Page 83 of Behind These Four Walls

Danny shakes James off, and I’m surprised James was able to hold him back as long as he did. James, a truly gifted pianist who should have gone far if it wasn’t for Bennett’s poison and the secret we share, pleads with me to stop, just stop.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up,” Danny warns, taking a step toward me.

James steps in time with him. “Rog, call Bennett. Tell him to get his ass over here now to stop this.”

“Yeah, tell him to get his ass over here,” I mimic, eyes moving from Danny to James to a way out should I need it, but Danny is too close. Much too close. Reaching-and-grabbing distance.

Roger takes one hand away to get his phone and call my brother. Bennett connects on the other side. “What?”

Roger tells him what, and we all can hear Bennett losing his cool, saying to tell that fucking idiot Danny to back the fuck up. He’s going to be right there. He’s going over the hill now. It is an eight-minute walk or so up here from the bottom of the hill. But with as hot as Bennett is, it’ll be three. He’ll be sprinting to get here.

“Wait the fuck until I get there.”

Danny tries to speak, but Bennett disconnects mid-speech. Danny stares at the cell, dumbfounded and open mouthed. He doesn’t know whether he’s hurt or angry.

“You’re not even important enough for him to stay on the line.”

Danny decides angry.

Danny steps forward, his heavy boots thudding against the dirt. “What’s your angle here, Edie? Blackmailing Bennett? Running your mouth about something weallagreed to bury? You think you’re better than us because you skipped town and played ghost?”

We’re nearly there. And we have to get there before Bennett comes because when he does, everything will be shut down. “What did we bury, Danny?”

James shifts uncomfortably, his voice low. “Eden, come on. You don’t need to do this. We’ll figure something out—”

“Shut up, James!” Danny snaps. He rears on me, tone full of disdain and hate. “It doesn’t matter what we did, and she really doesn’t care about figuring any damn thing out.” He goes off and says it all. Bennett. The prank. The accident. The deaths. The story we made up.

“Is that what you wanted to hear? All you know is how to blow in and out of town and blow shit up. Beggin’ for money like you aren’t a fucking Corrigan. You don’t know how good you got it.” He steps closer.

“Danny,” Roger warns, moving forward to join Danny or stop him. “I don’t know.”

At the same time James says, “Hey! That’s not right, bro.”

But Danny doesn’t stop. “Just like your fucking mother. I heard that’s why she was kicked out on her ass and sent to Daytona to slum it with the common folk. Because she’s nothing but a money-hungry whor—”

He doesn’t get to finish. Because he is now sputtering and rubbing his eyes and spinning in circles, crying in pain from the squirt of Mace I unleashed on him. Roger and James, and even I, myself, become collateral damage. The snap in me when he invoked my dead mother’s name was instant, volcanic. I can’t even say when the Mace came out.

“Don’t you dare mention my mother’s name. Ever!”

“Danny, no!” James and Roger say together through tear-streaked eyes.

Mine are blurry too, but not enough that I can’t see Danny recovering quicker than the other two. He charges and runs into me with more force than I expect. It’s like he’s back in high school, trying to sack the quarterback before he throws the ball to his teammate to run for a touchdown. I am that quarterback. Danny’s shoulder connects with my chest. His impact makes me stumble several steps back, my heel catches on a loose board behind me, and gravity takes over. I am going back, back, back—right into one of the broken window frames.

The jagged pieces of glass bite into my side with a sickening squelch, and my backward momentum is suddenly stopped.

It is not just me that stops. Everything stops. Even the barn, which has been creaking and groaning as the faint wind rustles through the broken slats and rotting wood, goes silent. My shock blocks the pain. All I can do is look down at this alien thing that is not of my body but is now embedded in me. There is a tiny crack as the glass separates itself from its bottom half, and a trickle of warmth begins to move down my side and hip. Red spreads across my sweatshirt. I gaze at it. Alien. Not me. But yes, me. I look at the three guys. Each of them registering different versions of shock.

James doesn’t understand what he’s seeing, eyes full of complete shock.

Danny is still in his linebacker stance, hands splayed and white as a sheet. Our eyes connect, and it is the first time that even I feel sorry for him. His mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

Roger breaks the silence. “Oh my God. Oh my God!” He looks like he’s going to be ill. His already-pale face becomes paler in the dark.

Danny whispers haltingly, “I didn’t mean—I was only trying to—I didn’t mean to.”

Words I haven’t heard in two years.

I slide to the ground, my knees giving. The movement jars the glass in me, and the pain radiates outward and nearly knocks me out.