I kept my eyes closed—mostly because I wasn’t sure I could have opened them even if I’d wanted to.The black climbed up me like dark, twisting ivy, but then the pain would flare again, and consciousness would come roaring back in.
I must have lost some time, though, because Rory was saying in a strangely comforting voice, “—told you I’m going to take care of it.Nobody will ever find him.I’ve got the perfect place.”
“He’s not some college kid you can pretend ran off on a bender.He’s a detective with the Wahredua police.He’s got a boyfriend.People are going to ask questions.”
“I don’t like your tone.In fact, I don’t like how you’ve been talking to me at all.I’m the one with the gun.I’m the one who’s taking care of this problem.He would have ruined everything.He would have told them—he would have told them about you!You should be thanking me!”
Something must have happened because Eddie muttered, “Thank you.”
“I just need your help getting rid of him, and then it’ll be over.”
Eddie made a weird noise that I realized, a second later, was supposed to be a laugh.Because Eddie knew, like I knew, that it didn’t work that way.All he said, though, was “I can’t go with you.”
“Oh no, this is your problem too—”
“I’m in uniform!”But Eddie must have realized he was crossing a line, though, because he softened his tone.“And my cruiser is sitting in front of your apartment.I need to go home.And we’ve got to figure out an alibi.”He fell silent again.“I’ll take some of Tip’s stuff.That’ll work.I’ll tell Lola I stopped by to pick it up.You were home.You helped me box it up.Shit, that’s how we’ve got to do it.Come on.”
Eddie fished my keys out of my pocket, and the sounds of movement filled that dark place where I hung.Then the rustle of fabric settled next to me, and Eddie said, “On three.”
He counted, and on three, they rolled me onto something soft and cool.The pain flared, and I made a noise.
“He’s not dead,” Rory said; his voice thrummed with fresh panic.“I shot him.Why isn’t he dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m going to shoot him again.”
“No, Jesus—fuck!Are you kidding me?Think, God damn it.”Rory didn’t respond, and Eddie said, “Help me roll him up.”
They set to work, wrapping me in the fabric.I smelled the faintest hint of laundry detergent.Bedding, I thought.Tip’s comforter.Every movement jarred me and woke up the pain, but there was also something unexpectedly pleasant about the cool, close darkness.I felt myself sinking down into it.
I must have blacked out again because then there were fragments of remembered time: the swinging movement of my body as they carried me outside.The sweltering heat, which was only made worse by the tight enclosure of the bedding.It was harder to breathe, I realized.The comforter might not have been airtight, but it was definitely restricting my access to oxygen.And then the click of a latch disengaging.The awkward struggle to lift me and then let me fall, and then the sound of something falling shut, the dark.The trunk.
“Because his car’s not supposed to be here, dumbass.”Whatever fear Eddie might have felt, it must have been wearing off.“Leave the car with the body.Wipe down anything you touch.Then walk out to the state highway after it gets dark.I’ll pick you up.”
“When?”
“When I can.”
“I don’t want to wait out in the middle of nowhere for you.What if you change your mind?”
“If I change my mind, you’ve got bigger things to worry about.Get the fuck out of here while this place is still quiet.”
“I don’t like how you’re talking to me—”
The crack of the slap, even muffled inside the trunk, was still shockingly loud.Rory let out a sob, and then the sounds of struggle came—a body thumped against the side of the car, and one of the panels flexed as the vehicle rocked on its suspension.
Eddie’s voice had a faint breathlessness that suggested exertion.“Threaten me again, and I’ll beat you to death on this fucking street.Understand me?”
Tears choked Rory as he said, “I did this for us!”
The silence that followed reverberated with disbelief.Eddie finally said, “Get him the fuck out of here.I’ll pick you up tonight.”
30
I couldn’t tell how long the drive lasted.Part of that was the disorientation of the wound.And part was the stifling heat and suffocating weight of the comforter.When I had moments of clarity, I felt more alert.More aware of the pain, too, but able to think.The wound was in my chest.I hadn’t bled out, which was one small miracle.I wondered if it had nicked a lung; maybe that, more than the comforter, explained why it was so hard to breathe.I wasn’t dead; that was the bottom line.But I would be, sooner or later, if I didn’t get out of here.
That was easier said than done.They’d wrapped me tightly in the comforter, and after a few attempts to work myself free, I gave up.Every movement sent a nauseating wave of heat and pain through me, and I just couldn’t do it.The thought was made all the worse by the knowledge that, if I could get free of the comforter, it would be a simple matter of finding the trunk release and letting myself out.Simple, I thought.Unless Rory still had the gun.And I’d have to wait until we weren’t driving sixty miles an hour.But since I couldn’t free myself from the Bed, Bath, and Beyond equivalent of a bondage wrap, it was all fucking moot.
