Slow Burn Page 12

  "Benton," I said. "My dealer. The one asking me all the weird questions before that guy shot me on the way home from Morgantown?"

  "Yeah?"

  "He was at the party. He asked me if I lived there." I slid my hands into my hair, grabbed handfuls of it and tugged. "This is all my fault."

  Griffin held up a hand. "Doll, don't do that. That doesn't help anything."

  I stood up off the couch. "Benton must be in contact with Op Wraith. He saw me, he told them where I was, and they sent people to Stacey's house and they hurt her." I dashed back the hall. I needed to get dressed. "We have to go there."

  "That's stupid," said Griffin. "We know they're there. They have the advantage."

  "Stupid?" I demanded. "It's Stacey and Jack." I wriggled into a pair of jeans and threw on a shirt.

  Griffin stood in the doorway to the bedroom. "Doll, we might get there, and they could be..."

  "What if they aren't?" I said. "What if we can save them?"

  He fished a shirt off the floor. "If we're going in there, you are going to listen to everything that I say. You're going to do what I tell you, and you aren't going to ask questions. You got that?" He pulled the shirt over his head.

  "I got it."

  "Go find the guns and make sure they're loaded."

  "All of them?" I said.

  "Yes, all of them."

  Griffin kept guns hidden all over the apartment. Inside the couch, behind the toilet, under the bed. I began gathering them up. The ammunition was in the kitchen. Once I had all the guns, I sat on the couch, loading each of them with shaking hands.

  Griffin sat down next to me, handing me a pair of sneakers and a roll of socks. "I've got this now. You're going to need good shoes."

  "Okay," I said. I started to pull them on. Everything seemed overly bright for some reason, kind of washed out. And Griffin's voice was a little bit far away. It sounded like he was talking to me through a tunnel. I couldn't quite grasp the fact that something was happening to Stacey. Not Stacey. She didn't deserve that. She was my best friend, and this was what my friendship had brought her.

  "They wouldn't hurt them," I said with conviction. "They're keeping them alive to lure me there. When we get there, Stacey and Jack will be fine." I turned to Griffin. "Don't you think?"

  "Sure do, doll," he said, loading the last gun. But he sounded distracted, and I wasn't sure he'd even been listening to me.

  I followed him out of my apartment. We made our way down the rickety stairs. They groaned under our weight.

  We got in the car, Griffin in the driver's seat. He handed me a gun. "Keep your eye out, okay? They could be anywhere."

  I swallowed, struggling to remember how he'd taught me to hold it.

  He pulled the car out of the parking lot. We drove in silence. Stacey and Jack lived about a ten-minute drive away. It was still dark outside, but it was the wee hours of the morning, so it was silent and still. There wasn't even a breeze ruffling the new spring leaves on the trees.

  I gripped the gun tightly, gazing out into the black early morning. The moon hung low in the sky, tired and bloated. The stars looked faded as well.

  Griffin parked the car on the side of the road about a quarter mile away from Stacey and Jack's house. He got out and motioned for me to do so as well. "Walk behind me, doll, and try to stay quiet."

  Stacey and Jack's house was in the middle of the woods. It was on a hill (of course) and the driveway wound down the main road. We climbed up the hill, into the woods. We were going to walk down on the house from the opposite direction.

  The woods were difficult to navigate in the dark. There were sharp branches sticking out every which way, clinging barbs that stuck to my clothes, keeping me from moving forward until I detangled them.

  "Quiet, doll," said Griffin. He seemed to move like a cat, silent and fluid. And it wasn't fair, because he was so much bigger than I was.

  I did my best to go more quietly.

  We crossed over a tiny stream. It gleamed through the branches, reflecting the night sky in a speckled pattern. My shoes got wet.

  Griffin's didn't.

  Shortly after the stream, we came to a rusty barbed wire fence stretching through the woods. It was probably an old property marker. This all used to be farmland a long time ago. This might have been the edge of some farmer's land.

  It might have still been the edge of farmland. It wasn't like there weren't still farms around here.

