Down With the Shine (20 page)

When we reach the front door, Rabbit cracks it open. He sticks his head out before quickly drawing it back inside. “Lennie, you go first. We’ll be right behind you.”

“Are you coming with us?” I ask.

He nods. “Can’t stick around here after helping you escape. Your father will have me taken care of, if you know what I mean.”

I give him a weak smile in response. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Now go.” Rabbit gives me a little push. I glance back
at Dyl once more. She’s not looking at me, but down at her hands, or more specifically, at her missing fingers. I watch as she grimaces and then balls her hands into fists.

Impulsively, I reach out and give her a quick hug. It’s a little weird since Dyl and I are more the type of friends to punch each other in the arm. Still, it needs to be done. And as my arms wrap around her I realize that I should have overcome the weirdness of it and done this the moment she first woke up.

“Is it wrong I’m glad you’re here?” I ask as I pull away.

Dyl gives me a twisted smile, like even that pains her, but all she says is, “Of course it is, you freak.”

“Touching,” Rabbit says. “Really. But can we go now?”

In answer I shove the door open. Smith’s Cherokee idles only a few steps away and I run toward it, fling the back door open, and throw myself inside. “Augh!” I scream as I bump into Benji. I lean way forward to see around his bulk and sure enough, Jules is tucked next to him, still giving me the evil eye. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demand.

“Change of heart,” Benji says, at the exact same moment a shrill cry rings out.

I twist around in time to see my father stab a knife into Rabbit’s gut. Everything seems to freeze for a minute or two, but it’s really just my brain that’s slowing down as it
tries to make sense of the long silver blade, so terrible and smooth, sliding into flesh.

Eyes red and watering, Rabbit stares down at the knife piercing his abdomen, then back up to my father. “You said you’d stick a knife in my heart if I ever betrayed you.”

“Yes, I know,” Cash answers in his casual, only vaguely menacing voice. “Sometimes it takes me a few times before I get it in the right place. Here, let me try again.” His hand reaches for the knife . . .

“No!” I leap from the car.

“This is grown-up business, Lennie.” My father’s glance flicks my way and then back to Rabbit, dismissing me.

“I’ll wish you to the bottom of the ocean,” I announce in a trembling voice. “I’ll wish that you drown slowly but never die. I’ll wish that the fish slowly nibble away at your skin. I’ll—”

Cash breaks in. “That’s quite enough.” He pivots slowly, so that he’s facing me. “I must admit, you paint a compelling picture. The question is, who would ask you to grant that wish?”

An angry, guttural growl comes curling up over my left shoulder. I know without looking that it’s Jules. “Me too,” Benji adds, to slightly less dramatic effect.

“Try us,” I challenge, without hesitation. That knife did more than wound Rabbit, it also cut free any last bit of
tender feeling I’d had toward my father. And without that small trace of sentimental emotion, I am able to tell him with absolute honesty, “I’d gladly see you dead.”

“I believe you would.” He smiles then. “This must be what parental pride feels like.”

“Rabbit, get in the car,” I say, never taking my eyes off Cash. When Rabbit only continues to tremble, I nearly lose it. “Get in the damn car! Now!”

Finally, he side-shuffles toward the Jeep. Once he’s within my reach, I grab hold of him and help him into the backseat. Benji helpfully hauls Jules onto his lap to make more room for the rest of us.

“Dyl,” I call once Rabbit is seated. Scanning the area, I find her huddled near the front door. “C’mon.”

Cash laughs. “She’s staying with me. And before you start making threats again, please understand that this is her choice.”

“No,” I shake my head in full-on denial, although I already know it’s true. I think I knew even when I hugged her a few minutes ago. “Dyl?”

She advances a few steps, but then stops next to Cash. “I’m sorry, Lennie.” Her eyes lock with mine as Cash’s arm slides around her shoulders and he pulls her close to his side. I’d expect her to look smug—she got me good—but all I see is grim determination.

Or maybe she’s only mirroring what’s on my face, because instead of pleading with my best friend to change her mind, I simply nod and say, “See ya on the other side, Dyl.” Then I reach out to swing the door closed while yelling, “Let’s get out of here! GO!”

