Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Nothing is going to be okay. I think I’m floating in some weird dissociated reality, but I can’t stop it from happening. It’s like I’m staring at what looks like a monster, but it’s actually laundry on the chair, and I can’t look away. Because the monster is Arthur, and he’s really fucking real.
I took a life. No, I did, then Micah did. We’re murderers. We killed someone, and we can’t change that. We’re going to prison for the rest of our lives.
Mads.
I hear my name, like it’s in a dream.
“Mads.”
It’s Micah; I recognize it now. But I can’t look away from the monster in the room.
“Mads.” He shakes my shoulder, trying to get me to look away. If I just ignore him, he’ll go away, so I can stay in this bubble.
He doesn’t go away; he keeps shaking.
Irritation bubbles in my gut. “What?”
“Are you okay?”
How could I be okay? I almost rip my gaze away from Arthur, but with monumental effort, I keep it glued to him. As it stays, my heart rate steadies. He can’t get up and kill either of us if I keep watching him.
Micah says something, but it takes me a second to hear it. I realize he’s said that people are coming over.
“What?” This time, I snap my gaze over to him. Micah has a hesitant look in his eyes, but as soon as our eyes meet, he smiles.
“Yeah, they’re gonna take care of him!”
Micah is so…happy? And for a minute, it throws me for a loop.
What’s happening? Then I register that he’s bringing people to help, and the relief that hits me makes my knees weak.
Maybe this can get better. Maybe he can explain to the cops exactly what happened.
Get us a good lawyer. If we have a good lawyer, we’ll be okay, and Micah can afford one.
So when I hear a commotion downstairs, my chest gets lighter. Someone is here to help. Then Micah is there, wrapping something around my waist.
A towel.
For a second, the action feels so oddly regular. Like I just got out of a shower, not like…well, not like what this is.
“Hear you guys were looking for the Fairview special–oh… hey, towel party!” A tall man with dark hair bursts into the room, followed shortly by a man with red hair and freckles carrying something under his arm. The tall man is grinning, white teeth flashing.
“Don’t step in it, angel. We won’t have time to clean out the hearse before the service,” the red-haired man tuts. I glance down at what he’s looking at. A red, bubbly puddle of blood.
Puddle. Blood comes in puddles?
The two men are followed by an even taller man with white hair who says nothing. All of them are wearing jeans and t-shirts, and I frown. They don’t look like lawyers. Or cops.
The red-haired man pulls the thing out from under his arm and shakes it out. It’s a bag. A long bag.
The dark-haired man snaps some gloves on his hands. “Two shots? What, he catch you off guard?” He grips Arthur by the hair and rolls him down off the wall toward the bag.
The body bag.
“Wait!” I step forward. This isn’t right; he can’t touch him like that!
“Hey,” there’s a soft pull at my arm, and Micah is there, “they’re here to help.”
The dark-haired man starts whistling, pushing and shoving Arthur into the bag. The white-haired man just stands there, staring.
The dark-haired man pauses, looks at the silent statue, then turns to us. “Vox would like to know where the skunk is?”
“Under the bed,” Micah answers. “The gunshot scared him.”
The white-haired man, Vox, gives no reaction, then gets out a roll of paper towels and starts silently wiping down the walls.
Paper towels? For brains?
Nothing is right. This isn’t supposed to be happening.
I shake Micah off, and he lets me go, but he stays right by me. “Freaking cool, look at his hair!”
I’m still processing that they’re stealing the body. They’re just…taking it. Can they do that?
“It’s white! He has to bleach it. He’s not that old.”
The men keep working, spraying stuff on the walls, and I watch like I’m in a dream. I watch until they lug the bag out of the bedroom, and a loud cacophony of thumps is followed by laughter.
Then, they’re gone, and still, I’m staring. I still smell it. Everything. The blood, the cleaner, the gunpowder. If I still smell it, then did it really get clean?
Micah is there with Princess in his arms. For a second, I snap out of it. Princess! Is he okay? I glance at him and see red mixed into his blue fur, and my vision narrows.
Princess got hurt.
I stagger back a step. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I have to get out of here.