didn’t know this place was here, then maybe no one else would, either.
He backed down the stairs and stood in the pitch-blackness, holding his breath.
No voices. And then the sound of a car pulling away.
Feeling his way to the wall, he slid down onto the ground, his back against the stone. The gun was digging into his waist, so he pulled it out.
This would be okay… at least, until he could get warm and get his brain working right again.
Tomorrow, maybe he would get on the road.
He laid the gun down on the dirt near his foot, brought up his hands, and blew on them for warmth. He sat there, the darkness so black he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.
No sounds now. Just the wind whistling through the old boards of the door.
He was alone.
Except…
He turned and peered into the blackness.
A shiver snaked up his wet neck.
He fumbled in his pocket for the lighter, flicked it with his thumb, but it jumped out of his trembling hand.
Frantic, he patted the dirt around him. His fingers touched plastic, and he snatched it up.
His other hand paused on the dirt, then closed around a clump. He brought it up to his nose.
This place. This farm…
This was the reason he had come back here.
It was his. He hated it. But it was all he had.
Could he leave this place?
Could he leave Jean?
She was here. She was close now. He could feel it.
He let the dirt fall through his fingers.
He couldn’t go. He couldn’t leave this place yet.
There was one more thing to do. Then he would be free.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Louis sat down on the wooden bench and let out a long sigh through gritted teeth. He had never thought breathing could be this painful. The muscles across his chest felt cauterized, and the tiny stitches itched like hell. Thirty-six of them.
“You look like you’re going to pass out,” Joe said.
He looked up. Joe and Amy stood nearby. Amy was glancing nervously around the courthouse lobby, as if she expected Brandt to come bursting through the front doors. Joe was holding her hand.
“What do you think the judge will do?” he asked.
Joe glanced at Amy, then whispered something to her. Amy nodded and moved away, taking a seat on the next bench. She wore jeans and the pale pink parka Louis had bought for her at Kmart. Her hair was pulled back and clipped with a barrette. Louis realized she was starting to look like a young woman, as if being told she was sixteen had forced her to grow three years overnight.
Joe sat down next to him. “I’m going to ask for permanent guardianship,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“Permanent? Like adoption?”
Joe gave a half-smile. “I don’t know,” she said. “But for now, just something longer-term.”
“Have you told her?” Louis asked.
“Not yet.”
Louis looked back at Amy. She was fondling her locket. He tried to imagine Joe,
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked.
“She has no one else.”
“She has Shockey.”
“For how long?” Joe asked. “It’s a miracle he’s lived two days.”
“And every hour brings more hope.”
“Amy says he’s going to die,” she said.
“And you believe her?”
Joe’s eyes moved away from him, to Amy first, then to nowhere. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just trying to put a Plan B in place. I want her to know, if he does die, that she still has someone.”
Louis started to say something, but he stopped himself. His eyes caught a glimmer of white outside the glass doors. He watched as an Ann Arbor cruiser pulled to a stop. He checked his watch. It was ten to one. He hoped Margi was arriving.
They had learned yesterday that she had not only pulled through, but she wasn’t as seriously injured as Bloom first thought. Apparently, her skull was pretty thick, and it wasn’t the first broken arm she had ever endured.
When Margi heard Brandt was on the run and Shockey was clinging to life, she demanded to be brought to Ann Arbor to help. As part of that help, she wanted to make sure the family court judge knew exactly what kind of man Brandt was.
Louis knew they didn’t need her testimony, but he also knew she needed to give it.
Margi let the cop open the door for her and limped through it. She wore a pair of black leggings that outlined her skinny thighs and bulged where the bandages wrapped her knees. She had her leather jacket over her shoulders, with one arm in a cast. On her head was a goofy-looking velvet hat that spiked her brittle yellow hair out over her ears. He knew it covered a massive bandage on her partially shaved head.
She saw him and came awkwardly across the lobby in heeled sandals. As she neared, her face sharpened in the brighter light. One eye was pooled with blood.
He rose to his feet.
“Am I here in time?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“I’m still alive,” Margi said.
She shrugged as she said it, but there was something in her voice that told Louis she didn’t quite believe it.
“Have you been to see Shockey?” Louis asked.
“No, but I’m going right over when I’m done here,” she said. “How long do you think this is going to take?” She glanced at Amy and lowered her voice. “They said he might not make it, and I want to talk to him.”
“He won’t be able to talk to you,” Joe said. “He’s not conscious.”
Margi’s eyes welled. “I caused this. It’s all my fault.”
Louis was quiet. He knew from the police statement that Margi had told Brandt the address only when he tried to push her from the car. He couldn’t imagine her terror, yet there was a part of him that wished she’d been a little smarter in trying to get away in the first place. Why had she stopped in Hell to make that call? Why not drive fifty miles farther?
“Does he know?” Margi said softly.
“Know what?” Louis said.
“Does he know that I didn’t go back? Does he know that I tried to get away? Does he know that?”
“What does that matter?” Louis asked.
Margi glanced at Joe before answering. “He told me he was proud of me. I’d hate him dying and not knowing that.”
There wasn’t anything to do but lie. Not for Shockey’s sake but for Margi’s.