“Are you sure?” This query comes from W2, who is in the driver’s seat.

“Dyl wants to stay. We don’t. Let’s go already!”

I expect Smith to object, but he doesn’t make a sound from where he’s huddled in the passenger seat. W2 doesn’t need any further encouragement. He slams his foot on the gas pedal and we shoot forward and away.

Leaving Dyl and Cash and so many dead hopes behind.

“I
’m sorry about your friend,” Benji says softly. “Even when you know it’s not really her, it’s still hard.”

“What do you mean?” I demand.

“I thought you understood,” he says. “When people are brought back from the dead, they’re different. Inside. It’s almost like . . .”

He trails off, looking squeamish, like he doesn’t want to be the one to break it to me. But I already know. “She’s rotten inside,” I say.

“Yeah,” he admits, before adding, “sorry.”

I wave his apology away. Too exhausted to be any more upset than I already am. “And you’re here because you’ve decided I’m a good guy and want to help. Right?”

Jules reaches across and gives me a thumbs-up at the same time Benji says, “Pretty much.”

“Well, welcome aboard, I guess.” I lean forward,
wanting to make sure Smith is okay. I flick on the overhead dome light to see him better and then wish I hadn’t. His skin is pasty white with an overlay of sweaty shine. The hand that I’d held is clutched to his chest and the rest of his body curls in toward it.

“Smith,” I say, reaching out to him.

W2 slaps my hand away. “He doesn’t want you touching him. Those were his orders. He wants you kept away.”

“Oh,” I say, snatching my hand back. It’s not a betrayal. I know that. And yet . . .

I take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds before releasing it slowly. I’d been ready to ask if he was okay, but now, up close, it’s so obvious that he’s not. I swallow those words and reach for new ones. “We had to leave Dyl behind. I mean, she wanted to stay behind. With Cash. My father. She thinks . . . I don’t know what she thinks, and I’m sorry, Smith, I tried to tell her—”

“Fine.” He cuts me off with one word, dismissing both me and Dyl.

“But,” I protest automatically, unable to believe that Smith would let Dyl go so easily. Or maybe I only want an excuse to talk to him. To be near him.

Smith turns toward me but not the way I wanted. Not like me. Even now, in obvious, terrible pain, I still need him more than he needs me. He snarls, lips curled back
and teeth flashing, “Enough. Get back. I don’t want you near me. I don’t want you.”

With that he twists away again, curling into himself, and I fall back into my seat, blinking back tears. I barely notice when I bump up against Rabbit, but then he groans and I quickly jump away, horrified that I let myself forget for even an instant that I was sharing the backseat with someone who had just been stabbed.

“Sorry. Are you . . .” For the second time, I stop before I can ask if he’s okay. No one in this vehicle is okay. Rabbit least of all. The knife juts from his midsection and now a steady stream of blood pours from it and pools on the seat around him. I make myself focus on Rabbit’s pain instead of my own. “Is there anything I can do? Should I pull it out? No, wait, I shouldn’t, right? You’ll bleed out faster.”

Rabbit waves a hand at me, as if shooing away my silly medical questions. “Cash always carries through on his threats.” Rabbit’s voice is low and tight with pain. “Although I guess that makes them more like promises, huh?”

It’s clear that speaking is using up more energy than he has. Still, I can’t help but ask, “Why, then? Why did you help me get away? And tell me all that stuff?”

Rabbit’s head lolls back and his eyes flutter closed.
“You. Know. Why.” Rabbit strains to drag each word from his mouth.

And I do know. “You wanted more.”

“Heh,” Rabbit wheezes. “You thought that was inspirational, didja? Well, let me set the record straight. More hardly ever works out for anyone.”

“Great,” I tell him, more disgusted with myself than him for having taken his words to heart. “I’ll put that on your tombstone.”

“You can do that, or . . .” I wait while Rabbit takes his time. “Or you can help change my mind.”