  Griffin halted when he saw it. He carefully stepped on the bottom line of wire, making sure to avoid the barbs and lifted the top wire, making a gaping hole. "Climb through."

  I surveyed the gap. "I don't know." It didn't look big enough to fit through. I was afraid of getting punctured by the rusty barbs.

  "There's no other way unless we turn around," he said. "And we've lost a lot of time as it is."

  I bent down and crawled through the fence. My hair got stuck on it, but not bad. I yanked it free.

  "You grab it," said Griffin.

  I replaced his foot with my own and his hand with mine, holding it open for him.

  He managed to get through without touching the fence at all.

  Then he was in front of me again, leading me through the woods.

  Within the next few minutes, we could see the lights of the house through the trees. There was a clearing that the house sat in, a yard of about an acre that surrounded it. The land was hilly and rocky.

  Griffin crept up to the edge of the woods, kneeling behind a tree trunk. I did the same thing.

  All the lights in the house were still on. It had a wraparound porch, and it sat on a garage. We could see that there were still leftover cans of beer and overflowing ashtrays littering the porch from the party.

  There was a stack of crumpled cans on top of their grill.

  At the other side of the porch, I could see half of their porch swing.

  It wasn't moving.

  Everything was still. Quiet.

  If it weren't for all the lights being on, it would seem normal.

  But the house was glowing. The indoor lights on, the outdoor lights on, casting a bright yellow circle out onto the lawn.

  Griffin swore. "There's no cover. No way to get up there without being seen."

  I couldn't believe that they'd gone to sleep. Not with all those lights on.

  But if they were awake, then why weren't they making any noise? It was so quiet out here, we would hear the murmur of conversation if anyone was talking.

  "Do you know where their breaker box is?" Griffin asked me.

  "I think in the garage," I said.

  "Okay," he said. He pointed. "We're going to walk around the house, down the hill, to the left. Stay out of sight, stay back, stay quiet. Keep your gun out. Take the safety off. You understand?"

  I nodded.

  Griffin went first.

  I followed him, gingerly picking my way through the underbrush.

  He seemed to be going more slowly too. It was important that they didn't hear us.

  When we were right across from the door to the garage, Griffin halted. He pointed to a tree trunk. "Squat down right there," he whispered.

  I did.

  "I'm going into the garage, and I'm turning off the lights. When you see the lights go out, you run for the door. Okay?"

  "Okay," I said. Suddenly, I felt very cold. It was as if I hadn't noticed the chilly night air before. But my voice shook when I spoke, and I realized that I was shivering. The air was pressing in on me, like cold water.

  "Safety off?"

  I nodded.

  Griffin planted a quick kiss on my forehead. "Hold it together for me, doll." And then he was gone, darting across the lawn so quickly I barely saw him move.

  I waited.

  How long would it take for him to find the breaker box and turn the lights out?

  I heard the sound of a car on the road, in the distance.

  A car? This late? Was it Op Wraith, returning to see if we'd shown u
p?

  I saw the headlights then. They cut into the woods, illuminating me where I hid behind the tree trunk.

  I scrambled the other way, so that the trunk blocked me from the road.

  But now I was close enough that the lights from the house illuminated me.

  I clung to the tree, going motionless. I would play dead, like a small, wild animal. They wouldn't see me if I didn't move.

  The car roared down the road, and I heard a snatch of Beatles music floating to me where I crouched.

  I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

  And the lights went out.

  I jumped, startled. I'd nearly forgotten I was waiting for it. I ran for the door into the garage. But it was pitch black, and I'd been recently blinded by car headlights. I couldn't see where I was going.

  I thudded into the outside wall of the house and began feeling for the door.

  For several seconds, I only felt siding. Where was it? Was I feeling in the wrong direction?

  And then my fingers touched the cold smoothness of the door. I found the knob and threw myself inside.

  Griffin caught me just inside the door.

  I knew it was him because I could smell him. I wanted to hold him and beg him never to leave me alone again, but I figured it would be a bad idea to talk. So I didn't say anything.

