Page 64 of Roma Queen
Thankfully the parking structure’s almost empty. Really lucky for us considering we're soaked head to toe in blood. God knows how we'd explain away our terrifying appearance if anyone were to come across us right now.
Pasha is stern, all business as he quickly kisses me on the temple. “Take Sarah home. Keep her warm. Make her comfortable. Wait for me there until I come back. I won't be long. I mean it this time, Firefly. You really have to wait for me. Do you hear?”
“All right, all right. I swear!” I hate that he's leaving us, but then again there's no way in hell I’m letting him bring Lazlo into Sarah's apartment or mine for that matter. If I never set eyes on that man again, it will be too fucking soon.
I drive the Sprinter back to the Bakersfield, and Sarah sags against me, sobbing, as I help her up the stairs. Progress is painfully fucking slow. I've never cared that there's no elevator in our apartment building before, but now I’m feeling kind of resentful. It would have been really handy to hit a button and then be in front of her door without having to labor up five flights of stairs first.
When we reach Sarah's apartment door, I rap on the wood, and Garrett answers a second later. Sarah freezes, paralyzed, and I kick myself; I should have had him wait with Corey down in my apartment. The last thing this poor woman needs is to be confronted by her kidnapper. Sarah doesn't start screaming. She doesn't make a single sound. She just stares at Garrett through the small eye holes in the mask, breathing heavily, and then she bows her head. Neither one of them say anything. In all the time I've known him, Garrett's never uttered a single word. Lazlo robbed him of that ability when he cut out his tongue.
Now with the mask strapped to her face, Lazlo has robbed Sarah of her voice too. Awkward, uncomfortable, and very clearly miserable as fuck, Garrett shifts from one foot to the other in the doorway. He might not be able to form words with his mouth, but his eyes sure are doing a lot of talking. They're saying that he's sorry. They're telling Sarah that he wishes he could take it back. They’re letting her know how guilty he feels about what he did, and they're pleading for her forgiveness.
If Sarah’s registered any of Garrett's silent communication, then I don't know what she makes of it. She doesn't seem to be afraid of him, though. She skirts around him, pushing into her apartment, and Garrett moves out of the way letting me pass, too.
Sarah heads straight to the kitchen, while Garrett shows me to the bedroom where Corey Petrov is fast asleep in Sarah's vast California king bed, his tiny body bundled up beneath her leopard print sheets.
Once I've made sure the boy’s okay, I join Sarah in the kitchen, where she’s rifling through the cupboards and drawers, trying to find something and growing more and more agitated by the second. She pulls a butter knife out of her cutlery drawer and attacks the lock on the side of the scold's bridle, trying to wedge the knife’s blade inside the mechanism. When that doesn't work, she picks up a sharper knife from the block on her counter and tries to jamthatinside the lock instead.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, careful.” I take the knife from her. “It's okay. It's okay. Just calm down. We'll figure it out. I promise.” Lazlo apparently told Pasha he had the key to Sarah's scold's bridle in his possession down in the bunker, but when we searched him, we found nothing of the sort. Pasha had threatened him with another beating, but Lazlo had remained stubbornly closed-lipped. We searched the floor of the bunker in the hopes that the key had fallen out of Lazlo's pocket during all the fighting, but no joy.
“God, Sarah, stop. Stop. You're going to mutilate yourself, for fuck's sake. Garrett, have you got anything in your apartment that might be able to crack this open?” Garrett shakes his head unhappily. I try to think if I have something in my own apartment that might help, but nothing springs to mind.
I'm about to start hunting for a phone—mine is still at Pasha’s place. Fat lot of good it is to anyone there—to look up locksmiths, when there's a knock at the door. The three of us fall still, eyeing each other nervously. A mute, a nail technician in a scold's bridle, and a dispatch officer covered in blood. There's no way any of us can answer the door right now. It's too soon for it to be Pasha. I didn't ask what he was going to do with Lazlo, but we've only been back a few minutes and there's no way he'll be finished with the murderous bastard already.
The knocking comes again, louder this time. More insistent. “Pasha,” a male voice calls out in the hallway. “I know you're here. I saw the light from the street.”
