Nerd stopped fighting back. He stopped trying to talk. His mouth puckered in a grim wrinkle as he sucked emptily, starving for the air he couldn’t have. His arms dropped to his sides and his fingers crawled toward his backpack.
Was he reaching for a weapon?
Instinct kicked in, and I tightened my grip. His eyes disappeared, rolling up until they were all white. Thready red explosions appeared in them and turned into bloody pools. My heart sank, and I quickly let go. He gasped and rolled over onto his side, erupting in a violent series of coughs. My hands cramped, trembled, and shook. I glanced above the desk, peering through the computers to see where the librarian was. I could make out the white lines hanging from her ears as she swayed to her music. We were alone.
“Why?” I cried.
But he couldn’t talk. He vomited onto the carpet and then rolled onto his back. He was quiet then—too quiet, and a dark fear hit me.
I killed him.
A gasp.
I tensed up, waiting.
Another gasp and a sudden fit of coughs made his skinny frame buck up and down again as he tried to breathe. When the coughing settled into a steady wheeze, other signs of life returned.
“Why?” he wheezed.
“Do you know what you did? My best friend is dead because of you!”
“I . . . how did you find out?” he asked, spitting and trying to prop himself up on his elbows.
“Do you really have to ask that, Brian Sutherland!?”
“I was so careful—careful so that nobody would know.” His eyes remained stunned-looking from my attack, but slowly cleared. And when he began to shake his head, I knew that he understood the slip he’d made. “Your husband. The dead guy in the alley.”
“Did you think that I wouldn’t find out?” I asked, but I didn’t wait to hear an answer. “Do you know what killing Todd Wilts started?”
“Do you think I care?” he answered abruptly, blubbering. He swiped at his nose.
The color in his face had started to return, giving me a sense of relief. But I could already see the rise of swelling on the skin around his neck. It’d bruise by tonight, but it was his eyes that really gave away what I tried to do. The color was there, but the whites were bleeding red—blown, hemorrhaging.
“Can I show you something?”
I hesitated and then asked, “You mean what’s in your bag?” His gaze fell on it, and he clutched it to his chest like a security blanket.
“Got this for you,” he answered, his voice sounding like a pouty child’s. “Thought you could use it for our next hit.” He took out a small gift and tossed it to me. A flash of neon purple and silver wrapping paper bumped from my one hand to the next as I tried to catch the gift.
“What makes you think there is going to be a next time?” I asked, putting his gift down. “My best friend was killed because of what we did. Don’t you get that?”
Nerd shrugged and shook his head, fixing me with a look of disbelief. “How?” he asked, “How’s that even possible?”
“Her husband,” I answered, but suddenly felt the emotion choke my words. “Her husband was involved with them—the White Bear, Todd, and his father, Sam. What we did started a war.”
Nerd continued to shake his head, struggling to believe what I told him. “That isn’t what was supposed to happen.”
“Yeah, I know, but it did. And now there are two little boys who will never—” I couldn’t finish. I was done, both mentally and physically. I gave Nerd a hard look then, disappointment reeling inside me like a sickness. “How much of our arrangement was fake? The money?”
He shook his head, again. “I used it to buy the strychnine.”
“There’s no bank account full of Bitcoins, is there? And the job listings?”
“That part is not true,” he answered, his voice breaking. I began to think that I’d damaged his vocal chords. “I mean at first I did set up the link to find someone, someone like you to do the hit on Wilts. But what you want to do, the business, I’m in. I’m all in.”
“I don’t know how I could ever trust you.”
He pondered what I said, thinking hard, as if it were a trivia challenge. “How about I give you something?” I peered at the gift, and then saw him shake his head while getting back up in front of the computer. I sat down next to him and felt the event fall out of me, draining, taking any energy I might have had in reserve. I couldn’t explain anymore, do anymore. Instead I watched as Nerd went to work on the computer.
