The Prologue (18 page)

“Dr. Parker! This is all a misunderstanding!” I shudder as I hear Tony’s voice, crazy and out of control. It’s clear he’s delusional, in that other world he seems to escape to whenever he hits me, when he accuses everything of being my fault. He’s in that alternate universe where he is able to bend and twist reality to suit his change of events. I thank God I’m no longer trapped there with him, even though I’m already terrified of being in the real world on my own.

“There is no misunderstanding, Tony,” my dad says, and I can still hear Tony struggling, though I can’t see who has a hold of him. All I can see through the door is my dad’s back, stiff as a poker, fists clenched at his sides.

“There is!” Tony insists, his voice high pitched, grunting as he struggles to escape whoever is holding him back. “Evie wants to see me! I’m telling you, if you just ask her, she’ll want to see me!”

The incredible thing is, I’m not sure if I want to see Tony or not. A small part of me, buried deep, wants to see him one last time. But not like this. I want old Tony, the one I fell in love with. I know that soon, I will have to accept that that particular Tony is dead and gone forever, but right now, I can’t deal with it.

“She doesn’t want to see you,” my dad says, and I can tell he is barely able to restrain himself. I wonder how hard it is for him, controlling his rage, coming face to face with the person who had hurt me, done such unspeakable things to me. “You need to get out of here, Tony. There’s a restraining order against you, and this isn’t going to look good in court. Your parents are going to be upset that you came here today.”

“I need to see her!” Tony is howling hysterically, and it scares me a little bit. Somehow I know it has to be said, that he has to hear it from me to really believe it, or he’ll keep coming back, keep haunting me.

My chest begins to heave up and down, it’s hurting me, but even with the pain I can feel the white mist creep into the edges of my vision. I don’t want to do it, don’t even know if I can, but I know that I have to try, for both Tony and me.

“Daddy.” My voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but he still hears me.

My dad turns slightly to look at me, and I gesture for him to come a little closer.

“I’ll make him leave, baby,” he tells me, coming to the bedside, careful to close the door on Tony’s noises. “I’ll make them escort him out of here.”

I shake my head, trying to speak past the giant lump in my throat. I have to try twice before I can get the words pushed out of my dry mouth, and they come out high and wispy, because I’m still unable to catch my breath. “Let me see him,” I say, keeping my eyes squeezed shut. “Let me tell him.”

“Evie,” my dad says immediately, “I really don’t think-”

“I have to,” I say, in as firm a voice I can manage, staring at him in what I hope is a no nonsense manner. I hope he can’t see the fear in my eyes, the fact that I’m practically hyperventilating. “For me. And for him. Otherwise he’ll keep coming back. Open the door, Dad.”

My dad stares at me for just one moment, and then slowly walks toward the door. He pauses with his hand on the door handle, and I can see that he’s debating with himself, wondering if he should give me my own way or do what he thinks is best for me. Even through my rising hysteria, I reflect on how much I love my dad as he slowly and carefully swings the door open.

The panic that hits me when the door is fully open makes me pause, wondering if this was the right idea. I slam my eyelids shut, not ready to look yet, and also trying to force away the nothingness that threatens to overtake me. My fingers feel numb, and even though it feels like my whole body is hurting everywhere Tony has ever touched me, I’m still ready to float away and I know there will be no stopping it this time.

Wait
, I tell it, trying to keep myself grounded in the present.
Wait
.

I force my eyes open, and they land on Tony, standing just outside my door in the hallway. Two men, both in scrubs, are holding him back, but he stops struggling the instant he sees me. His body seems to go limp with relief, and he just stares at me.

I stare back, and feel a strange, airy sense of relief that I feel as though I’m looking at a stranger. Surely this is some kind of sign that I’m ready to move on, that I don’t see a trace of the old Tony anywhere in this person’s blue eyes. All I see is a crazy person, and the relief stealing over me feels like a cloud, settling under my body and ready to take me away.

“Evie,” he finally whispers, and even the voice seems foreign. “Evie, let me in.”

I stare at him for a long moment, suddenly unspeakably glad for what he did to me at the wedding. Because at least, finally, I am free of him.

“No.” My voice isn’t wispy at all. It’s loud and firm, and there is no mistaking that I mean what I say. “I don’t want to see you.”

Tony instantly goes ballistic, leaping forward so suddenly the two men almost lose their hold on him. A crazy light enters his eyes, something insane that’s even deeper than anything I’ve seen when he was hitting me, holding me down beneath him. He’s shouting and screaming, and more doctors and nurses rush onto the scene. I close my eyes, but with my weak arms, there’s nothing I can do to block out his words.

“Evie, please! Don’t do this, baby! I can’t live without you! I’ll die without you! I can’t live without you! Take me back or I’ll do it! I will! Please! Evie, please!”

His voice fades away and is finally gone, and there is a soft
click
as my dad gently closes the door. The numb feeling spreads all over my body, and I feel myself floating away, and once again I do nothing to stop it. I tell myself that I don’t care about Tony, that after what he did I don’t care if he lives or dies, because his hold over me is gone.

But I know that isn’t true. I know whatever happens next will be my fault, and I allow myself to float away so I can escape it all. The last I hear are familiar tires squealing against the pavement out in the parking lot. I can hear it even in my room, and I know that it’s Tony, peeling away from the hospital in a blind rage. I close my eyes, and then I see and hear and feel nothing at all.

Ezekiel

23

During my night in the holding cell, I pass the time by coming up with sixty-seven new ways to call myself an idiot. I also reflect that I need new friends, or perhaps I should just cut them out as well, because you can count on them even less than people you love. They’re quick to rally around you when you want to do something stupid, like perform graffiti on a bridge, and just as quick to run away when the cops show up to arrest all your dumb asses.

