She hung up. Done. Mark Grunard had been tougher than she had thought. Not that she could blame him. She was asking a great deal and not many people would give without wanting something in return.
Except Joe.
Don’t think about Joe. She couldn’t have him with her.
'Come on out,' Charlie called from outside the bedroom door. 'Food’s here.' She braced herself. Just get through dinner and hope she could slip out before Joe came home.
EIGHT
'Would you like to talk?'
'No.' Jane stared straight ahead. Let her just go away. The house mother looked like a plump The Killing Game – Eve Duncan 02
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gray bird perched on the sofa and her cooing voice was driving Jane crazy. Maybe she was trying to be nice, but Jane had had enough. 'I want to go to bed, Mrs.—' What was her name?
'Mrs. Morse.'
'You’ll sleep better if you talk about it.'
Talk about blood. Talk about Fay. Why did grown-ups always think it was better to talk everything over? She didn’t want to think about Fay. She never wanted to think about Fay again. She just wanted to close the door to all the pain. No, there was one thing she had to know first. 'Who killed her?'
'You’re safe here, dear,' Mrs. Morse said gently.
That wasn’t what she had asked, and Mrs. Morse was lying. No one was safe anywhere. 'Who killed Fay?'
'We’re not sure.'
'The cops have to have some idea. Fay never hurt anyone. Was it one of the gangs? Was anything stolen?'
'It’s better if you don’t think about it right now. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.' She reached out to stroke Jane’s hair. 'But we really should discuss how you’re feeling.'
She leaned away before the woman could touch her. 'I don’t feel anything. I don’t care that Fay died. I wouldn’t care if you died either. Just leave me alone.'
'I understand.'
Jane gritted her teeth. What could she say to make the woman leave her alone? She didn’t understand. No one understood.
Except maybe Eve. She hadn’t tried to talk. She had sat silently with Jane, but Jane had somehow felt—
Stupid. They had been together only a matter of minutes. If Jane got to know her, she’d see that Eve was the same as all the others.
'Is there anything I can do for you?' Mrs. Morse asked. Let me out of here.
She knew better than to say it. She had been in this place before. She was being protected until they could find another home for her.
But Mike wasn’t being protected. He was out there in the dark and he didn’t know that there would be no food and no one to keep an eye on him.
And she was going to be locked up and not be able to help him. Blood.
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Fay’s eyes staring up at her as she tried to stop the blood. Bad. So much badness out there.
Mike.
'You’re trembling,' Mrs. Morse said. 'My poor child, why won’t you—”
“I’m not trembling,' Jane said fiercely. She stood up. 'I’m cold. You keep it too cold in this son-of-a-bitchin‘ place.'
'We don’t use language like that here, dear.'
“Then throw me out, you old cow.' She glared at her. 'I hate it here. I hate you. I’m going to sneak into your room and cut your throat like that bastard cut Fay’s.' The woman stood and backed away as Jane had known she would. These days the threat of violence was treated cautiously by welfare personnel even when uttered by a kid like Jane.
'That wasn’t necessary,' Mrs. Morse said. 'Go on to bed, dear. We’ll discuss your problem in the morning.'
Jane ran out of the living room, up the stairs, past the policeman posted outside her room, and slammed the door behind her. They’d given the tiny room to her alone this time, although she’d probably have to share once they decided she’d gotten over the shock of Fay’s death. Most of the time each room was occupied by three, maybe four children.
And they’d never before posted a guard outside her door either. It must have something to do with what had happened to Fay.
She couldn’t breathe. She moved over to the window and looked down at the yard below.
Those rosebushes should be cut back. Fay had Jane prune her roses in September. She’d said that they’d come
