Chimera

Landon nodded. “Fine.”

“I’d like to go, too,” Thatcher said.

“Don’t even ask,” Bethany said to Ethan. “One of you is staying put. I don’t like the idea of the three of you alone.”

“What do you think we’re going to do?” I asked. “Start planning our escape? We’ve seen what those collars do to people.”

“Well, I haven’t, so don’t give me an excuse to test them out, Blue.”

The sky was clear when Thatcher and I left the little shack. The sun cast a lovely golden hue on the valley below us, giving it a surreal quality. Like something out of an old movie, untouched by the horrors of the outside world. Until we got closer to the platform, and the horror intruded like a gut punch.

Thatcher moved to my left side, walking close, as if he could block the platform’s very existence from me with his body. It didn’t work, but I was grateful that he tried. Once we were past the row of barns, I relaxed a little. Breathed slower.

“You scared me when you ran off before,” he said softly as we walked into the park.

I’m sorry. The words didn’t make it past my lips, though. “Bad memories.”

“So I gathered. You ran away like the devil himself was chasing you.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

We weren’t alone in the park. A few clusters of people sat at tables, or played on a nearby swing set. No one approached us, but no one looked overly suspicious, either. Being ignored was nice.

“Thank you,” he said after a brief pause.

“For what?”

“For giving Landon a chance today, and for bringing Teresa in.”

“I didn’t do it for you.” The comment came out harsher than I’d intended, and I didn’t miss the way his lips pressed together.

“I know that, Renee. But thank you, anyway. You and your friends are in a very tough spot right now.”

“Tough seems to define every spot we’re in, with occasional upgrades to deadly and impossible.”

“But this time you’re deliberately withholding information from the state police. You could face charges for that.”

“So could you.”

“What are they going to do? Put me in jail?”

I started to reply, then realized a beat too late that he was teasing me. Only it wasn’t funny. “They could deny you parole, like, forever.”

“There are worse things. As long as Landon is safe, I don’t care as much what happens to me.”

I’d care.

Only I wasn’t supposed to care—when the hell had that changed? “You’re sharp and you’re smart, Thatcher. You’d make a good addition to our teams.”

He smiled warmly. It must have been the glow of the sunset on his face, but I swear I saw something else in that smile—something gentle that made my insides go a little soft. “I appreciate the compliments. And please, call me Derek.”

“Derek.”

We reached the Sport and stopped at the back door. Neither one of us opened it right away. Something strange and awkward was hanging between us, holding us in place. I didn’t know what it was, but it scared me to death.

“I haven’t given the future any real thought for a long time,” he said. “I fought for other people, but not for myself.”

“You have Landon to fight for.”

“I do. That’s enough for now.” His hand brushed mine, just a gentle ghost of a touch. “Everything else I’ll have to play by ear.”

My heart pounded. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t pulling away or shutting him down. I could list a hundred reasons why I should have taken a step back, or told him he’d be playing with himself for the foreseeable future unless he wanted to go keep Bethany entertained. Logic refused to accept this was happening—I was blue, I was scarred up, I was an emotional train wreck, take your pick.

Instinct and biology told logic to go fuck itself.

“Playing it by ear is a good start,” I said.

He smiled, and that same warmth flitted through my insides. His hand brushed mine again . . . and then he popped open the back door. I stepped away and the spell was broken. We grabbed the spare blankets from the storage bin, as well as two flashlights. I hadn’t seen a bathroom at the shack, and if I was going to pee outdoors tonight, I wasn’t doing it in the dark.

We walked back to the shack a little more slowly, not chatting about anything in particular, just enjoying the twilight stroll. On our first trip through the park, Thatcher’s attention had wandered, his gaze moving everywhere, observing everything. This time, he watched me—not in a creepy way, but in an I-see-you way. Like no one had watched me since William died.

And for the first time since William died, I felt the faint stirring of hope.

Eleven Community Cards

Sleeping on an air mattress on the floor of a chilly cabin in the mountains wasn’t an ideal arrangement for a good night’s sleep. Add on that I was less than ten feet from two kids who could incapacitate us and flee at any moment, and that Bethany redefined the word erratic, and I couldn’t relax enough to doze off.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that fucking platform. Sometimes I was tied to the center post; sometimes it was a faceless teenage girl sobbing as her hands were broken. I spent most of the night staring at the shack’s ceiling, listening to Bethany’s persistent snoring. I doubted Ethan and Thatcher were getting much sleep, either, with a jackhammer in the room.

Landon left at some point during the night to go meet Teresa. My phone was gone, and the shack didn’t have a clock, so I had no idea of the time. Bethany finally snored herself into utter silence, and the shack fell quiet. I lay there until the first gray smudges of dawn brightened the window, then I got up.

The fact that the place didn’t have a toilet was frustrating and embarrassing, so I jogged over to the tree line to have a squat. A light fog floated on the ground, and the air was cool, but the sun would warm it up soon. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the scents of the forest around me. It reminded me of my foster parents’ farm.

Yes, I grew up on a farm. Not a working farm, like with milk cows and egg-laying hens. The farm was for injured animals who might have otherwise been put down—lame horses, three-legged dogs, a few mangy cats missing an eye or an ear. My foster parents took in more strays than just a traumatized blue girl with serious trust issues, and I loved them for it.

Down the hill a bit, the platform became a solid figure in the dim morning. The damn thing stood between me and town, and I wanted to snoop around a bit before too many people woke up. I’d walked past it twice last night without incident—with Thatcher next to me both times. I didn’t need a shield. I could do it on my own.

I got about six steps down the road before I stopped, skin cold and heart skipping beats. Nails and wood. Two very stupid things to be afraid of, but it wasn’t the materials. It was the symbol they’d been carved into—a symbol of anger and pain and cruelty. Deep down I understood having a “zero tolerance” policy. But understanding the logic of something and actually using it were two entirely different things.

The shack door opened. Thatcher stepped out, and his attention landed right on me. He walked over, his footsteps soft in the morning stillness. His smile was warm and friendly, despite what must have been a horrendous night on the floor.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, his deep voice barely a whisper.