her hand into her pocket, and pressed something against my palm. “And, if occasion were ever to arise that this hero needed assistance—discreet assistance—I would be happy to provide.”

With that, she left. I stared after her, dazed. She thought I was the one who had killed Lena. She thought that, but she wasn’t going to tell the sheriff. God, I thought, fighting a giggle. She practically offered to help. I examined the card she had put into my hand. It had her name and title and office, but on the back, in watery blue ink, she had scrawled seven digits. A phone number.

The curtain clattered along its rod, and Emmett slipped into the room. He’d found time to change clothes, of course, and, to judge by his hair and his smell, he’d showered too. He dropped into the single chair, his long legs sprawling across the narrow room. “Jesus, I thought she’d never leave. What was she going on about?”

“She thinks I killed Lena.”

“Uh oh.”

“No, she . . . approved, I guess.”

Emmett rolled his eyes. “You find the weirdest people.”

I kicked his ankle, and Emmett feigned a wince. “Look who’s talking,” I said.

“You want to stay here?”

“I think I have to.”

Grinning, Emmett shook his head. “Come on, Vie. When have you ever done something you didn’t want to do?”

“I literally do things I don’t want all the time.”

“Then this is a perfect opportunity to stop. Let’s go. You can sleep over, and I’ll bring you back into town for your morning interrogation.” I opened my mouth, and Emmett’s hands shot up. His face was the perfect picture of cherubic innocence. “Just sleep. Promise.”

I turned it over in my head, nodded, and slipped off the exam table. To my surprise, Emmett slid an arm around my waist and dragged my arm over his shoulder. “You look like a tumbleweed could knock you down in a fair fight.”

“Emmett.”

“Yeah?” he asked, checking through the parted curtain for an opening. When the hall cleared, he helped me towards the door.

“Shut up. Just for tonight.”

He grinned, and his hand slid down to squeeze my butt once before returning to my waist. “Whatever you say.”

“Oh God,” I groaned.

We took a door at the bottom of the stairwell out into the parking lot. The Porsche was waiting for us, and I realized Emmett had planned everything. We were alone, just the two of us, and the Porsche, and the wilderness of stars overhead. I was too numb to think about anything but the next step, and the next, and the next.

Then a voice interrupted us. “Vie?”