Chapter 77
I wake suddenly, in darkness. The air in the room feels disturbed, as if something—or someone—has just moved through it.
I stretch a hand across the bed, searching for Persephone’s small, warm body.
No matter how often I tuck her into her own bed, she always finds her way back to mine.
But she’s not here. I exhale sharply, my breath loud in the silence. That’s right. She’s home tonight.
“I don’t know, Nugget,” I tell her and I pull back the curtains and peer outside. Peter’s sensor light flickers on, illuminating light droplets of rain and the quiet, sleeping street. At first, everything looks normal. Then I see him. The Italian Stallion. Shane.
He’s standing on Roxanne’s porch. And in his arms—
Persephone. Her small form is slack against his chest, her head lolling like a rag doll’s. The window behind them—Persephone’s room—is shattered, jagged edges glinting in the dimlight.
I’m an eighty-one-year-old woman with arthritic knees, but I move like a cheetah, tearing out the door in nothing but my nightie and socks. Nugget scurries after me. The cold, wet pavement bites into my feet, but I don’t feel it. All I see is him. Her.
“Hey! You.” My voice is sharp, cutting through the rain-drenched silence.
Shane startles, just for a second. Then his expression hardens. He lifts a hand. He’s holding a gun. Nugget barks madly.
“Leave it alone, old lady,” he slurs. His voice is thick with drink. “And shut your dog up.”
“Shhh,” I say to Nugget, and she stops.
Persephone stirs slightly, shifting in his arms, but she doesn’t wake. The way children can sleep through anything will never cease to amaze me.
“Put her down.” My voice is steady, though my insides are trembling.
Roxanne. Where is Roxanne?
As if summoned, Roxanne bolts from the house, her eyes wide and frantic. I’m relieved, at least, that she’s okay.
“Shane,” she says.
“Call the police!” I shout.
She hesitates for a second, but perhaps seeing my expression, she disappears inside.
“Put the child down, Shane,” I say, inching forward. “This has nothing to do with her.”
“Bullshit,” he spits. “She’s mine.”
“Rubbish.”
He falters for a moment, blinking at me. “She is.”
A light flicks on in Joan’s house. Another one follows at Peter’s. I see movement behind curtains at the Nguyens’.
Shane sees it too. He shifts Persephone in his arms, and she stirs, blinking against the darkness.
“She might be your child, but she’s not yours,” I say. My voice is sharp, unwavering. “She’s a human being. Not a tool for your revenge or a way to get what you want. If you stopped thinking about yourself for five minutes you might see what an amazing person she is, and how many people love her.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m not just talking about him and Persephone. And while my father will never hear it, it feels good to say.
“What’s happening?” Persephone blinks up at her father. Her lip quivers. “Elsie?”
“It’s all right, darling,” I say softly.
Roxanne bursts back outside, the phone pressed to her ear. “They’re coming,” she says breathlessly.
Joan and Peter step outside, their silhouettes stark against the light.
Shane’s eyes dart around. He’s cornered, and he knows it. “Move!” he snarls, lifting the gun and stepping forward. I back up instinctively.
“Mother … fucker!” Shane shouts, dropping Persephone. She lands hard on the ground, then scrambles toward me. “You little bitch. Did you just bite me?”
He pushes back his sleeve and even in the darkness I see the child-size ring of teeth marks on his arm. I see the look on Shane’s face before Persephone does. He lifts the gun and points it at her head. I start to run.
Roxanne screams, a sound that rips through the night. Nugget barks madly. Persephone covers her head with her hands.
I lunge.
The gun goes off.
Instinct. That’s what it is. It’s instinct to leap in front of the child. Instinct, but also a choice. It’s one of the easiest, best choices I’ve ever made. How lucky I am, to be able to choose.
Even before everything goes black, I feel lucky. Because when I go, it’s with my dog barking madly in the background, and the people who love me calling my name—Joan. Roxanne. Peter. And Persephone. My darling Persephone.