He attacked the keyboard, his fingers tapping in a blur, the sound of his fingernails scraped against the keys loudly. A flurry of words appeared on the screen like accumulating snow, growing deeper, scrolling, until there were an abundance of sentences. He stretched his arms, continuing the volley of keystrokes; lips moving in a whisper, spouting the words, translating them into mechanical pushes that clicked beneath the keys. The snowfall became a blizzard and the sentences formed themselves into paragraphs and then filled a page. And when he was done, he flicked his hands at the screen and stood up to face me. His eyes were dark and wet, with a deep gray puffing beneath them. But I didn’t know if I was looking at the result of exhaustion from the attack or the grief over his sister.
“That’s my confession,” he said gravely. “All of it. It spells out in complete detail how Todd Wilts was killed. There is evidence in that confession that only the DA, the coroner, and the killer could possibly know. I’m giving it to you. Digitally signed too—incriminates only me.” He rummaged through his bag, came up with another flash drive, and copied the file containing his statement onto it, then handed it to me.
“I don’t know if this is enough,” I told him. “But for now, I think I’m going to need a little time to reconsider our arrangement.” The words stung him. His lip trembled, and he dropped back into his seat, skipping his fingers over the keyboard and lifting his hand, telling me to wait.
“Please,” he asked. “Please understand why.” Images flew onto the screen that immediately made me gasp. It was his sister, but then it wasn’t. What I saw was a gut-wrenching, terrible horror show that made me feel sick and want to turn away. A beautiful girl had been terribly disfigured—a wide ragged scar stretched from the corner of her mouth to her ear and then again from the other side in a sickening permanent smile. Her right eye was half-shut and clouded over with blindness while the other stayed open wide, but askew, like a stroke victim’s. And her jaw had been broken and now closed misaligned. I could only imagine what she must have gone through. I felt for the girl and hated seeing her beauty destroyed. I shook my head, but it couldn’t change how I felt. Not now. Not ever.
“Now do you understand? This is her, this is my sister. Today,” Nerd said. “The person she was died that night. She’ll never be the beautiful woman she was meant to be. The world will miss her. I miss her!” he finished as he broke down. I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. After all, I’d just tried to kill him.
I did the only thing I could think of. I left. And as I walked away, leaving the same way I had come in, I heard Nerd stand up. I paused, turning to look over my shoulder in time to see him pointing to the computer.
“If you change your mind!” he said, his voice sheepish, yet tense. “We’ve got something that will work. Partners. I’ll be here.”
I tugged at the air, giving him a short wave, discreet and meaningless. As I left the library, I felt emptier than I’d ever felt in my entire life.
THIRTY
WHEN I CLOSED the car door, my gut told me that I would see Nerd come running out of the library, waving his hands, pleading and begging to keep our business going. But I couldn’t think of going on. Not yet, anyway. I was crushed, having been misled and having lost Katie. A desperate emptiness filled me like the silence filled the car. The only sound I heard was my own breathing and the crunch of upholstery as my seatbelt clicked home. A fluttery scurry came from above the car—the blackbirds swarming, I imagined, winding down
before the evening began. I dared a glimpse at my rearview mirror and was thankful to see an empty road behind me. I stayed like that for a long time, not wanting to move, not wanting to do anything, hiding in motionless oblivion.
“Maybe I deserve this!” I exclaimed as I picked at the cut on my hand. The kitchen towel had already become stiff with the dried blood. “Eye for an eye—Katie for Todd, right?”
Could that really be how this worked? But I didn’t want to believe that, couldn’t believe that. Katie would be missed, but Todd Wilts deserved what he got. A part of me understood why Nerd did what he did. If it were Snacks? I would have done far worse and would have gladly used anyone dumb enough to get involved. I peered into the mirror again only to see the daylight turning into night. How long had I been sitting there? Long enough for shadows to have crept along the blacktop, becoming monstrously tall before fading with the disappearing sun. A streetlight overhead flickered, catching my eye, and turned on a faint glassy light that became brighter without notice, as if by magic. It was time to go home. Even the blackbirds swooped in and out of the alley a final time, settling down to roost in the evergreen bushes for the night.
