18. Cassidy #2
“They’ll take you away,” I cut her off. “They’ll separate us.
Maybe forever. They won’t care what he did, not tonight.
They never listen to kids like us. They’ll just see .
. .” I glance back at the blood-soaked carpet—at him .
“They’ll see a dead man and me with a weapon.
They’ll put me in prison . . . or worse.
And you—they’ll put you in another home far away, and I won’t be there. ”
“Then I’ll tell them it was me. That I hit him.”
“Don’t—”
“I will! I’m not leaving you, Cassidy. We go down, we go down together. That’s how it’s always been,” she cries.
My heart is splitting open.
I want to scream, to shake her, to beg her to run, but I can’t. Because I know exactly what she means. I’d say the same thing if the roles were reversed.
Inside the house, I hear the front door crash open. Heavy boots thud against the floorboards, coming closer.
I grab her face in both hands, my heart breaking in slow, brutal pieces. “I love you, Binx,” I say, and it’s the rawest truth I’ve ever spoken. “But if you stay, we both lose. If you run, at least one of us has a chance.”
Her lip trembles. “You’re not doing this without me.”
“I’m not, I swear. I’ll find you. But right now— right now —you have to go.”
She opens her mouth to argue again, and I silence her by kissing her.
I’ve never done this before, and the unsteadiness of her reaction tells me she hasn’t either.
It’s frantic—messy. My hands fly up to cup her cheeks, staining them with his blood.
I pour everything I am into the kiss. The years of sleeping side by side.
The times we protected each other from every fucked-up thing this world’s ever thrown at us.
When I finally pull back, she’s staring at me, eyes wide, lips parted.
“I had to do that at least once . . . In case I don’t get another chance. ”
Tears begin to stream down her cheeks. “I hate you,” she chokes.
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know that too.”
I snatch her backpack from the floor. It’s small and purple and one of the straps is broken. I notice her feet are bare, so I grab her sneakers from under the bed, along with my pocketknife and the few crumpled bills I’ve stashed away. I shove them into her backpack and yank the zipper closed.
“I’ll find you,” I promise hoarsely as I boost her through the open window. Bindi lands in the scraggly bushes beneath the window with a soft thump.
Flashlight beams shine underneath the door.
The cops are right on the other side.
Our eyes meet one last time.
My little sister.
My best friend.
“Run!” I hiss.
For a split second, she hesitates. Then she bites her lip, hard, clutches the backpack to her chest, and disappears into the darkness.
I yank myself back inside and away from the window. A wave of relief hits me that she’s safe, followed by a gut-wrenching fear that I just sent her out into a different danger.
Before I can even process it, the bedroom door slams open behind me and bright lights explode around me—flashlights slicing through the gloom.
“Freeze! Police!” someone shouts.
I put my hands up and drop to my knees on the blood-soaked carpet. I won’t give them any reason to chase me or search anywhere else. As long as their focus is on me, Bindi has a chance.
Two officers rush in, guns trained on me. One steps over to the body on the floor, checking for a pulse or a sign of life. The other looms over me, weapon drawn. “Hands where I can see them!” he barks.
My hands are already in the air and I’m shaking all over as I come down from the adrenaline. Warm blood from my cut palm trickles down my wrist, pattering onto the carpet. It almost looks black in the flashing light.
The cop grabs me and flips me onto my stomach. My cheek smashes into the wet carpet, inches from the bastard’s ruined face. I gag at the coppery smell and squeeze my eyes shut.
Cold metal cuffs bite into my wrists as they haul me upright. I don’t fight, my eyes flicking to the window—still open, curtains fluttering. There’s no sign of her. Thank God.
One officer grips my shoulders and looks me in the eye. He’s saying something—his lips move, but the words barely register over the ringing in my ears. “. . . anyone else here? . . . clear?”
I swallow, finding my voice somehow. “No. No one else,” I whisper.
They drag me out of the room and my feet stumble over the shattered lamp pieces. The last glimpse I get of our room is the blood splashed on the wall and the rumpled sheets where she lay.
They march me down the hall, through the living room, and out the front door into the night.
The yard is awash in red and blue strobes.
I catch a glimpse of the paramedics rushing past with a stretcher, and neighbors huddled on the sidewalk in their pajamas, all of them staring.
But I only search the darkness beyond the yard.
They steer me toward a squad car and I twist around desperately, scanning the shadows beyond the fence, the line of trees down the road—anywhere she might be. But I see nothing.
She’s gone.
Bindi is out there somewhere, in the dark, running through the night all by herself. The thought makes my chest twist. I pray she heads for the treehouse, that she stays hidden. I saved her . . . but I also left her.
I left her all alone.
Nothing will ever be the same after tonight.
They shove me into the back seat and slam the door. There’s a cold, heavy ache in my chest—a numbness spreading through my limbs.
The car begins to roll away and the foster house recedes in a swirl of red and blue lights, but I’m only thinking about Bindi, out there alone, in the dark. My vision blurs; streetlights smear into streaks of gold. I saved her . . . but I also failed her.
I told myself that kiss was my only chance.
That I had to take it, just once, before everything fell apart.
But that was a lie.
I will kiss her again.
I close my eyes and her face fills my mind—so scared, so hurt, so trusting. I’m not leaving you , she’d said.
But I made her.
A tear slips down my cheek. “I’ll find you, Binx. No matter what it takes.”