Now four more people are dead because of me. For the past ten years, I’ve been able to control this darkness in me. I’ve been able to keep this demon from hurting anyone. And now a terrible mistake has been made that can never be undone. It can never be fixed. The pain I feel isn’t just emotional—it’s deep in my gut. And I sob.
Eventually, I pick myself up, knowing what I have to do. I begin the process of self-preservation. I find all my personal effects—my Taser, my ID, my credit cards.
My phone rings. I struggle to silence it in case someone is outside. The caller ID shows it’s Paige trying to call me. Shit. Now I’m really in trouble.
I find every scrap of my clothes and put it in a bag. Realizing I can’t walk out the door looking like Carrie drenched in blood, I decide to take a quick shower. I put a plastic bag over my scalp, to prevent my hair from falling into the tub, and rinse as much blood off as I can.
Through a window, I peer outside to get a sense of where I am. I haven’t gone anywhere. This is the house I arrived at hours ago, on the same shitty block in Harvard Park.
My phone vibrates with a text from Paige: Where are you?
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to respond. I put on some sweatpants and a hoodie I find lying around and proceed to wipe my fingerprints from anyplace I can remember touching. It’s still not good enough. I find a jug of isopropyl alcohol and pour it over everything. Before I walk out the door with all my belongings, I light a match.
With the hood over my head and my eyes down, I walk out the door. The night sky shrouds me in darkness, and I’m happy for the nearly vacant street. Head down, I charge in the direction of my car.
The only other soul around is a man walking a pit bull. As I approach to pass, the dog starts barking at me. Animals hate me. And just my luck, this stupid mutt is bringing some unwanted attention my way.
“Easy, Bruno.” The guy pulls on the choke chain as I try to pass. “Sorry, he’s usually not this aggressive.”
I nod my thanks as I try to walk by. By pure stupid luck, I glance up as a car drives by, and its headlights illuminate my face. I quickly turn away and hurry to my car.
Behind me I can hear the dog owner yelling, “Fire! Fire!” as I slide into the driver’s seat.
Safely inside, I jam the key in the ignition and twist. The engine turns. I peel out and speed away as fast as I can.
* * *
On my way home, I steer my Mini onto San Julian Street in Skid Row. The sidewalk is one long tent city, with homeless people gathered together over burning trash cans to keep warm. My car barely slows to five miles an hour as I roll down my window. The pungent smell of body odor and urine punches me in the face.
At this moment, I appreciate having a right-side steering wheel as I toss my clothes into a burning trash can. I’m bummed that my jacket was in that bag. I really liked that jacket.
My Mini continues its slow crawl, and my eyes connect with a particularly homely woman. She’s slim and, like so many others here, haggard. The flames from the trash can illuminate her features. Once upon a time, she may have been beautiful, with smooth skin and long blond hair. Now her skin is dark and wrinkled like weathered leather. Her hair is matted with a layer of filth and dirt. But her eyes reveal an intense madness, like she’s about to snap.
I think about what Judge Whitaker said about Paige’s mom. You cannot help her. I drive away.
* * *
I arrive home and rush to get inside the loft. Paige is pacing in the living room. She freezes when I walk through the door.
“Where the hell have you been?” she yells. “I’ve been freaking out all night! Why didn’t you answer my texts?”
I charge past her toward our bathroom. Paige rushes to intercept me. She blocks my path with a stiff arm across the doorway.
“Darcy!”
I look up at her, the cowl of the hoodie still covering my head.
She reads the expression on my face and registers that I’m wearing different clothes. Her arm falls. “Oh shit. Dudley?”
Without answering, I move past her and hurry into the bathroom. I take a Silkwood shower in scalding-hot water and make sure to clean myself completely. Only when my skin turns pink from the scrubbing do I finally shut off the water.
Paige is standing outside the door when I emerge with only a towel wrapped around me. “What happened?” she asks. She sounds worried and confused.
The only thing I say is, “You and I were together all day.”
My damp feet slap against the kitchen tile as I grab a bottle of water and a granola bar. She doesn’t say anything to me, but she looks afraid. “Where were you?”
I don’t answer her. After what I just went through, I don’t know how.
“Darcy?” she asks, her voice trembling with fear.
“Lock me in.” I pull my sliding door shut and wait.
Only when I hear the metal arm bar barricading me in do I allow myself to relax. I make a cocktail of Xanax, Klonopin, and Excedrin PM and go to sleep.
Chapter 18
____◊____
IT TAKES ME A moment to discern the pounding on the door from the pounding in my head. I pull myself out of bed and drag my sorry ass to the door. “What?”
Paige says from the other side, “You have a visitor.” Her voice is oddly casual, especially considering how I left her last night.
“I’m not entertaining today. Tell them to go away.”
“It’s David,” she says in a singsong voice.
Shit. Shit,
