“No!” she shouted. Her hands were shoving Alex, feet bracing in the dirt. “It’s not true!”
“Get out of the way, Evie,” Alex warned through his teeth.
“It’s not true,” she said again. “He didn’t kill anybody.”
“He just confessed,” Alex yipped, trying to shove her aside. She stumbled but wouldn’t let go.
Alex was much taller than her and, despite his thinness, heavier, his angle better. She slid backward as he plowed her out of his way and she fought to keep her footing. “He didn’t do it, Alex!”
“He’s not saying he didn’t!” Alex spat. He wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were over her shoulder, looking wildly at Ré, who was slumped on his knees behind her.
“Evie…” Ré groaned. He reached for her wet shirt, the soft, cold flannel grounding him like a bright light in the dark. “Evie, let him do it,” he said.
“No, Ré!” She swung her face to his. Wet hair fell across it in dark brushstrokes. Her blue eyes flashed. “You didn’t kill Shaun. And I am not letting Alex kill you!”
“I did, Evie,” he said, his voice a reedy breath. “I killed him. I’m just like my uncle. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know.”
“No, Ré,” she growled. She was shoving again, feet sliding. “You didn’t do it. I did.”
What the fuck? he thought. Has everyone lost their minds?
Alex wrapped his hand around Evie’s wrist, twisting hard, eyes jumping from her to Réal and back. Ré still grasped her shirt, blinking up at her with his one good eye. She was trapped between them, saying words he couldn’t hear, her attention drawn away from Alex, big eyes locked on Ré.
He saw the knife in slow motion.
The glint of dark metal in the shadows.
Alex’s free hand had disappeared behind his back and reappeared, holding all the cards. The blade slid through the air at a low angle, its hard edge kissing the bone in Réal’s wrist. There was no pain, just a warm flood of blood down his sleeve.
Ré drew his arm out of the knife’s path, shielding his face. He fell back and rolled sideways. All was confusion and sound. Then a numbing, unnatural silence. In the distance just the whine of a single, silvery bell.
Someone gathered him up under the arms and hauled him to his feet. The big biker who’d egged Alex on. When he spoke, Réal felt the thunder of his voice more than heard it. “That’ll do, young Janes,” he said. “That’s just fine, boy.”
Ré’s good eye found Alex in the dark—panting, eyes burning, neck stiff, not yet willing to let it go. His hair hung lank and sweaty over his face. The knife shook in his fist, a snarl on his lips.
The boys looked at each other for one long moment, and they both knew it was over. All those years. No friendship could survive this.
And then Alex turned and pushed through the ring of leering faces. He disappeared into the dark beyond the circle, Satan’s Own closing around him, swallowing him, ferrying him away.
The biker shook Ré lightly. “You did pretty good too, kid. Took it like a man. Now you and your little girlfriend best get the hell off this lot just as quick as you can.” He laughed and slapped Ré’s back, making him suck in air sharply. His ribs were broken for sure.
Ré touched the cut on his wrist. It was shallow, the blade just grazing the bone, but it bled through his fingers all the same.
He spotted Evie crouched at the edge of the ring, and he took her arm, pulled her to her feet. “Come on,” he said through gritted teeth, leading her through the crowd. She stumbled silently along behind him.
They found the Buick and threw themselves in. It hurt to sit, bent over, busted ribs digging in his insides. His cut arm dripped little black patterns over everything, so he pressed it to his leg to close the wound. Evie had still not spoken. Ré threw the Buick in reverse and peeled out, turning the car around with just the heel of his good hand on the wheel.
He pointed the nose down the wooded driveway, headlights bobbing through the trees. As they passed the big house, Ré took note of the guys on the deck, and they all took note of him. A chill ran through him, but he shook it off and pressed his foot to the gas till the driveway met the long dirt road back to town.
Finally, he glanced at her. “You okay?” he asked. He could see nothing in the dark but her huddled shape pressed to the passenger door. She didn’t answer.
He sucked his cut lip, watched the road wind by for a while. He could feel the blood drying on his face. Pain began to chew on him like he was a spongy piece of meat. All the aches and bruises that adrenaline had pushed aside now creeping in.
“Evie,” he said. He felt his guilt stretching the distance between them. “I didn’t want you to find out that way. I was gonna tell you, I swear.”
“You didn’t kill him,” she whispered.
“I did, Ev. I—”
“Stop talking, Ré. Please.”
Her voice was dry and rough and smaller than ever. He glanced at her. “Hey. Are you okay?” She didn’t answer. Sticky blood had glued his arm to his jeans, and the wound peeled open again when he lifted his hand to take the wheel. He cursed, wincing.
With his good hand, he reached across the seat, searching for her in the dark. “Evelyn,” he said. “Talk to me.”
“Ré?” she whispered.
“Yeah, Ev, tell me.” He’d raised his voice, nervous now. He only half watched the road.
“Did Alex…” Her voice frayed into nothing before she could finish her thought. Réal shook her shoulder, and she came alive again with a small gasp, and got the words out. “Did he have