Garrett's eyes flash warily. In a heartbeat he has Sarah’s knife in his hand and he's heading toward the door. “Don't. Don't you fucking dare,” I hiss, snatching the knife from him. “No more. No more violence. I'm fucking sick of it.” Garrett seems to wilt asIhurry past him headed toward the door.
I've seen far too many action movies to think that looking through the spy hole is a good idea. I’m not opening this door without seeing who’s out there in the hallway first, though. Cautiously, standing on my tiptoes, I peer through the tiny bowed piece of glass, and I'm flooded with relief when I see who it is. It's Archie, the Fox, complete with wild, crazy grey hair and silken waistcoat to match. He stares directly into the spy hole as if he knows I'm standing on the other side watching him.
“You again,” he says, arching his eyebrows. “Are you going to let me in, or am I gonna have to knock this thing down? I'm an old man, Zara Llewellyn. You want me dislocating my shoulder?”
Standing in the living room, halfway between the kitchen and the front door, Sarah is a living statue. She stands stock still, stunned, as I remove the chain from the door and turn the handle, letting Archie in to the apartment.
The man takes one look at Sarah and staggers, reaching out with his hand to steady himself against the wall. “Jesus, Mary, and fucking Joseph. What the hell'shappenedto her?” Archie doesn't even acknowledge Garrett. He walks toward Sarah, and gingerly touches the mask, running his fingers around its’ edge, as if he's looking for a seam or some sort of release catch.
“Lazlo wouldn't give us the key,” I tell him. “What are you doing here, Archie? I thought you were going to stay at the glen with the others.”
“Patrin and I hiked out about an hour after you left,” he tells me. “I figured the two of you were in for a world of shit and could use a little help.”
“Youhikedout?” I try to do the math, calculating the distance they must have traveled in the fresh freezing cold snow.
“Yes, we're fucking idiots,” Archie agrees. “And Patrin complained that he was going to die of exposure the entire time, but we made it back to the parking lot eventually. How the hell are we gonna get this off without taking half her head with it? This thing looks fucking medieval.”
Sarah reaches up, taking hold of Archie by his wrists. Her touch is gentle, and it takes me a moment to realize that she still hasn't recovered from the sight of an old friend suddenly in her living room.
Archie told me that he used to come here to check on her, but he didn't say anything about him making himself known to her. From her wide, dilated pupils and the stillness in her body, I'm willing to bet she hasn't seen him since Shelta tried to kill her.
Archie pauses, looking down at Sarah's hands, and he hisses through his teeth. “Christ on the cross, Kezia,” he whispers.
My stomach rolls when I see what he’s cursing at. How have I not noticed before? How did I not notice that her fingernails are gone, for fuck's sake? All of them, removed. I nearly burst into tears when I see the bloody, raw welts at the end of each of her fingers. It's a horrific sight. I have no problem imagining Lazlo taking a pair of pliers to each of her nails and pulling them off one at a time.
Sarah tries to snatch her hands away, but Archie’s too quick for her. He grabs hold of her and cradles her hands in his own, angrily shaking his head. “I should have fucking killed him myself,” he growls. “Shelta made me swear to mind my own business. She forbade me from coming here. Forbade me from going after that bastard. Wouldn't even let me tell Pasha he hadn't killed Lazlo in the first place. If I’d just dealt with him back then, none of this would have happened.”
Sarah shakes her head. I'm sure there are so many things she wants to tell Archie, but with the bridle strapped to her face, she can only squeeze his hands. I already know what my friend would tell him. She’d tell him none of this is his fault. He wasn't to know what would happen. That he can't be held accountable for any of it.
A floorboard creaks beside me. Garrett’s making his way toward the two of them. Eyes on the ground, head still bowed, as if he’s being crushed under the weight of his own shame. He halts a couple of feet away from them, and Sarah looks down at her feet. Archie finally studies Garrett through narrowed eyes. “You had something to do with this? You're partly to blame?”
Downcast, Garrett nods. He slides his hand into his jacket pocket. I see a flash of silver in his palm, and then Archie's eyes have doubled in size. “It was you who took it?” he exclaims. I move a little closer just in time to see Archie pluck a silver dollar out of Garrett's palm. Not just any silver dollar. It'sthesilver dollar, the one Archie used in his cup trick the night me and Garrett went to the Midnight Fair.
