“Faith!” I shout. Now my voice is back, and I can move. But it’s too late.
She collapses. Crumples like paper, her body limp and pale. Her head hits the floor with a sickening crack.
“FAITH!”
I slam into the bars, trying to break through them. She lies still. Her skin is gray. Her eyes closed.
Lo is there. She tells me that Faith is dead. “You killed her.”
“No. No.”
I reach through the bars again, and this time, I can touch her fingers—cold, unresponsive.
“Don’t do this. Come back. Please, come back. I love you. I didn’t know until it was too late, but I love you, God, I love you.”
And then?—
I wake. My chest heaving, heart hammering like it’s trying to punch its way out. I’m soaked in sweat.
I’m in my bed. Alone. Sheets tangled, breath sharp in my throat.
The same bed where we made love. Where we spent the night. Where we woke up.
The nightmare still has its grip on me.
You have to drop the charges.
I run a hand through my hair. No, I don’t. She’s not there anymore. They let her go. They said there was no proof she did it.
You killed her.
The edges of the dream still have their hold on me. The pain is raw. It clings, raw and real and pulsing.
Faith’s not dead, Cain. She’s alive.
What if she didn’t do it? What then?
Then I let the best thing that ever happened to me slip through my fingers.
I press my palms to my face, trying to steady my breath. But the image of her on that cold jail floor doesn’t fade.
The next day, the rumors start afresh. Silverton is a small town, and the gossipmongers are having a field day.
Georgia is colder than usual with me.
“What?”
She looks like hell, like she hasn’t slept. But then so do I.
“Nothing.” She turns her back on me.
The first piece of news comes from Alison Stryker. Nice Church-going lady. Married to Lou Stryker, who runs Pine Mutual Bank. “She’s living in Ricky’s by-the-hour motel.”
“Goes from thief to whore,” Geena Stinson says. Her husband owns the auto parts store.
“Maybe she always was one.” Alison titters.
Georgia slams their check in front of them. “Whenever you’re ready.” She says it polite-like, but I know her, and she’s furious.
