You stay right here,” Henry said, and Corbin heard the sound of movement. He opened his eyes a fraction, rain obscuring his vision, and saw Henry gripping Claire by the shoulders. Her face was down, chin burrowing into her chest, head shaking back and forth. Corbin sat up, rain streaming from his hair.
Look up, Claire, he thought. Look up and see me.
She didn’t look up, but Henry took hold of her face in his hands, pushing her head back up. “Shhh,” he said. “Calm down, Claire.”
With her face in Henry’s hands, her eyes found Corbin. He was sitting fully up now, looking back at her. Her eyes went wide, and what remaining color she had in her face disappeared. Her scream was high-pitched, birdlike. Henry turned to Corbin, then let go of Claire and burst into laughter, putting his hands on his knees. Corbin just stared. He couldn’t take his eyes off Claire, who was stumbling backward like a boxer who has just been punched in the jaw.
Henry, done laughing, said to Claire: “Payback’s a bitch, eh?”
She turned to leave, took a step on the slippery ground, and went down on one knee.
Corbin stood, the knife slipping from his lap. Henry turned back toward him, grinning wildly, as Corbin stepped forward. Henry reached out the palm of his hand, and Corbin took it. Their eyes met over the handshake. Henry seemed like he’d just won a trophy. “Fucking A, man,” he said to Corbin. “Fucking A.” Accenting every syllable equally.
“Assholes!” Claire yelled. She was back on her feet, looking at them. “You assholes!”
Henry and Corbin released their hands.
“No, Claire, you’re the asshole,” Henry said.
“Whore!” Corbin yelled.
Her eyes jumped to him, her head shaking. “Jesus, Cor. How’d you get talked into this? You’re a decent guy.”
She wore a scoop-necked white shirt, and the rain was pulling it down, the edges of her beige bra showing. The exposed skin of her chest was wet and pale. “Yeah, I am a decent guy, and you’re a fucking whore,” Corbin said, his voice gone shrill.
Claire took a breath and hitched her shoulders back. “Okay,” she said quietly. She pushed her wet hair back off her forehead, then tugged her shirt back in place.
“Nice knowing you, Claire,” Henry said, and Corbin envied his normal voice, how calm he sounded.
Claire looked at Henry, then back at Corbin, and shook her head. Corbin watched as a slight, sad smile appeared on her face. She pities me, he thought, she fucking pities me. As she turned to leave, Corbin ran and shoved her as hard as he could in the center of her back. She jerked forward, feet stumbling, then hit the ground, her head bouncing. Corbin was on her, spinning her onto her back. Her head had hit the edge of a sharp rock, and bright-red blood was running from a flap of skin, mixing with the rain. “How’s it feel?” Corbin said, and shook her. She groaned and pressed a hand to the wound. She wore a Claddagh ring—she always had—and the heart was pointing toward her. Corbin had thought she’d done that for him. A surge went through his body, like a ripple going through a whip. He shook her harder, her head repeatedly hitting the ground.
“Hey, hey. My turn.” It was Henry, touching Corbin on the shoulder. He was holding the knife.
Chapter 15
They dug a grave in the clearing. The rain had turned the ground soft, the shovel making sucking sounds as they pulled out black clods of earth. When Claire’s body was in the hole, but before they covered it, Henry said, in his calm, measured voice: “I think we should take a picture. One of you with her body, and one of me.”
“What do you mean?” Corbin asked.
“We need to memorialize this moment.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No, listen. It will be a symbol of our trust. We’ll each hold proof on the other, and then we’ll know that we’re forever in this together. Think about it.”
Corbin was still in shock, trying hard to comprehend what had just happened. They had actually murdered Claire. The two of them, together, had ended her life. He’d started it, hadn’t he, by hitting the back of her head against the ground as hard as he had? He remembered how furious he’d felt, the adrenaline pumping through him, how good it felt to cause her pain. He’d wanted her to die, hadn’t he? Or had he just wanted her to feel pain and fear? Had he wanted her to