Nerd remained in the library, but in my hand I found the gift he’d given me in place of my car keys. I wanted to throw it to the floor of the car, thinking it could be dangerous. It could be something he’d picked up to blow me into a thousand pieces. But that wasn’t his style. He wanted our business and he wanted me as a partner—he needed me more than I needed him. I told myself that, but didn’t entirely believe it.
With the tip of my finger, I needled the corner of the wrapping paper just enough to lift the edge and see what was beneath it. I narrowed my eyes, squinting as I tried to make out what I thought was velvet. Tearing the paper away revealed a black box—a ring box. I lifted the lid. There was a creak and then click as the top snapped open. A folded piece of paper fell from inside, landing in my lap. And beneath the note there was a ring, but it was unlike any ring I’d ever seen before. A sterling silver band, thick around the bottom and with a large oval-shaped stone on the top. Gaudy was the first word that came to my mind, and I hoped for Nerd’s sake that this wasn’t his way of being chivalrous.
I put the ring down to read the note. Handwritten and signed with the name “Nerd,” the note went on to say that he’d found this antique in one of the red links. An odd place for a ring it seemed, but this was no ordinary ring. It dated back to the Cold War era, when the countries were in a never-ending game of Spy vs. Spy. This was an assassin’s ring.
“Turn the stone,” the note instructed. So I did, lifting the ring close enough to my face to see a small inscription engraved on the inside of the band. I turned the stone, instinctively thinking that clockwise made the most sense. The setting didn’t move, and I wondered if Nerd was having some fun with me. Then I heard one soft tick. And then another. The stone easily slid, like the second hand of a clock, rotating around the face until it reached three o’clock. The shank of the ring popped, flicking open and spitting a tiny needle. I jumped, surprised by this sudden appearance. I had nearly stabbed my own hand. I laughed too, realizing at once that the assassin’s ring was a syringe. An assassin’s tool that I’d certainly like.
“Well, he knows my taste.” I tried to laugh. “But where is the plunger?” I wondered, curious. I was actually not at all sure if that was what the other part was called. This ring could be useful—very useful—for dosing a hit’s drink, sticking him or her in the shoulder with a polite pat, or giving a jab in the thigh during an accidental bump. My thoughts bounced around with ideas like a writer’s muse creatively teasing an author working on the next novel. Turning the stone in the other direction loosened it, and I found that I could open the top. With the touch of a surgeon, I carefully lifted it. The tiniest hinge sang a squeaky chirp to me, as if it had been unused in nearly a century. Beneath the stone was a stainless-steel reservoir. Not huge, but large enough to hold a lethal dose of poison if it were potent enough.
“I call her Needle—very Game of Thrones, don’t you think?” Nerd went on to say in his note. And while only I vaguely understood the reference, I loved the name. Needle. “She is my gift to you for doing business together. Thank you for the opportunity.”
I thought I’d been exhausted of all emotion for one lifetime, but the sentiment raised a feeling that I hadn’t expected. That was the way it should be. We should have a finite amount of emotions that can be spent in one lifetime. That way, we could dispense with the saddest first and never be bothered by them again.
“Please dispose of this note properly.”
I folded the note and put it back inside the box with the ring, then stuffed them both into my jacket. I had something new to add to my secret box. After all, there would be room now—I had the Killing Katie designs to fetch and burn. I’d cremate them, just like my friend would be in a few days.
“Thank you,” I said aloud, starting the car. The evening fell from the sky, covering me in darkness as a few blurry stars began to show. I swallowed the dryness in my mouth, craving a taste of White Bear Whiskey. Maybe I wouldn’t go back yet. Maybe I’d take a trip for a shot of the homegrown stuff.
