Lark elbowed him in the ribs and got free. She’d never tried to fight back before when Jimmy was hurting her. He wasn’t too hard to stop, if she just put a little fight into it. She started down the hallway. Jimmy came after her, hot on her heels. She knew she’d never make it to the door. Besides, she didn’t even have her suitcase anymore. But the hallway closet was close. A step away. Lark swung the door open, stepped inside, and pulled the door closed. The door didn’t lock, so she held it closed as best she could. Jimmy started to try to open the door from the other side. He was stronger than she was. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold out for too long.
Frantically, Lark looked around her in the darkness. And that, of course, was when she saw the gun. Its case was lying in the corner, underneath her feet. She stared at it.
Jimmy was pulling at the door with all his strength, and her fingers were slipping. She gave one last tug, attempting to keep the door closed. Then Jimmy wrenched the door of the closet open and pulled her out. He was livid. His face was red. His eyes bulged. He slammed her against the wall several times, crying out in rage. Then he threw her to the ground and began kicking her in the stomach. He didn’t speak, he just grunted. And Lark doubled over, waiting for each kick to connect, her eyes squeezed shut. She clenched her teeth. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying out. Jimmy reached down, grabbed a handful of her hair and smashed her head into the wall repeatedly. That was when Lark lost consciousness.
That wasn’t new. Jimmy had gagged her on his penis before, made her pass out from lack of oxygen. He’d beaten to the point she’d blacked out many times. It some ways it was a blessing. She was sure he kept hurting her after she was gone, and any break from the pain was a good thing. When she woke up, she was lying in bed next to Jimmy. It was dark. He was asleep. Lark shifted next to him, testing to see if he’d wake up. Jimmy didn’t stir. Carefully, Lark got out of bed. She found her shoes and the previously packed suitcase. She winced as she eased her shoes onto her burned feet. Then she limped for the door.
But in the living room, standing next to her portal to freedom, she hesitated. Jimmy had said he’d hunt her down. She believed him. She thought he might go so far as to kill her one of these days. He might not mean to, or he might just decide that if he couldn’t have Lark, then no one could. She didn’t want to spend her life running from Jimmy. She put the suitcase down and went back to the closet. She got the gun. Shakily, she loaded it, remembering that Jimmy had taught her how to do this months and months before.
Gun in hand, she started back for the bedroom.
“Lark?” called Jimmy from the darkness inside the room.
Shit. He was awake. Shit, shit, shit.
Lark went into the bedroom anyway. Jimmy was sitting up in bed. She couldn’t see him well, but his chest was bare, and he looked so fragile. He looked like the man she’d fallen in love with. Lark gripped the gun tighter, hiding it behind her back.
“I’m here,” she said.
“Come back to bed,” said Jimmy.
“You’re not the same as you used to be, Jimmy,” said Lark.
Jimmy didn’t answer. He just reached for her. “Come closer,” he said.
Lark did, moving into his embrace, swinging the gun behind his back. Jimmy stroked her back, buried his face against her breast. “I love you,” he whispered.
“You hurt me,” Lark said.
Jimmy looked up at her. “I don’t want to,” he said. “Sometimes, I just...I don’t feel like myself anymore. I feel...”
“You’re not the same as you used to be,” said Lark. “But I love you. I love you so much. You’ll never know how much I love you.” And she did. Even then, she did. But she couldn’t handle Jimmy anymore. And she couldn’t live in fear.
Jimmy guided her head down so that he could kiss her. That was when she put the gun under his chin. Jimmy went still. He froze. “Lark?” he said, sounding confused and frightened.
“I have to take care of myself now,” she said. “I can’t let you keep doing this to me. It’s you or me, Jimmy. I pick me. I’m sorry.”
And before he could say anything—before he could protest—she pulled the trigger.