  He took my hand, gripping it tightly.

  We started up the steps to the upper level of the house.

  To me, our footfalls were abominably loud, echoing through the garage. But I don't know if they were in actuality. My own breath also sounded as loud as a steam engine to me.

  Griffin tugged me close to him when he opened the door at the top of the stairs.

  It creaked as it swung out.

  I held my breath, waiting for the Op Wraith guys to jump out at us.

  But everything was silent and dark.

  We stepped out into the kitchen, which was where the steps from the garage came up. The sky outside was starting to lighten, and enough light came in through the windows that we could see the familiar outlines of the inside of Stacey's and Jack's house.

  The kitchen counter was cluttered with liquor bottles and glasses. The blender was still out, sticky remnants of some sweet concoction stuck to the inside of the glass. The sink was cluttered full of dirty dishes.

  I felt Griffin's hand pull on mine.

  We walked into the living room.

  The couches hadn't been moved back yet. They were still pushed up against the wall, and the wide dance floor that Stacey and I had taken advantage of yawned before us, gray and empty. The stereo was dark and silent, a hulking shadow against the far wall. Its "on" button didn't even blink. Griffin had turned off the electricity.

  I turned to the hallway where the bedroom was.

  Griffin yanked on me, trying to move me away.

  But not before I saw it.

  There was one tiny hand sticking out of the hallway, illuminated by the light through the window, white skin glowing. I could see that the fingernails were painted.

  I made an involuntary peep, and Griffin tugged me against him, his hand letting go of mine to cover my mouth.

  That hand belonged to Stacey.

  Her nails had been painted.

  Why was she lying in the hallway like that? She wouldn't have fallen asleep there, not with her hand sticking out. She wouldn't have voluntarily lain down in the hallway.

  My eyes were pricking.

  No.

  I had to see.

  I wrestled with Griffin, but he held me tight.

  No. Not Stacey.

  He walked with me, moving us both closer.

  With each step, the hallway was easier to see.

  I saw more of her arm. I saw her shoulder. I saw her red hair, scattered backwards. I saw her forehead. Her eyes-wide open, glassy, staring at the ceiling. And then I saw her throat.

  Bloody, messy, gory, exploded, destroyed-

  I buried my face in Griffin's chest.

  One of his hands went around me. The other held out his gun.

  My gun. I was pressing it into Griffin. And the safety was off.

  I straightened. I didn't have time to think about Stacey, did I? I squeezed my eyes shut, got a better grip on my gun, and I turned around to look again.

  Stacey was lying on the floor, shot through the throat.

  Jack was behind her, slumped over lifelessly. I couldn't see where he'd been shot, but I could tell he was dead just looking at him.

  The scene was too real. The colors were too saturated. And the fact that I could look at it without losing it-

  Maybe it was better not to think about that.

  There was a noise. A muffled noise, like pulling the cork out of a wine bottle.

  Griffin gasped.

  I turned to look at him.

  His hand was at his shoulder. Blood was pouring out of it.

  I screamed.

  And then I raised my gun, searching for movement.

  And when I saw it, in the kitchen, just a blur of black coming for us, I pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Ten

  My bullet splintered into the wall of the living room. It hadn't hit anything.

  But Griffin was turning, stretching his shoulder, lifting his gun.

  The black streak was closer.

  Griffin's shot took him down.

  He ran to the dark figure and turned him over on his stomach with one foot.

  Another corking noise.

  I felt something streak by me, moving quickly. I touched my cheek. Blood?

  "Down!" Griffin screamed. "There's more than one. They're shooting with silencers."

  I hit the floor. I'd been grazed by a bullet. It had been right next to my cheek.

  He turned, taking shots in the direction that the bullet that had nearly hit me had come from.

  Bullets kept coming.

  I crawled across the floor, raising my gun to send shots after Griffin's. Maybe I wasn't hitting anything, but maybe I was. I didn't know what else to do.

  Griffin grabbed me, and we stumbled for the door to the garage, his body between mine and the bullets.

