It was well after midnight when I got back. The funfair had closed down and the rides were being dismantled or folded up like Transformer toys. Scaffolding pipes were loaded onto trucks and canvas tents rolled into tubes.
Tash wasn’t where I left her. I thought she must have found somewhere warmer in the choir stalls or under the baptismal font. It was scary walking through the darkened church, but I couldn’t risk turning on the lights, so I lit one of the prayer candles and tried not to spill hot wax on my hands.
I walked towards the main doors and that’s when I saw George. He was sitting straight-backed in a pew. Tash was asleep with her head on his thigh.
George held a finger to his lips, not wanting to wake her.
“Hello, Piper,” he whispered.
“How do you know who I am?”
“You’re the runner,” he said, stroking Tash’s hair. “She’s sleeping. She told me what happened. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“We have to go to the police station. We have to tell them what happened.”
“Tash didn’t want to tell anyone.”
“I made her change her mind.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“I’ve come to help.”
He was wearing black combat trousers and dark boots laced to his shins. A dark shirt was visible beneath his waterproof jacket. I thought he looked like someone official-like a soldier or a police officer-except for his jacket, which was old and stained.
Sliding Tash’s head from his lap, he sat her up, leaning her head against his shoulder.
“My car is outside,” he said. “Here, help me lift her.”
I reached down and took Tash’s arm, but that’s when his hand slipped over my mouth and nose, stopping me in mid-breath, squeezing. His other arm wrapped around my chest, pinning my arms and lifting my feet from the ground. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t run.
“Shhhhhh,” he whispered. “Sleep now, Princess. You’ll be home soon.”
50
They let me ride in the ambulance with Piper. Although she is unconscious, her vital signs are stronger. They can put her on dialysis and clean her blood. She’ll recover. She’ll see in the New Year and meet her new baby sister.
Seated on a side bench, my knees touching the stretcher, I sway through every corner of the journey to hospital. I can see a face reflected in the chrome, but it doesn’t look like me. My body is shaking. I don’t know if it’s the Parkinson’s or the cold or something more elemental. I killed a man. I took a life.
Piper’s eyes flutter open, wide with shock at first. She recognizes me. Relaxes.
“Hello,” I say, holding her hand.
She can’t answer because of the oxygen mask.
“You’re safe. We’re going to the hospital.”
Her fingers squeeze mine.
Her other hand reaches for her mask. The paramedic wants her to keep it on. Piper insists. She mouths the word. I lean closer and hear her whisper.
“Tash?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Tash didn’t make it home. She died in the blizzard, but she helped us find you.”
Piper squeezes her eyes shut and a tiny marble-like tear rolls down her cheek and stops at the edge of the mask.
This was always going to be the hardest news and it will hurt her more than anyone imagines-a survivor’s guilt and a sense that the world has moved on without her. There is nobody left who understands what she’s been through.
51
It’s after midnight when I arrive at the cottage. The key is under the third brick beneath the foxglove plant. Letting myself in, I use the glow of the Christmas lights to navigate along the hallway, trying not to make a sound.
In the sitting room, I slump onto the couch and close my eyes. Too exhausted to get up the stairs, too wired to sleep.
“Hello.”
Julianne is standing at the doorway. She’s wearing flannelette pajamas, which she buys a size too large because she says they’re more comfortable. The trousers hang low on her hips and the shirt is unbuttoned to reveal the shadow between her breasts.
“I heard the news,” she says. “Is she going to be OK?”
“Yes.”
“They said a man was shot.”
I nod.
My hands are shaking. I look into her eyes and something small and delicate shreds inside me. I feel the tears coming. I try to hold them back, but she sits beside me and presses her face to mine.
I sob.
She soothes.
“I killed a man.”
“You saved a girl.”
Her arms are around me now, hugging me like a child.
“When I was holding that gun, all I could think about was Charlie. I could picture when Gideon Tyler kidnapped her; how helpless I felt, how completely and utterly useless. I remember you standing in this room, unable to look at me. I couldn’t think of anything to say to you. I couldn’t make it better. I couldn’t share your pain because I knew that if I took your sorrow and anger and added it to mine it would fucking bury me… I’d never survive.”
“Don’t torture yourself, Joe.”
“That was the beginning of the end for us. I knew it. You knew it.”
“Charlie is fine. I’m fine. You have to stop punishing yourself.” She strokes my hair. “I think you should talk to someone.”
“Who?”
“A professional.”
“You think I should see a therapist.”
“Yes.”
“Are you seeing one?”
She nods. “It’s helping.”
“Who?”
“I’m not saying. You’ll tell me there’s someone better.”
I try to laugh because I know she’s right. We sit like this for a long while, listening to the silence, enjoying each other’s warmth.
“How was Christmas?” I ask.
“Postponed.” She points to the Christmas tree, where brightly wrapped gifts lie unopened beneath the lower