* * *
Lark stopped talking. She toyed with the buttons on Shane’s shirt, which was soaked in Chris’ and Ryan’s blood. Shane was staring at her, slack jawed. He had a funny expression on his face. He probably hated her now. After all, she’d just confessed to murder. Murder. She’d never told anyone what had actually happened. No one had investigated Jimmy’s “suicide.” She’d told the officers that he’d done it in a struggle. She’d been trying to get the gun away from him. She hoped that would explain her prints on the gun if they checked. She didn’t think they had, though. Everyone had noticed the change in Jimmy. Suicide didn’t seem out of character for him. But Lark knew that she’d had to do what she’d done. She’d had to.
Tim lunged at Lark. “You killed my brother, you bitch,” he screamed. He collided with her body and they both tumbled onto the floor. Tim wrapped his hands around Lark’s neck and began to squeeze.
Lark struggled.
Shane moved quickly. He grasped Tim by the arms, wrenched him away from Lark, and threw Tim onto the bed with the bodies. “You don’t touch her,” he said. He knelt by Lark. “Are you okay?”
Tim found the knife, lying on the bed where Lark had left it. He stood up, knife raised over his head, advancing on Shane and Lark.
“Shane, behind you!” Lark screamed.
Shane whirled.
Tim was close. He started to bring the knife down on Shane’s body.
“No!” yelled Lark.
Shane scrambled to his feet, ducking out of the path of the knife.
Now Shane was behind Tim. Tim turned, swinging the knife around to try to stab Shane again.
Lark leapt to her feet behind Tim and grabbed the wrist that was holding the knife.
Shane punched Tim hard in the face.
Tim dropped the knife, both of his hands going to his nose, which was now gushing blood.
Shane grabbed Lark’s hand. Pulled both of them into the hallway, away from Tim, and slammed the door in Tim’s face. They scrambled down the hall and down the stairs, Lark nearly tripping as Shane dragged her along.
But when they got to the bottom of the steps, they were greeted by the sight of the front door splintering. The fans outside were battering it down.
Shane swore. He swept the living room with his eyes, a frenzied look on his face. “Go to my bedroom, Lark,” he ordered.
“What are you—” Lark protested.
“Just go,” he said, letting go of her hand and pushing her back up the stairs.
Lark rushed back up the steps, glancing over her shoulder to try to see what Shane was doing. She couldn’t tell. He was in the living room now, not the foyer.
Lark kept moving. Tim met her at the top of the steps, brandishing the knife. Lark backed away, trying not to lose her balance.
Below her, the front door splintered further.
“Shane!” Lark shrieked, taking a step down on the stairs.
Tim’s eyes glowed red. “You killed my brother,” he said again. He stabbed at Lark, missing her body by inches.
The door splintered again. A large metal pipe broke through the wood. Outside, the Entourage cheered.
Shane appeared in the foyer. He was carrying the nail gun. He barreled up the steps, holding the nail gun in front of him.
At the bottom of the steps, fans were pushing aside splinters of wood. Hands reached in to find the doorknob.
Tim brought the knife down again, grazing Lark’s shoulder. She screamed.
Shane uttered a guttural cry and dove onto Tim, punching nails everywhere. Tim backed away, stumbling as he tried to go up the steps backward.
Shane swooped in, launching the nail gun into Tim’s stomach. Nails punched into Tim’s gut, creating small, red circles on his shirt.
Tim oomphed and sat down on the steps.
<
br /> Shane glanced at Lark. “Go,” he said.
Lark started up the steps.
Tim reached for her, her feet got entangled in his hands. She tripped, falling face first into one of the steps. Tim fumbled to his feet, trying to go back up the steps after her.
Shane screamed again, bringing up the nail gun one more time. This time he pressed the gun against Tim’s face.
Nails exploded into Tim’s nostrils and cheek. Blood spattered the nail gun.
Tim shrieked.
Shane pulled the nail gun’s trigger again.
A nail sailed into Tim’s eyeball. It made a squooshing sound. Tim’s hand went to his eye. He lost his balance and went teetering over the railing.
Shane and Lark took one second to watch his body thud against the floor below. Blood seeped from his head into the shag carpeting.
