Nothing Bad Is Going to Happen (14 page)

A few hours later,
Dom, Miss Rosa, Dr. Ferguson, and I are all sitting around Dr. Ferguson's dining room table, drinking wine, zoned out to the max. The three of us kind of invited ourselves over because he lives really close to the Frostbite Challenge fairgrounds, and Dom was freaking out and projecting all over Rosa and me and thought it'd be good to be around “a mental health professional who is also our dear friend, don'tcha know.” Everybody's too in shock to say anything about the fact that I've poured myself a glass and won't stop talking about antlers.

“Did you know that the skin on a deer's antlers is called velvet?” I ask. “It sounds very pretty but it's actually full of veins, and when it sheds there's blood everywhere.”

Rosa smiles sadly at me. “Shut up more.”

“Fine.” I take out my list, hoping that reviewing the facts will temporarily quell the swirling in my chest.

I look up. “I have to go check on something. Can I borrow someone's car?”

“No,” Dom says, sounding very much himself even though his face is sagging and he looks a zillion years old.

“Okay,” I mutter. Maybe I can just call Dollar Dan and figure out whether he's guilty that way. Or maybe I should call the police. Then again, maybe the truly right thing to do in this moment is just chill out a little bit. It only seems right to think about Jim. If I got beheaded, I'd want someone to sit there and think about me, and let themselves feel it a little.

But then I do let myself feel it, and it's awful—like a stabbing, breath-stealing sensation in my lungs.

I close a door in my head and reach for the bottle.

Dom wordlessly slides it away from me and downs my glass of wine in one gulp.

“No,” he says again.

“I just can't believe it,” Dr. Ferguson says.

“Dr. Ferguson, would you mind if I locked all your doors and laid a simple trip wire in the front hallway?” I ask. “I would also like to use your phone.” I could always call Green Bay Correctional to check on Ralph. If they have caller ID they would see the call was coming from Dr. Ferguson and they must let inmates speak to their doctors, right? And if he gets on the phone, I might be able to get something out of him about Jim's murder. Hearing his voice is always the creepiest thing ever, but he does like to admit things.

“Kippy,” Dom says, his teeth purple from wine, “enough with the traps.”

“You can lock the doors if you want,” Dr. Ferguson says. “And feel free to use the phone—there's one in the guest bedroom, if you need privacy.”

“Thanks.” I push back from the table and go to lock the front door before sort of losing track of where the other doors are (am I drunk?) and making my way down the hallway, past the guest bedroom, to Dr. Ferguson's office. I like it in there. I'm used to it. The chairs are those big leather ones with the tufted arms. It looks a lot like his office did at Cloudy Meadows, actually.

There's a stack of receipts on the desk and I idly pull a few toward me. One is handwritten, from a place called
Scheidegg's Storage. I lift the receiver but stop with it halfway to my ear as I read the receipt. The dial tone hums. Pain yawns in my chest.

“Can I help you with anything?” a voice asks.

I turn around to see Dr. Ferguson blocking the door.

I hang up the phone. “No, I was just going to call my friend and say Merry Christmas Eve,” I say weakly. “But I don't need to anymore.”

His eyes shift to the receipt. I edge past him and dig in my pocket for my phone, trying to think if there's anyone out there I can still trust. Mildred was acting weird at Frostbite—almost like she was trying to abduct me—and Libby's mad at me, but maybe—

Text from Libby (mobile):

OMGah kippy ur still doing this???

Text from Libby (mobile):

DUH

I careen into the dining room feeling feverish. Dom is sitting on Miss Rosa's lap sobbing again about Jim Steele. I can hear Dr. Ferguson's footsteps behind me.

“Guys, we gotta go.”

Dom struggles off Miss Rosa, looking shocked. The blood is draining from his cheeks.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder.

“Everybody stay calm,” Dr. Ferguson says, pulling me toward him. Something cold and metallic presses into my temple.

“What are you doing?” Dom asks, slurring his words.
“Put that down, Will, that's my baby. . . .” His lips are trembling.

I look away. If Dom cries then I'm really going to lose it.

“Phones on the table,” Dr. Ferguson says.

I watch their phones clatter on their plates.

“Yours, too.” The gun presses harder into my skull. I toss my phone on the floor.

“He's working for Ralph,” I blurt out. “I mean, if we're all about to die, you should know the truth—” I scream as my elbow is grabbed and twisted. Pain radiates down my shoulder.

Dom's face is pure terror. Tears stream down Miss Rosa's cheeks. Dr. Ferguson cranks my elbow harder. The ache swells and ricochets through my clavicle, about to explode.

Rosa pleads with Dr. Ferguson in Polish. My shoulder pops and I wail louder.

Dom grabs a knife from the table and runs toward us.

My eardrums explode, everything rings, Dom is on the floor. I fall on my knees. My nose twitches from the blood. I know I should crawl toward him, but I don't want to see. My father is dead, I think.

