Page 159 of Never Flinch

“Can’t do what?” he asks. “What is it?”

She points at the round gray building, just visible through the trees. “Barbara.”

Jerome tenses. “What about her?”

“In there. Crazy man got her. Gibson. From the Mingo. He said get there by 7:40 or he’d kill her, but I cain’t… legs just give out.”

He’s up at once, but Betty grasps his wrist with surprising force. “You cain’t, either. He wants me to knock and say, ‘It’s me.’ If he hears a man, he’ll kill her.”

For a moment Jerome entertains the idea that this is all some crazy delusion on Betty’s part, maybe even early-onset Alzheimer’s, but it’sBarbara she’s talking about,Barbara, and he can’t allow himself that luxury.

Betty is saying something else, but he doesn’t listen. Jerome takes the gun and runs for the Holman Rink.

11

7:40 PM.

Trig gets up and walks down to the penalty box. He points the .22 first at Corrie, then at Barbara. “Which of you is first?” he asks. “I think the white girl.”

He puts the gun against Corrie’s temple. Corrie closes her eyes and waits to see if there’s anything on the other side of the known world. Then the pressure of the gun barrel is removed.

“All right, Daddy. If you say so.”

Corrie opens her eyes. Trig is stepping over the wooden ties, heading back to the foyer. He speaks to them without turning around. “Daddy says give her five more minutes. Daddy says women are always late.”

12

Holly can’t believe what she’s seeing: Jerome.

He comes running out of the trees with a little pistol in his hand. He sees her and stops, every bit as startled as Holly is herself. He’s going to say or shout something—she can see him getting ready to do it—and so she puts a finger to her lips, shaking her head. She beckons to him, realizing as she does it that it’s Kate’s gesture:C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. As he starts toward her, she pushes both hands down in aquietgesture.

Jerome reaches her and puts his lips to her ear. “You have to say, ‘It’s me.’ I can’t do it. And sound like her.”

“Sound like who?” Holly whispers.

“Betty,” he whispers back. “Sista Bessie.”

“I can’t—”

“You have to,” he whispers. “Knock and say, ‘It’s me.’ Or he’ll kill Barbara.”

Not just Barbara, Holly thinks.

Jerome points at his watch and whispers, “We’re out of time.”

13

7:43 PM.

He decides he doesn’t want to shoot anyone but himself.

Trig goes back into the arena, stepping over the boards until he reaches the paper-stuffed square at center ice. He squirts on a little more of the Kingsford fluid, then takes out his Bic. As he kneels, preparing to strike a light, there’s a hammering on the door. He freezes for a moment, not sure what to do.

Why choose, Mr. Useless?Daddy asks.You can do both.

Trig decides Daddy is right. He strikes a light and drops the Bic onto the crumpled posters. Fire blooms in the square of old dry wood. He looks at the bound women, their eyes wide with horror.

“Viking funeral,” he says. “Better than my mother got. My mother isgone.” And goes to answer the door.

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