Page 103 of Taking Denver

“I promise you.”

“Thank you,” she says. “And… you have an incinerator, right? At the clinic?”

My eyebrows drop. “Yes, why?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry to ask you to do this, but… can you burn his clothes?”

I groan. “Fuckme.”

“I’m sorry. I’d do it myself, but I can’t.”

“Why? What are you doing right now that is so important that you can’t be here for him yourself?”

Her pause is long. Pained. And I suddenly wish I hadn’t asked.

“You really don’t want to know.”

I hear a car outside, and the dogs hop down from the bed, their ears up.

“I think he’s here,” I say. “Just… tell me you’re okay, Denver.”

“I’m fine. Just look after him, please,” she says. “I’ll call you.”

The line disconnects, and I walk to the door, opening it before Axel knocks.

The last time I saw Axel Luxe was in Pulse. He’s a younger version of Ranger, huge and intimidating, but now he looks like a kid on his first day of school, unsure what to do or say.

And there’s blood on his shirt.

He has his head down, keys in his hand. “Did… did Denver call you?”

I nod. “Yeah. Come in.”

This kid is taller than me but may as well be twelve years old. The closer he gets, the more blood I see, and if this were anyone else, I’d call the police. But the look in this kid’s eye is pure fear, and I want to help. I want to protect him from whatever he’s seen tonight.

“There’s a shower down the hall,” I say, going into the kitchen and grabbing a trash bag from under the sink. “Put what you’re wearing in this. I’ll leave some clothes for you in the bedroom.”

I hold out the bag, and Axel approaches quietly, taking it from me. Blood dots the backs of his hands.

“You’re Ethan, right?” Axel asks. “We met at Pulse?”

I nod and smile as warmly as I can. “Yeah.”

“My dad hates you.”

I shrug. “Who doesn’t your dad hate?”

Axel nods and heads down the hallway.

An hour later, just like Denver said, I hear another car, and someone knocks on the door. They’re gone when I answer, and a thick envelope is lying on the doormat. It doesn’t have a name on it.

Axel quietly eats a sandwich, both of us eyeing the envelope on the kitchen island, both seemingly too scared to open it.

“Who is it for?” Axel asks.

“You, I think.” I push the envelope over to him.

Axel moves his plate away and empties the contents of the envelope onto the counter. Inside are two passports, two IDs, a phone, two birth certificates, paperwork, and a credit card. A folded piece of paper has a flight number and time scribbled on it. It’s a few hours from now.

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