“Sorry,” I say, remembering what I’d just admitted to Dyl and myself about being ready to settle for that quiet future. “You got the wrong person.”

Rabbit doesn’t respond, and his heavy breathing becomes quieter.

“Rabbit? Rabbit?” I ask, afraid that he is gone, that he might have faded away that quickly. Relief floods me when he speaks once more.

“Won’t be much longer now.”

“Don’t say that. We’re on our way to the hospital, right, W2?”

“Uh . . . sure,” W2 answers after a long moment of hesitation. A second later the tires squeal and we all lurch
sideways as the Cherokee makes a sudden U-turn. “Hospital coming right up,” W2 proclaims triumphantly.

“No.” Rabbit grabs at my arm. “No hospital. A place like that isn’t good for someone like me.”

“Actually, a place where they fix people who have been stabbed is the perfect place for you,” I correct him as gently as possible.

“Lennie,” he replies, his voice even fainter than before. “Have to tell you . . . you’re a lot like your mother. Remind me of her.”

“Bat-shit crazy, you mean?”

Rabbit shakes his head. “Brave. Selfless.” He pauses. “Maybe a little bat-shit crazy.”

“You mean ’cause she saved me?” I ask.

“Saw it when I met her years ago. Took it right out of her own head.” Rabbit squeezes my hand with surprising strength. “She willingly granted Cash’s first wish. She made him charming. Irresistibly so.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “He’s a charmer, all right. You should have seen the way you were blushing when he stuck that knife in you.”

“Lennie, shut up.” Rabbit groans, and I immediately feel bad for making dumb remarks when he’s struggling to tell me something obviously important.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“After that wish he wanted more. He charmed others into making wishes on his behalf and your mother would grant them. If she didn’t, he threatened you. Your safety. He’d never wanted a child. Seems you were a mistake.”

“Of course I was.” I groan and then remembering my vow of silence, slap a hand over my mouth. “Sorry,” I mumble again from between my fingers.

Rabbit sighs, whether from pain or annoyance, I can’t say. “His wishes got bigger and more outrageous, but she didn’t dare stop. One time, she said no and he nearly killed you before she gave in. Maybe that’s when she finally saw the way to outsmart Cash. She gave her powers to you, willingly, without anyone forcing her hand. You could barely speak at that age, much less get all the words out needed for wish granting. Cash nearly killed her when he found out. That’s around the time I first met her. I’d never seen someone being tortured take it with such calm, even at times boredom. Eventually, he let her go, convinced himself this was the way he’d wanted it to go. That you and your greater power was all part of his grand plan from the beginning.”

And finally I have no words to say in response. So I sit quietly, holding Rabbit’s hand until—after what seems like a ridiculously long amount of time, but is more like ten minutes—we reach the hospital.

“Benji and Jules, can you take Rabbit in? I gotta get to Michaela’s before sunrise.”

“Me and Jules?” Benji asks. “You know he’s how Cash found so many of us.”

“Well, get him better so he can beg your forgiveness. C’mon. You owe me this.”

Jules makes a low grunting noise.

“All right,” Benji says.

“Thank you,” I say. I turn back toward Rabbit. “I need a favor from you too. Don’t die.” A faint smile crosses his face. “I mean if you die, then you won’t be able to spill all my secrets to someone else.”

At this, Rabbit’s eyes fully open and connect with mine. “Lennie, your secrets—” he says, and then pauses to take a pained breath. “Your secrets are shit.” And he grins at me with his big, toothless smile and I can’t help but laugh.

I am still smiling when W2 opens the door and says, “C’mon, hairy dude, let’s get you outta here.”

Benji takes over then, carefully lifting Rabbit, while Jules runs into the hospital and comes back out a moment later pushing a wheelchair. As we get him into the chair, a siren howls in the distance. It becomes louder and louder until an ambulance screeches to a stop in front of us.

“Damn,” W2 says. “They think they’re hot shit.”

“Whatever, it’s a good distraction. Benji and Jules can slip in behind them, while we get away.” I slide out of the car. “If they ask what happened—”

“Tell ’em to suck it,” W2 advises before proceeding to helpfully demonstrate the best way to do this with what is quickly becoming his signature move: a crotch grab followed by a hip shake that makes his balls ring.