THIRTY-ONE
THE SMELL OF fuel and exhaust. The sound of idling truck engines and of men chiding each other back and forth with sarcastic banter. I’d sweated enough this hot August night to tire while waiting, motionless. But I’d fallen asleep again, and now the man was above me, his smell filling the car. Their voices moaned in rhythm, coming to a peak. I hadn’t made the belt loop yet but I held the buckle in my hands, tracing its winged form with my finger. My dad always liked belt buckles shaped like airplanes. “They’re so hard to find,” he’d said, telling us how he stopped at nearly every roadside stand while traveling for work.
“I’m going to come,” I heard rain down from above me. The heavy buckle slipped from my small fingers as her voice lifted too, rising in pitch—she was getting close. I threaded the leather through the hinged loop as fast as I could, nervous urgency eating my insides like acid.
I can’t miss it again. She’d be so mad.
I succeeded, throwing the noosed belt around his neck just as the first grunts sounded from his mouth.
“Swing,” I whispered as I jerked the strap with all my weight, hanging, bobbing up and down as the sound of two lovers became one. When I peered up, I saw the balding man’s dome glistening with sweat, his head twitching as he died.
And then her face was above me, eyes finding mine, her body collapsing onto his.
“Shush,” Katie said, her finger to her lips, the bullet hole in her head festering with maggoty death.
“Katie!” I screamed, vaulting upward in bed, panting. I searched the fuzzy gray light, wondering which part of the dream I was in. When I shivered and felt a bead of sweat roll down to the small of my back, I knew that I was home.
“You okay, babe?” Steve asked, his voice groggy. “Amy?”
I shuddered and cradled my face in my hands and cried, trying to understand what the dreams meant.
And why now? Why had they started now?
There was so much detail—familiar, like a recent memory—but then the details were gone again, lost in a sleepy haze.
Steve’s hand encouraged me to lay back down, facing away from him so that he could wrap his arm around my middle. I eased into him, shaping my hips and legs to match his. We fell into one another and before I could stop it, I confessed the unthinkable.
“I killed a man.”
There were no words—only the interruption of his chest rising and falling. He stayed still for what seemed forever, for what felt like an eternity.
“What did you just say?” he asked me, his voice having lifted out of the sleepy fog.
“I killed that man,” I repeated. “The homeless man. The one you and Charlie were talking about.” Steve remained still—his arm around me, his chest pressed firm against my back and his hot breath becoming heavy against my neck.
“I know,” he answered, surprising me. “I’ve known since the night we drove to Romeo’s.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” I asked, craning my head over my shoulder. “You could have—”
“Could have what?” he interrupted. “You’re the mother of my children, my wife. What was I supposed to do?”
“But you never said anything.”
He propped himself up on his elbow so that we could face each other. “And say what?” He cupped my chin and softly caressed my cheek with his finger. “I did the only thing I thought was safe—nothing. Which is why the case is still open.”
“Steve, I’m so sorry that I put you in that position,” I told him, my words sincere as a pang of guilt hit me. For the first time, I thought of what could have happened to him. “It happened so fast, and then I . . . I just panicked and wanted to hide.”
Steve sat up then, and even in the darkness I could see that he was nearly nude. There was no badge, no golden shield, no mystical powers that harnessed a magic from the heavens. I wasn’t talking to a cop, I was talking to my husband.
“What happened?” My hands went to his neck. I held him as I brought myself to his lips and kissed him. The urge to kiss him was strong, the need to kiss him was stronger. And maybe deep down I thought that once I shared the truth with him, it would be the last time that we ever kissed. He put my hands in his and slipped them away from his neck until I was lying back down. “What happened?” he repeated.
“I was at the library; that part was true. And when I was on my way to my car, I heard this voice calling out for help. Crying almost. I thought someone had been hurt bad.”
“The homeless man,” Steve added. I nodded, agreeing. “That’s what the other girl said too. Only we never shared that part with the newspaper. It’s a ruse, a trap that he used to lure his victims.”
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