My dad refuses to come for me, and in the end it’s Uncle Alex who picks me up, since I’m underage and broke curfew as well. I’ll have a court date, but it will probably end in some community service work this summer. Once more, though, and the cops warned me I’d probably be sent away.

Alex cuffs me on the back of the head after we walk out of the police station, and while I scowl and rub my head, I don’t say anything. I know I deserve the lecture coming my way, even as I know Uncle Alex can’t possibly understand my need for defacing public property.

“The boy could go to college for free, because of his talent,” Alex tells the sky as we cross the huge parking lot to his car. “For free! And what does he do instead? He gets hauled into jail numerous times, because he somehow feels the need to go around spray painting buildings like a fuckin’
delinquent
!
That’s
what he does with his skill!”

A few smart remarks enter my head, but I keep them to myself. The purpose of the graffiti is served; my cool head is back, and I’m feeling that I could care less what happens to Evie Parker. After all, her dad has found out, and he’s not about to let Tony anywhere near her. I have nothing to worry about, and I’m going to remember that. I have a little over a month before school lets out, and then this will all fade into obscurity.

We get into the car, and Uncle Alex lectures me the whole way back into Grandview. I stay silent until we’ve parked on the curb of Grandview Avenue, in front of our dingy apartment building. Alex has finally run out of steam, and he’s sitting with his hands still on the wheel, taking in deep breaths as he shakes his head and mutters to himself.

“Feel better?” I ask, unable to keep a bite of sarcasm out of my voice.

He points at me, his finger trembling. “Don’t give me any of that attitude! You know that any other job probably would fire you if they found out about all the trouble you get into! So if you want to keep your job, you shut your mouth, boy. Understand?”

“Understood,” I mutter quietly, because it’s the one threat that can get me to rope myself back in. There’s no way I can get fired from the club and be unable to pay for Cindy’s dancing. The thought of her face if that happened actually makes my stomach hurt a little bit.

Alex and I get out of the car and I stand on the sidewalk and stretch, looking forward to taking a shower after a whole night spent in the filthy jail. Alex opens his mouth to lecture me some more, but he’s interrupted by the sound of furiously squealing tires somewhere farther up on Grandview Avenue, out of our sight. We both pause, and then hear the unmistakable sound of two cars hitting each other.

Alex shakes his head. “Idiots.” Then he turns back to me, but I manage to escape because I see Cindy and her friend coming out of the café across the street with her friend’s mom.

“Oh look, there’s Cindy,” I say quickly, and wave until Cindy sees me and waves back.

“Hi, Zeke!” she shouts across the two lane road, though with all the cars parked along the sides, it’s more like a four lane. “Did you have a good night?” She’s grinning wickedly, and I know she must have heard something about what happened.

“Smarty pants!” I call, over the sounds of car horns honking and more tires squealing from the scene of the accident. I pause to look up the road again, and wonder if someone just committed a hit and run. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to flee from the scene of a fender bender, especially if the car they hit was high-end. People get pretty intense about their parking spots around here. I turn back to Cindy. “Get over here, and make sure you use the crosswalk!”

Cindy says goodbye to her friend and the mom, and walks a few pavement squares down to the street light at the corner of Grandview and Haines Avenue, our home street. She stands waiting for the light to change, and we make faces at each other the whole time, while Uncle Alex continues to pace and wave his arms around. I let him, because I know in the end it will help him calm down. So will shooting the shit with my dad for the next few hours, parked on the porch with a few beers.

The light turns red and the white pedestrian light blinks on. Cindy tosses her ice cream cup into the trashcan and takes her first step off the sidewalk. I’m suddenly aware of the loud rev of an engine, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of silver.

For the first time ever in my life, everything around seems to slow down, enter slow motion as I force my head to turn. My blink seems to take a full minute as I try to process what I’m seeing, until finally it clicks; I can see the crumpled fender of the silver BMW, the wind rushing past the car as it comes on too fast, and Tony Stull’s face, his unseeing eyes still brighter and crazier than I’ve ever seen, his hands completely white as he grips the steering wheel.

“Cindy.”

My voice is a whisper, and with gargantuan effort I pull my gaze away from Tony’s rapidly approaching car and toward my sister. She’s not paying any attention, focused on looking for something in her bag. Her mouth is moving, she’s talking to me but I can’t hear a word that she’s saying.

My feet are frozen, as though the cement is wet and they’ve sunk down into it and I can’t get them to move. Something is wrong with my brain, I’m thinking that I want to move, to shout, to run and grab Cindy, but the messages aren’t being passed down to my body, to my legs and mouth. But Tony is coming closer,
closer
goddammit and I’ve got to do
something.

“Cindy.” It’s still a whisper, my voice is still hoarse and not even Uncle Alex, who is rooting for something in his car, can hear me.

Pull yourself together! Save her, like you saved Evie! Get her, Zeke!
The command seems to zap some part of me awake, and I find my voice, if not my legs.

“Cindy! Cindy!”

My voice is a raw scream, hoarse and panicked but Cindy still hears me. She drops her bag and it bangs against her hip, dangling from her shoulder. She looks up at me, smiling quizzically, wondering why I’m shouting like a maniac, and then
stops.
The girl
stops
in the middle of the crosswalk because I call her name and the speeding car barrels right into her.

It would be a lie to say that while a reader reads a cliffhanger like this and wants to simultaneously cry and throw their book/e-reader across the room, a writer isn’t sitting at the computer typing it up and manically giggling as they picture the readers reaction. Evil-super-villain-style complete with the twiddling of fingers and everything.