All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(84)

Had she gone back to bed? Was she just going to ignore me? I wouldn’t put it past her. Upstairs, with the covers pinned up to her chin, Becca was probably steaming because I’d woken her up. Steaming and determined not to get out of bed again, not to come downstairs, and not to worry about what I wanted. I shivered, and the movement sent a flash of pain through my jaw. Everything hurt, all the bruises from my last encounter with Dad, but my jaw hurt the worst, where the belt had licked me. My jaw or, maybe, my back. Every time the denim shifted, every time I moved, I tugged on something in my back, some muscle or something, that sent lightning bolts through me. As the wind cut through my clothes, I clenched my teeth. The dull ache was worse than the agony of letting my teeth chatter. My jaw, I decided. My jaw definitely hurt more.

Becca’s house had a basement with a sliding glass door, and at that moment the door skipped along its track. Poking her head out into the cold, Becca shivered. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I—”

“You woke my mom. That was really smart, because I had to pretend like I was asleep when she came to check on me, and God only knows if she’s really gone back to bed or if she’s waiting to see if I try something.”

I couldn’t fight it any longer; I shivered, and the uncontrollable movement was agony as it ignited all the bruises and contusions from head to toe. I made a noise, not very pretty, deep in my throat, but the wind masked it. When I trusted myself, when I thought my voice sounded normal, I said, “Like sneaking a boy up to your room?”

“Something like that. God, it’s freezing. Get in here.”

So I followed her up to her room, passing through the darkened house and trying to make as little noise as possible. Only when we were settled in her room, and Becca had wadded up a towel to shove under the door, did she risk turning on the light.

“Holy shit,” she said, her eyes, growing wider and wider, glued to my face. “What happened—” Then she cut off, and her face reddened.

“Yeah,” I said, digging the flash drive out of my pocket.

“Vie, that looks serious.”

“Lawayne Karkkanew isn’t dead. That’s serious. I know I said he was, but that’s because I thought he was. Somehow he survived. Anyway, he sent me this, and I need to know what’s on it.”

“You’re here about Lawayne? Vie, I think you need a doctor.”

“What’s on this?”

“Vie—”

“Becca, what’s on this?”

“At least let me get you an ice pack?”

“I’m frozen already.”

“You should still keep something cold on—”

“On my whole fucking body?” She flinched. “Sorry, I didn’t—yeah, I’d love an ice pack.”

She was gone too long, and when she came back with an ice pack wrapped in a towel, her eyes were red. She passed me the towel, and I rested my jaw against it. It did feel better.

“Thanks,” I said and then, because of those red eyes, because of her slumped shoulders, because she was looking at me like I had cancer, like I had not years left to live, not months, but maybe weeks, “It’s really not that bad. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

She was busy booting up one of the many computers in the room and, without a word, took the flash drive. When it was ready, she moved the mouse around and clicked and scrolled and clicked again.

“What?” I said.

“I’m downloading something to open it.”

Seconds ticked by. I wasn’t sure how many, because time had slowed down, swelling and trembling like a drop of water at the tip of a leaf: bending, rippling, ready to fall but not yet falling. Time was like that, I guess, especially when things were awful. And tonight qualified as awful, in my humble opinion. The whole night had gone sideways, first at Austin’s and then at home, and I’d managed to be the one who made it go sideways both times. Thoughts of Dad, of the horror on his face, of the feeling of power as I’d scoured him and dragged forth all the worse memories of his life, battered me, and I swept them away again and again.

“Is it ready?”

“No, it’s not ready,” Becca snapped. “You can’t show up in the middle of the night, hand over a flash drive, and just expect me to give you instantaneously whatever you want.”

“I didn’t—”

“And another thing—”

“Oh God.”

“—if you think you’re leaving this house tonight, you are insane. You’re going to sleep right here.”

I bounced on the bed and brushed the quilt. Giant teddy bears marked the fabric. “Right here?”

“On the floor, moron. You don’t deserve to—oh.” A black square popped up on the monitor. “It’s a video feed from—”

“—the back door of Jigger Boss,” I finished, kneeling next to her. The recording was much higher quality than the one from the bus station—not quite hi-def, but close. The Dumpster sat next to the back door, and the camera showed an arc of pavement and asphalt where the parking lot began.

“Why did he send us video from his security cameras?”

“I told you, I wanted help finding River. This must have something on it.”

“After Lawayne got shot—after he got shot twice—he woke up from surgery and the first thing he thought was, Jesus, I made a promise to this kid Vie, and I better get cracking and help him out. You think that’s how it went?”