Page 104 of A Light in the Darkness
She swallows, nodding. “But he hasn’t woken up yet?”
I shake my head, and then, realizing she can’t see me, manage to croak out a ‘no’. She grabs his hand, squeezing it between her own, before turning to look at me. Her eyes are wide, terrified. It matches how I feel inside. “You don’t think… Wes did something?”
I have thought about it. It’s run through my mind a thousand times in the hours since he came out of that O.R. with a smug smirk. Even if he didn’t do anything on purpose, I know his hand isn’t the same as it was before I stabbed him. Just a slip of the scalpel could ruin everything, and he’s still alive—the colored lines on the monitor confirm as much—but I don’t know why he isn’t awake yet. Neither does his doctor, a middle-aged woman with a mostly-gray bun on her head.“We just have to wait for him”, she said.
I’d wait an eternity for him, but I need more than that. Wes wasn’t concerned, but concerned is all I am. Everything has been shaken up, and I don’t know how it will ever settle again.
“Are you okay?” Rhea asks, running me up and down. And then she laughs, realizing the irony. It takes a moment, but when it hits me, it’s too absurd not to laugh, too.
“That’s a stupid fucking question,” I manage, giggling so much that I can hardly breathe, and making her laugh harder, too.
Tears are streaming down my face by the time I get in enough air to stop the fit of laughter, and I may have peed myself a little. Rhea’s laughter peters out last, and when she wipes her cheeks with the palms of her hands, she grins at me.
“God, I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too.” I tell her, tears pricking at my eyes that have just as much to do with the fit as they do with how hopeless I feel.
I launch myself at her, telling her everything that’s happened since the last time wereallytalked. When I get to the part about the senator’s wife and how I slit her throat to stop Violet’s maniacal sculpting, I think her eyes may bug out of her head.
“I’ve always told you I would help you hide a body, but… you just confessed… to murder?”
I squint at her, wondering why she sounds so shocked. This isn’t the first time. Remy told her everything—or at least, he said he did.
“Yeah,” I say, slowly. “My second one… third if you count Evan Ludlow.” I shake my head. “Hey, when do I become a serial killer? Is thatafteryour third victim?” Rhea stares at me, her mouth opening and closing. It’s absurd, but it makes me laugh. “What’s the difference between a serial killer and just a plain murderer? When does it become mass murder?” I giggle at the shock in her eyes, which launches me into a fit of hysterics.
When I get control of myself, I clear my throat. “You told me in Costa Rica that Remy told you ‘everything’.”
“He did…” She stutters. “Or, I thought he did. He didn’t tell me that you—”
“I took vengeance on my enemy?” I say cryptically, my lips twisting with more of the laughter I’m trying to contain.
“You…” She shakes her head, swallowing. “You are a badass.”
I snort out a laugh but choose not to fight the point. I don’t feel like a badass… not anymore. I did feel that way, once, when I’d had everything.
“I’ve never been more scared.” I tell her honestly, my voice as small as I feel.
Fear for my life, for pain that could be brought down upon me in a million different ways, is visceral. In the moment, it’s a horror like no other. But it’s nothing compared to how I feel in this moment, with everyone needing something from me.
I tell Rhea everything about the mission, about Kent’s wife, about Remy getting shot and the kids I abandoned because I couldn’t leave him. And when I’m done, I tell her, “And nowthey’re waiting on me to decide what to do with all of them. I have no clue.”
“They’re… waiting for you to decide?”
“Kent told me it’s my call because normally Remy would decide, and since he can’t, apparently, that’s on me?” I laugh despite not being amused. “I can’t have them take a busload of kids across the border, even though my first choice would be to send them to the hotel in Costa Rica with the others. Kent said they can’t get in touch with any of the families of the ones who know where they came from, and the ones who don’t…” I rake my hands through my hair, which feels gross. I stood under the stream of water long enough to rinse Remy and Kent’s blood off of me, but it still smells like pennies brining in dirty water.
“Calm down,” Rhea says, bracing her hands on both of my shoulders. “It’s okay.”
“Nothing is okay.” I laugh, because I’m tired of crying. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Yes, you do,” she insists, smiling a little. “You almost have a degree in Child Welfare. You’re perfectly qualified for this.”
“Almost.” I repeat the qualifier. “I don’t know what to do here. And I also don’t want those kids to grow up in the same system I did.”
“They won’t,” she assures me with a gentle smile. “Remember what I gave you? For your birthday?”
It takes a moment to get my brain off of the panic track it’s on and then to sift through the memories, but I land on the memory of our fight, when she told me she never got to give me her birthday gift and handed me a piece of paper.
“The… house?”
