Gone to the mall? Comedy show? Theater? Been to Valley Fair?” I shook my head after each question, remembering commercials I’d seen, things I’d put on a list in a diary that had been under my bed for years, something I’d outgrown.
Actually, something I’d put aside because Mom thought it was too close to breaking rule #5: no talking about the outside world. “No,” I said.
“They’re all things I think you’d enjoy,” he went on. “I need you to hang on…just a little longer…til I get M-Squad, and they take care of Wolfe.” He said it with a reassuring smile. I could feel his confidence and I knew he believed to his depths that M-Squad could take Wolfe. I was less sure, but it didn’t matter. He believed it totally. “Will you promise me you’ll wait?”
I didn’t know what to say. I felt the pressure of his eyes on me, so calm and reassuring, looking at me in a way I had rarely seen. “I…I…” I stuttered.
Caring. That’s what his eyes were. And I realized again how good looking he was. And older. And I tried to keep in mind that he was spying for Ariadne and Old Man Winter, but that thought faded when I looked into his deep brown eyes. “I…I promise.”
“Attagirl.” He stood, extending a hand to help me up. I humored him and took it, feeling a little dazed. I kept focused on him and watched his eyes swim for a moment, and he let go of my hand. “I should…uh…get going.” He took a step and seemed to trip, then cast a look back at me to see if I noticed. “Felt a little lightheaded there for a second.” His smile turned to a grin. “Must be the effect of being around you.” He walked to the door and knocked on it, then left when it slid open, sending me back one last smile.
I groaned when he left, mostly from the last cheesy line he’d said, but also from the fact that he’d extracted the promise from me that he had. My fingers tingled with pleasure from the feel of his touch on my hand and left me wondering about all the things in the world that I’d never experienced – but less about the ones he had mentioned…and more about the ones he hadn’t.
Twenty-one
Three more days, one hundred and thirty-two more dead. I was well past the point of sick and into the realm of deathly numb, if such a thing existed. If I had any doubt that I was the world’s worst person, it was dissolved when some unnamed individual slid a note under my door that I found first thing in the morning. I didn’t bother to ask the guards how it got there. It read:
People are dying by the hundreds and you’re hiding. If he comes back here, you won’t find much help from any of us because everyone here pretty much hates you and we’re all rooting for him to turn you inside out.
Ariadne hadn’t stopped by in several days and the guards hadn’t initiated any conversations, so my only human contact was when a cafeteria worker brought me meals three times per day. It was always the same person, a middle-aged woman who didn’t have anything to say. At all. I caught her scowling at me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Based on her attitude, I had to guess the letter was on target.
The crisis in Minneapolis had gotten so bad that there were police and SWAT teams on constant call. Helicopters circled, watching for any sign. Wolfe had progressed from only slaughtering people in their homes to killing people in public places as he moved between potential victims – he had been caught on several automated cameras. When four houses in a row in one of the western suburbs was hit it started a louder clamor; previously Wolfe had restricted himself to working in Minneapolis proper.
Since then he had jumped around, but the police always seemed to be a couple steps behind him, at least according to the news. Hundreds of witnesses reported seeing him, even just a flash in passing, and the police were overwhelmed because at the slightest hint of a noise people were calling 911 for help; as a result, instances of violent crime were up 142% (again, according to the news) and tons more were going unnoticed. As one reporter put it, “It’s a good time to get away with murder in Minneapolis