But then he gasps, his breath sucking in all panicked, and he lets out the biggest scream I've ever heard. I've heard deer cry out like humans after getting hit by cars,
and it was nothing like this.

Blood everywhere.

“We're going to the basement,” Dr. Ferguson says.

Ferguson reaches for my sleeve and I recoil from him, wincing as I try to move my shoulder. My heart shrivels into a raisin. “No,” I plead.

I scramble for my backpack and manage to loop it onto my good arm.

“Ojcze nasz ktorys jest w niebie, swiec sie imie Twoje.”
Miss Rosa's eyes are closed in prayer.
“Przyjdz krolestwo Twoje, badz wola Twoja—”

“Rosa,” I yell, wanting to shake her.

Ferguson grabs me by the collar.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” I mumble, letting Dr. Ferguson pull me backward through the kitchen to the basement door. His gun touches the side of my face as we walk.

I don't want to look at the staircase. I can smell the dankness, but I don't want to see the darkness. “Hello?” somebody says. It's a tiny voice, faraway.

I slide one foot and then the other onto the top step. The door slams behind me, hitting my shoulder, and I grip the banister. I will wait right here to die if I have to, but I will not walk all the way down. I might have braved Dollar Dan's basement, but that was for investigative purposes.
And at this point the investigation is over. At this point it's about where I want to die. “I am not getting killed in a cellar,” I say quietly. I will die on the stairs.

“Why?” the tiny voice says.

“I don't know why!” I shout.

I will die talking to myself.

The door opens behind me and I turn to see Dom leaning on tiny Rosa, his arm wrapped tight around her shoulder, dragging his hemorrhaging leg as she struggles to support his weight. His pants are soaked through. The blood is purple-black.

I squeeze against the wall to let them pass, putting a hand gingerly on Dom's shoulder.

“No idling on the stairs,” Dr. Ferguson growls, and kicks Rosa in the back, sending us flying.

The door slams above us as we land in a pile on the concrete. Dom is screaming again. Rosa is struggling to catch her breath. She got the wind knocked out of her. I cradle my forearm to my chest. My collarbone has already started to swell. I'm covered in Dom's blood.

“Are you okay?” I ask, not sure which of us I'm talking to, exactly.

“Is my back,” she says, standing up and wrenching her torso left and right, cracking her whole spine. “There.” She sighs and wriggles out of her sweater and turtleneck,
fashioning a kind of tourniquet on Dom's leg.

“You okay, Pebble?” she asks me, tightening the shirt around Dom's thigh. He hisses through his teeth.

“My shoulder's dislocated,” I say, sweat pouring down my face.

I reach for Dom's hand. “I'm so glad you got shot in the leg,” I blurt out, squeezing his fingers. “I know that's weird to say, but I thought it was your intestines, and that you were about to turn inside out in front of me, and on the bright side you probably won't bleed to death now, or at least not as fast.”

“Kippy,” he whispers. His face is gray and his eyes are closed.

As Rosa fiddles with his bandages, I lean in close. “Yes, Dommy?”

“Silence.”

Upstairs, Dr. Ferguson is rummaging through the cupboards, probably trying to brainstorm ways to get rid of our bodies. Apparently I'm the kind of person who sociopaths get obsessed with, which makes this all my fault.

“I guess you were right about the devil,” I mumble.

“Kippy,” someone whines. It's the same high-pitched voice as before.

I shake my head hard. I'd like to enjoy these last few
moments with Dom and Rosa without voices in my head getting in the way.

“What's that?” Dom says groggily, struggling to sit up.

I blink. “You heard it?”

Rosa wraps her arms around him. “Shhh, Kitten.” She looks up at me. “Help me. We move. Hide in dark from gun man.”

I don't want to move any farther into the basement, but I nod, linking my good arm under Dom's armpit to help drag him across the concrete floor. The only light down here comes from a tiny dormer window that looks out onto the ground outside. It's half-covered by snow. My eyes adjust slowly, and through the darkness I can just make out a lump in the far corner that looks like a pile of rags. Shelves line the wall, piled with stuff. There's a huge freezer under the staircase that reminds me of the kind Jim Steele used for his taxidermy.

Used.
Past tense.

“It's me,” the rags say. “Albus.”

I shut my eyes and open them again, but she doesn't disappear. Rosa is looking back and forth between Albus and me, flashing funny looks.

“I've been looking for you everywhere,” Albus says, sounding exasperated.

“Is that a chain around your ankle?” I ask.

She nods grimly. “Affirmative.”

I shuffle toward her, digging in my backpack past the crumpled sheets of paper until I find the knife Miss Rosa gave me. I try to cut through the iron cuff on Albus's ankle, but I barely make a scratch.

“Stop,” Rosa says. “You make it not so pointy.” She sighs. “Even now I pray we stab the doctor monster.”

Miss Rosa drags Dom over and we all sit around Albus. I explain to Dom and Rosa who Albus is, and then I tell Albus to start from the beginning. “I think I see you everywhere,” I say.