little squeaking noise that I hope Smith thinks is a sad laugh and not a choked back sob. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, they thought I did it.”
“They didn’t, Lennie.” Again, there is no hesitation. “They thought you knew something. That’s it. You were never on the official suspect list.”
For some reason this makes me feel better. Not weight-lifted-off-my-chest better, but slightly better, which it turns out is enough to keep from falling to the ground and sobbing.
“Okay, thanks,” I say, finally able to meet Smith’s eyes again. “Okay,” I repeat, trying to regroup. “We need to get her out of here, right?”
“I’ll carry her,” Smith answers. “I need you to scout ahead and make sure the coast is clear.”
I nod. “I can do that. One thing first, though.” I cross the room to Dyl’s closet and then dig through until I find her favorite pair of Pumas, a red-and-black-plaid baseball hat, and a hoodie. After shoving all of the items into a canvas bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I turn back to Smith and give him the thumbs-up sign. “Let’s do this.”
Smith scoops Dyl into his arms so that she is cradled close to his chest. I ease the door open and peer out, feeling paranoid. The hallway and the rest of the house are as silent and empty as before.
“It’s clear,” I whisper, twisting around to where Smith is now directly behind me. “You go first and I’ll cover your back.”
The corner of Smith’s mouth kicks up in a half smile. “No one’s coming after us with an MK16, Lennie.”
If he wasn’t holding Dyl, I’d be tempted to poke his bruise again. I settle for giving his shoulder a shove. “Go already, Smith.”
For a bigger guy, who’s also carrying another person, Smith really nails the quick and quiet combo. We make it to his Jeep Cherokee in record time. Smith gently lays Dyl across the backseat and tucks a blanket around her. A lump fills my throat so full that I have to turn away and busy myself with getting into the car and buckling my seat belt.
Smith lingers behind me while I stare straight ahead and pretend to not hear the suspicious sniffling sounds coming from behind me.
Or maybe I was imagining them, because when Smith swings into the driver’s seat and begins driving us to Michaela’s, he appears to be as in control as ever.
“Look,” he says. “The day after one of these parties everyone’s tired and hungover. Any craziness is probably fights over the ibuprofen and pizza delivery menus.”
“Sure,” I say, and then I laugh. It sounds fake. And horrible. A stupid lie just like the one Smith’s trying to feed me. It’s still relatively early in the day, but at this point we both know that things are messed up in the kind of way that isn’t gonna go away or get better. . . .
Not today.
And maybe not ever again.
BAD IDEAS
The creepy “this is bad” feeling increases as we approach Michaela’s gigantic mansion. Trying to distract myself, I twist around in my seat to check on Dylan. Seeing that one of her arms is dangling down at an awkward angle, I reach back and gently take her hand.
And then I scream.
I am jerked sideways as the car swerves, and thrown again when it screeches to a stop.
“What?” Smith demands. “What?”
I can’t answer him, because I am too busy flinging my door open, unbuckling my seat belt, and finally diving out of the car to puke all over someone’s perfectly maintained lawn.
“Here,” Smith says from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see he’s offering me a bottle of water. Gratefully, I grab it and then spit and rinse. After a few minutes, I’m steady enough to stand.
I lean against the side of the car taking deep breaths while Smith waits beside me. I give him credit for waiting at least two full minutes before asking, “You gonna tell me what that was all about?”
I wonder if I should tell him, but he’ll probably notice eventually, so I decide to spill. “Her hand. Her fingers. She’s missing her pinkie and her middle finger. They’re just . . .”
“They’re gone.” He says it almost nonchalantly, like we’re discussing a change in her hair instead of how Dyl can no longer use her fingers to count to ten. “I noticed right away when her covers came off, but you wouldn’t have known to look.”