  He yelped.

  "Griffin?"

  He hurled us inside the door. We tumbled down the steps.

  "Under the steps, doll," he gasped. "Lie down and don't move. I'm going dark."

  He'd been shot. There was blood trickling down his forehead. "Going dark?"

  He pulled me under the steps. There was a tarp lying there, and we crawled under it. He lay on his back.

  "Give me a couple of minutes," he said.

  And then he went motionless. It was like when I'd been shot before. When I'd been pulled down into Alice and Wonderland world for a few minutes. It was like death, only he wasn't dead.

  He wasn't dead.

  I clung to his inert body.

  Someone on the steps. I heard the noise.

  I froze, afraid to even breathe.

  Under the tarp, I couldn't see anything. I had to wait in the stifling darkness, holding tight to Griffin. I heard footsteps on the concrete. Then a door opening and closing.

  Did that mean whoever was out there had gone? I didn't know.

  I let out a cautious breath, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  More footfalls on the steps.

  I tensed up again.

  The door opened back up.

  "You're awake," said a voice.

  "Yeah, he got me good," said another voice. "He was always a good shot, wasn't he?"

  "Lucky I was there. He was about to cut your neck open."

  "Thanks." A beat. "So where is he now? Where's the girl?"

  "I don't know. I saw them go down the steps, but when I got down here they were gone."

  "Don't tell me that. If we go back in, and we botched the job, they're gonna murder us. It would be better to die out here."

  If only I could see them. If only I was a better shot. From the sound of their voices, they were close
. If I could be sure, I could shoot them both right now. But I couldn't be sure. I might not hit them. And all that would do is give away my hiding place. I didn't move.

  "I looked outside. They might have gone back into the woods," one of the Op Wraith agents was saying.

  "The woods? Seriously? You think we should go after them?"

  "I don't know. Like you said, we show up at headquarters empty handed, it doesn't look good for us."

  "You're right. I know it. But damn it all. The motherfucking woods."

  "Come on. The longer we sit here talking, the farther away they're getting."

  I heard the door open and close again.

  I let out a noisy sigh of relief. They were looking in the woods. That was a good thing, right?

  Griffin gasped beside me. "Doll?"

  I kissed him. "You're okay."

  * * *

  I took the stairs to my apartment two at a time, Griffin urging me on from behind.

  I felt numb and cold, like I was deep inside a refrigerator and the world was running past me too fast. Everything had been turned upside down. My best friend was dead. It was my fault. Op Wraith knew where I was. I wasn't safe here in Thomas anymore.

  And Stacey.

  If it weren't for me, Stacey would still be-

  "Move it, doll." Griffin's voice was strained. "We've got to be in and out of here in no time."

  I threw the door open and hurtled inside.

  "Pack food, pack clothes," said Griffin from behind me. "And do it in ten minutes."

  "Leigh?" said another voice.

  I turned on the light. "Who's there?" I yanked my gun out, flipping off the safety.

  Clint was in front of me. At the sight of the gun, he raised his hands. "Jesus, Leigh."

  I lowered the gun. "For fuck's sake, Clint, what is your problem? Get the hell out of here."

  "You got a gun, Leigh," he said. "You got a gun."

  "No shit," I said.

  Griffin glared at Clint. "I didn't think you were still friends with this guy."

  "I'm not." I strode into the apartment, flinging open one of cabinets and knocking out a jar of peanut butter and some applesauce. That was good road food, right?

  "Leigh," said Clint, "we're still friends. Of course we're still friends."

  I turned to face him. "Get out."

  "You're different now, aren't you?" he said.

  "Get out."

  "I thought maybe you might have some blow. I'm out. I know I bother you for this all the time, but-"

  "I haven't seen you in over a month, Clint."

  "Really?"

  "And you show up now trying to be friendly, when I haven't seen you in weeks?"

  "Well, it's not exactly-"

  "We were never friends. You used me for drugs," I said. "Now get the hell out of my apartment before you get yourself killed."