Shane encircled Lark’s waist with one arm and pulled her up the steps with him. As they shut the door to the bedroom, they heard the door open downstairs and cries of pleasure as the Entourage poured into the house.
The minute they were inside his bedroom, Shane locked the door. Then he ran to his oak dresser and began to push it towards the door. “Lark, help!” he said.
She did. Together, they struggled to push the dresser in front of the door. Then they took the door off the bathroom and nailed it up over the bedroom door. Exhausted and breathless, they sat down on the floor, resting their heads against the dresser. Outside the bedroom, they could hear the fans banging on the door, screaming.
Shane looked at Lark. “That should hold them for a while,” he said. “I hope.”
She nodded. “What do you think happened to Tim?” she asked.
“Who cares?” said Shane. “That guy was nuts. Fuck.” Shane closed his eyes. He hesitated. Softly, he asked, “What happened with Chris?”
“He tried to kill me. So I killed him,” said Lark.
Shane shook his head. “No, it was more than that. You were...your shirt...”
“Shane—”
“Did he...? Are you...?” Shane stood up. He didn’t look at Lark. “Did he rape you?”
“No,” she said. “He tried, but...no.”
Shane turned around. “He was my best friend, Lark. What the fuck happened to him? How could he have...?”
Lark didn’t answer. She didn’t know if there was anything she could say. If Ryan were right, Chris had gone crazy because of her. And she’d killed Chris. And she’d killed Jimmy. And she didn’t know how much more of this she could take. What was she, anyway? Maybe Chris had been right. There was something wrong with her. She was destroying Shane’s life. She had to leave this place, before things got worse. It was the only thing they could do now.
“Everything’s gone crazy,” said Shane. He sat back down next to Lark. “What’s going to happen to us?” He shook his head. “They’re going to get through eventually, and I think they’re going to kill us.”
Lark took Shane’s hand.
“Fuck it,” said Shane. “We’re a mess. Let’s take a shower. At least we’ll die clean.”
Chapter Eighteen
Shane clung to Lark’s body in the shower. They were slippery from soap. He’d helped her scrub the blood from her body, and they’d watched it wash away down the drain, pink and red swirls in the clear water. At first, she’d been crying, but it hadn’t lasted long. Now, she was silent. He held onto her, because it seemed as if she was the last thing he had on earth. He kissed her.
Lark pushed him away.
Of course. Why would he think she wanted to be touched? She’d just been through a harrowing, harrowing experience. She’d been nearly raped and killed. She’d been chased through the hallways by a man brandishing a knife. How could he have thought—
“You don’t have to do that,” said Lark. “I don’t think I deserve that.”
Water rushed around their bodies, hot and comforting. Here in the shower, it seemed as if they were their own world. They couldn’t hear the screaming fans outside. They could almost pretend that everything was normal. This was their sanctuary. Their last spot of tranquility.
“What makes you say something like that?” Shane asked, brushing a strand of wet hair out of her face.
“You heard what I told you, didn’t you?”
Right. The Jimmy story. He’d forgotten. “You can’t blame yourself about Jimmy. It was self-defense,” said Shane. “Hell, if he weren’t already dead, I’d hunt him down and kill him myself.”
Lark shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t. You aren’t like that.”
Like what? “Lark, you’re a beautiful, wonderful human being. You saved me. I wouldn’t be—”
“This is all my fault,” Lark interrupted. “All of it. I’m making these people crazy. I’m projecting it. That’s what Ryan said.”
“The ash man’s doing it,” said Shane. “You’re projecting something from his world. That’s not your fault.”
“I killed your best friend.”
Shane thought that maybe at some point soon, that was going to hit him. That Chris was dead. But... “You protected yourself,” said Shane. “And Chris hasn’t been himself for a long time.” None of the people in this house had been themselves for a long time, had they? “Please stop blaming yourself.”
Lark shrugged. “If we get out of this alive, I have to get away from you, Shane.”
What?! “No,” he said. “Never. I don’t want you to go.”
