He took a deep breath then, more gently than I’d have expected, said, “Come here.” He took my hand again and led me nearer to the woman, filthy blankets wrapped around her. “Look at her, Cassie.”
“Yeah, I know—”
“No,” he interrupted. “Really look at her.” He squatted down so that, had she opened her eyes, she’d probably have been literally scared to death by him sitting so close. “What do you think she has to live for?” he asked softly.
My eyes traveled over her pale face, gray stringy hair matted on the side where she leaned against the frozen Dumpster. She sat on an old cardboard box stained with grease, her body bloated and covered by shapeless, colorless clothes. The answer brought tears to my eyes. “Nothing,” I said hoarsely.
Zander nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Would you really trade someone else’s life for hers? So she could sit here longer? Spend another night wondering if she’ll freeze to death? Another day thinking about—”
“Stop,” I whispered.
Mercifully, he did. Silence hung between us, everything suspended. But I didn’t know what to do. What I should do.
“I’m going to do my job now,” Zander said quietly. “Her time could be any minute—any second. This is the best thing we can do for this woman, Cassie—give her soul peace.”
He watched me for a moment more, waiting. I might have nodded or Zander might have taken my silence as consent. I don’t exactly remember, too swallowed up in the rush of sadness and guilt and horror at how this could be: her, him, me. He bent forward, the dim glint of metal shone briefly, reflecting the glow of the mark around her. And then darkness.
The mark didn’t fade like a sunset blending into night. It vanished, like a bare bulb clicking off. But the impression of the glow remained scorched into my vision. She’d been alive. Now she wasn’t.
I’d let that happen.
And then Zander was beside me, turning me away from where I knew she was, though I could no longer see her clearly without the mark.
“Cassie,” he murmured, words washing over me as he led us down the alley, away from what we’d done. “It was her time. If it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else. Have you ever seen someone more ready, more deserving of death?”
I didn’t answer. How could I? Zander was so confident, without a trace of arrogance, just a quiet certainty that he’d done the right thing.
I couldn’t imagine ever feeling that way.
Chapter 22
He drove me to school the next day. I wouldn’t have gone otherwise, was in pajamas when he showed up, ringing the buzzer at six thirty.
“What the f**k?” I heard Petra mumble, shuffling to the intercom. She is not a morning person.
She stuck her head in a minute later. “It’s your boyfriend. He’s on his way up.”
I thought about asking why she’d let him in, but that’s the thing about having a roommate instead of a parent. Monitoring my social life isn’t her job. “ ’Kay,” I said. “Thanks.”
She waited a few seconds, then asked, “Aren’t you going to get up?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“No offense, Cass, but I thought you liked this guy and you look kinda like …”
“Like I just woke up?”
“Well, yeah.”
I shrugged, still lying on the bed. “If he doesn’t like it, he can go to Hades.” She didn’t get the joke, of course. It wasn’t funny anyway.
A minute later, I heard the soft knock, their voices, then Zander at my door. “Good morning, sunshine.”
I rolled over, hugging my pillow and squinting up at him. For a second, I wished I’d taken Petra’s advice. Zander was watching me with an amused smile, his skin radiant in the morning sun.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Making sure you’re okay.” He came over, sitting carefully on the edge of my bed, tilting his head, eyes searching my face. I couldn’t stop my heart from racing. It was like a chemical reaction, the smell of him making me light-headed every time.
I don’t think I said a single word to Zander the whole drive back the night before. I know he was talking, but his words made no sense, drifting past as I watched lights outside the car window, trying to forget where we’d just been.
I wondered how long it had taken the police to find her. That’s the one thing I did remember clearly: waiting for Zander’s car to pull away and then stumbling back outside, walking block after block until I found a pay phone—they do still exist, I wasn’t sure—not wanting to use anything that might be traceable. I’d quickly given them what I knew, the Norwood cross streets I fixated on while walking dumbly to his car. Then I hurried back to the apartment. For the shortest second, I’d thought about texting Jack. It occurred to me that it had been days—no, weeks—since I’d been in touch, so wrapped up in Zander. Thinking about Jack pained me in a different and deeper way now, one I didn’t want to consider at all, colored with shame and regret and an abyss of longing for the normalness of what we’d been, something that seemed beyond recovery. I’d taken Nyquil and went to bed instead.
“I’m okay,” I told Zander now.
He reached over, slowly running his fingers over my face, into my hair, pushing the strands back lightly, his touch both tender and seductive. He leaned down, kissed my cheek, then my forehead, before whispering low against my ear, “Then get up.”
I felt short of breath, the numbness of the night before gone, my whole body tingling and taut and wanting as he lingered there.
Zander leaned back, studying me and smiling in a way that told me he knew exactly what I was feeling. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said. “Don’t be a slowpoke.”
I tried but wasn’t that successful. My body followed simple commands—get up, shower—but my brain was sluggish, probably using all available circuits to block out memories of the woman in the alley. I stood, still dripping and towel wrapped, in front of my closet, the hurdle of choosing clothes completely insurmountable.
“Cass?” Petra paused outside my door. “You okay?”
I smiled weakly. “Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”
Petra took a step closer, leaning against the frame. “Late night last night,” she observed.
“Yeah.”
“Guess he couldn’t stay away, huh? Had to come back first thing this morning?”