“Perfect,” I say, somewhat amazed that I’m not being sarcastic. Well, mostly not. It’s weird being allies with W2.

As W2 slides behind the wheel again, I watch Benji and Jules slowly make their way past all the activity centered around the ambulance. The way it’s parked, I can see the stretcher coming out and how the poor kid on it is convulsing like he’s being electrocuted. It’s hard to see with all the shaking, but he looks a lot like Larry.

Larry. Convulsing.

And his mother beside him. Hysterical. Screaming, “Someone please help my son. It musta been drugs. I just dragged him out of this crazy party. Oh God, oh please, someone help my poor baby!”

Something in my brain goes
klunk
.

Oh, shit. Oh, hell. Oh, no.

I ungranted his wish. And his mother came for him. Larry must have been so happy. So relieved. Until she said, “It’s time to go home.” He’s such a damn momma’s
boy, I wonder if he even tried to argue with her. Or if he lamely did as he was told, knowing it would kill him.

“It’s Larry,” I cry. I don’t even know who I’m talking to since Smith has not made the smallest move or noise since I got into the Cherokee and W2 is obliviously singing along with the radio.

Without making a conscious decision to do so, I am moving toward the activity and then into the middle of it, shoving away the doctor or nurse or whoever or whatever this useless person is sticking things into Larry, trying to get him to live when the farther they take him from Michaela’s, the more he is dying.

Dying.

People are screaming at me, but I ignore them. I think I hear my name on Larry’s mother’s lips. Cursing me, no doubt. Probably thinking how she had my number from the very first time she met me. God, I hate proving her right.

Grabbing hold of the stretcher, I shove it back toward the ambulance. Someone grabs onto me from behind and distantly I hear someone else calling for security.

A part of me sorta remembers this is not part of the plan. But that thought doesn’t make it to my limbs, which are swinging and kicking wildly, striking anyone who tries to get between me and Larry. I scream his name, promising
that it will be okay. That I will fix this.

Then I am on the stretcher, my body thrown over his, yelling at the people trying to pull me off that they are killing him and he needs to go back. Arms wrap around me, lifting me off and away. I screech, hysterical. Spitting. Cursing. Completely mad.

Suddenly, inexplicably, I’m released. I fall back onto Larry.

Around us everything is eerily silent.

“Lennie, get down.” This calm, certain voice takes a moment to find its way to my totally out-of-my-mind brain. Eventually it connects and I realize with a mixture of shock and relief that Smith is standing beside me.

Smith.

With a gun in his hand.

Pointed at the hospital people.

And W2 at his side, grinning like a maniac, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, “Oh, man, this is so badass.”

A film of sweat covers Smith’s face, but he stands tall and solid beside me. “Lennie, push Larry back into the ambulance and then get behind the wheel.”

I don’t want to drive an ambulance. To be honest, I sorta suck at driving. But we are way past the point of reasonable objections, so I slide off Larry, push the stretcher
back into the ambulance, and finally run around to the front and climb inside. The keys are still in the ignition.

“Okay,” I yell to Smith.

A second later several shots ring out and the ambulance trembles as the back doors clang shut. An instant later Smith yells, “Go!”

I punch the gas, realize I didn’t put the damn thing in drive, and, without taking my foot from the pedal, shift gears. The ambulance shoots forward. My door, which I’d forgotten to close, bangs against a pillar and then slams shut. In my side mirror, I see W2, now holding the gun and growing smaller as we drive away, leaving him behind to hold all those people back. If it was anyone other than W2, I’d be concerned. But that boy’s got balls of steel. He’ll be just fine.

Realizing the lights are still blinking, I search for the off button, but then decide that since I have no plans on stopping this ambulance until we reach Michaela’s I might as well leave them on. In fact, we might as well get some sound going too so everyone knows to get the hell out of our way. After a few false tries, I locate the switch and the siren begins to howl.

It takes everything in me not to join in.