“I have to find someone like Ryan, who can turn this off inside me. Until then, it’s dangerous for me to be with you.”
It was a big “if.” Shane didn’t think there was much chance they’d get out of this alive. And it killed him that he couldn’t protect Lark. “It’s my fault, anyway,” he said. “If I’d never made that deal...”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It’s not yours either.”
Lark shook her head. “Oh, Shane, what are we going to do? Everyone’s dead.”
He drew her into his arms again. This time she didn’t resist. Her skin was soft and wet. He ran his hands up and down her back, pulling her as close as he could. She looked up at him, and he put his lips against hers again, attempting to give her a soft, comforting kiss. But her lips met his desperately. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and pressed against him hard. His body responded. “We’re going to make love,” he whispered in her ear. And then we’re going to die, he thought. But he didn’t say that aloud.
* * *
They didn’t get out of the shower until the water started to run cold. They silently toweled off and dressed. Their barricade on the door seemed to be holding, for the time being, anyway. Exhausted, they both fell onto Shane’s bed and clung to each other. Lark studied the lines of Shane’s face. She listened to the banging and screaming outside the room. How long did they have? And could they really have come this far, only for things to end this way? It wasn’t fair. Shane had so much to offer to the world. He shouldn’t have to die this way. If she were gone, maybe things could go back to something like normal. But Shane’s music would still cause people to die. His contract with the ash man would be unbroken. Lark considered running into the crowd of crazy fans, anyway. Letting them tear her apart so that Shane would be safe from the projecting she was doing. But she couldn’t get to them unless she ripped down the barricade. And they might kill Shane before they killed her. Her sacrifice would mean nothing then.
She closed her eyes, wishing she had some answer, some way to make it all go away.
And the acrid smell of smoke invaded her lungs. She snapped her eyes back open. She wasn’t lying on the bed with Shane, but with the ash man. His red eyes were close, boring into her own. Lark leaped off the bed, away from him. “Where’s Shane?” she asked.
The ash man sat up lazily, singeing the bedspread in the places where it touched his body. “You have turned into such a pain,” he said. “At first, you seemed like such a neat little pawn. A gateway. Something I could use. But I can’t control
you. I just want you out of the way.”
Of course he did. Ryan had been right. The ash man wanted her dead. “W-we tried to make a deal with you,” said Lark. “Ryan could have turned me off. But you had him killed.”
“I know about that deal,” the ash man snorted. “You wanted to free Shane. I don’t want that. I want Shane to keep playing music. If Shane plays music again, I can get my bodies. And I want you to stop getting in the way of the bodies.”
“I’ll leave,” said Lark. “I’ll leave and Shane will be okay.”
The ash man gestured to the barricaded door. “How are you going to leave?” he asked. “How is Shane going to play again? Don’t you see that you’ve ruined everything?”
He was right. She was trapped. She was trapped and she and Shane were both going to die, and no one was going to win. The only good thing would be that once she and Shane were both dead, all of this madness would be over. There would be no more stolen bodies, no more fans trapped in rats, no more crazy members of the Entourage fighting to get to Shane.
“I have an idea,” said the ash man. “Why don’t you just dive off the balcony? Head first. That should kill you. Then, Shane can go back to playing. And I can go back to collecting my bodies.”
Lark glared at him. Suicide, huh? Well, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been contemplating running into the mob. But...she didn’t know. Something had changed in her the day that she’d put a pistol to Jimmy’s head. Something inside her had demanded that she live. Her sense of self-preservation was pretty strong. She didn’t know if she could inflict that kind of damage on herself, even if she wanted to. And part of her did. Part of her could see the sense in the ash man’s suggestion. But she didn’t think she could do it. She just didn’t. “Why don’t you just kill me?” she asked the ash man. “You could use my body. Put me in a rat.” Her soul would always be close to Shane.
The ash man growled. “If I could kill you, don’t you think I would have already?”
So the ash man couldn’t kill her. That was almost too bad.
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