It used to be one of her tricks, repeating his name. Jason. Quietly, gently, repeat his name.
“Jason? Just now Zoe said something to me. She said I knew. I don’t know what she meant by that.”
“Oh, come on. You knew. That’s why you left, isn’t it?”
It takes all of Clare’s might not to lift her hand to her forehead. She cannot let him see that she is dizzy.
“Jason,” Clare says. “Were you working for Zoe?”
“I don’t like it when she puts it that way,” Jason says. “Working for her? Fuck that.”
Zoe’s words swirl in Clare’s mind. Depressed towns. The oversight. In the months before Clare left she had been so absorbed by her own plans, by plotting her escape, that she’d kept as much distance from Jason as he’d allow. And the death of their baby had granted her more space than he’d normally give. You knew. No, Clare thinks. I didn’t.
“How did Zoe find you, Jason? I don’t understand.”
“You know the way things were at home,” Jason says. “Everyone losing their jobs. The place was turning into a shithole. It never felt like enough for me. For us. You know about that, Clare. There was a market for it. Our hometown girls were popular, especially in the city. I was dabbling in it. Helping these girls find their clientele. Then Zoe found me, offered me a template to work from. She made everything so easy. Finding girls, finding clients for the girls. She had it down to a science. My job was just execution.”
Clare is nauseated. She cannot look at Jason. She bites her lower lip until the metallic taste of blood fills her mouth. The pain focuses her. She straightens.
“Why did you hire Malcolm?” she asks.
“You left me, Clare. You fucking left me.”
His words are monotone, his fists opening and closing. This rage is too quiet.
“Jason,” Clare says.
“When I told Zoe you’d taken off, she seemed almost giddy about it. Like your disappearance was some stroke of luck. She gave me Malcolm’s name. ‘Hire this guy to go after her,’ she said.”
The room spins. Clare closes her eyes. The pieces falling together. “You were already working for Zoe when you hired Malcolm.” This is not a question. Clare understands now. She is certain.
“Yeah. And I was doing pretty well for myself too. Zoe said I couldn’t afford to leave town and look for you myself. I had a business to run.” Jason laughs bitterly. “Little did I know, she was fucking with me. Malcolm was her ex-husband, for chrissake. She wanted him to find you. She was playing a game with us, Clare. That’s Zoe for you. Puppeteering us all.”
“Jason,” Clare says. “What have you done?”
“We were going to have a baby, Clare. I wanted to take care of you.”
A baby. At that word, a shock of wrath surges through Clare. No. This has to end.
She stands. Jason stands too.
“Sit down,” he yells.
But his hands are at his sides in fists. He has no weapon.
“Where is Zoe?”
“Sit down!”
And then he lunges. But Clare evades him and he loses his footing as he charges at her. Clare stumbles through the bedroom door and slams it closed behind her. She descends the stairs two at a time. At the bottom she turns a corner into the living room. Malcolm sits in a chair, his wrists tied behind his back. His face is bloodied. He looks up at her, blank, half-conscious. Where is Zoe? Clare rushes to Malcolm and fumbles to untie his wrists. She hears the door open upstairs, footsteps descending.
Zoe appears from the kitchen. She holds the gun two-handed, walking towards Clare. But the gun’s safety is on. That gives Clare an instant enough. Clare bolts past Malcolm and lunges at Zoe. They tumble together to the ground, rolling, Clare working to wrest Zoe’s grip from the gun. It fires.
No. This is not where I die, Clare thinks. I am not still here, still alive, only to die now.
The gun is in Clare’s hands. She scrambles to her feet and backs away, the weapon pointed at Zoe. Malcolm is gasping in the chair, conscious now, his shirt soaked with blood. Hit by the bullet fired in her struggle with Zoe. Jason is in the doorway. Clare swings the gun back and forth from Zoe to Jason as she backs herself into the corner. Jason comes at her. Everything slows, quiets. Clare takes aim and fires.
At impact Jason spins, wide-eyed. He drops to his knees, then forward to all fours. Clare watches as he lowers himself to the floor, to his back, one hand gripped to his chest. A dark circle of blood radiates out from under his shirt.
“Get down,” Clare yells to Zoe, the gun aimed at her.
Zoe obeys, crouching to the floor. And then Clare goes to Malcolm. She unties his wrists with one hand, the other hand still pointing the gun at Zoe. She can see that Zoe is saying something, but Clare’s ears ring. She hears nothing.
On the floor, Jason’s eyes are open but vacant. A drop of blood appears in the corner of his mouth. His breath slows. Jason’s blood pools on the floor. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but he can’t. He smiles instead.
Jason. Clare doesn’t say his name aloud. She lowers to him and puts a hand on his chest. His heartbeat is dull under her fingers. He takes three short breaths before his heart stops.
The corner room in the Lune Bay hospital is warm and bright, the late-day sun casting its beam along the foot of Malcolm’s bed. Clare stands unnoticed in the doorway. Malcolm’s eyes are closed, his shoulder bandaged, his arm in a sling. He looks peaceful despite his swollen eye, the stitched cut on his lip. Clare feels a flip in her chest at the sight of him. She steps into the room.
“Hi,” she says, hesitant.
Malcolm opens his eyes and
