Page 55 of Blade

So Indy went into the bathroom with Hugo and Jolene, the door cracked open enough for Ana to see inside to the mirror and the reflection of Indy in her underpants—in front of Hugo—who was now dripping the liquid into the palm of his hand, covered by a latex glove, and rubbing it into her leg, and Jolene’s hands on Indy’s shoulders and Indy’s face getting red.

And Hugo: “This bruise is fucked up.”

“Will it really help?” Indy asked.

“Yes,” he promised.

And there she was, in her underpants, with Hugo’s hands on her hip and butt cheek now, rubbing DMSO into her skin while Jolene looked on, holding her so she wouldn’t cry.

Because Indy knew the morphine in the DMSO might kill the pain, but it couldn’t make her jump higher and make the rotation. And it couldn’t fix her mother and Dawn, and their rivalry, which was morefucked upthan the bruise, and so was the fact that neither one could see past it to the beautiful girl they were using to serve their ends. Patrice’s own daughter.

Three words formed in Ana’s head, surprising her as she thought about her best friend, the person she would fight for and sacrifice for, almost anything. No, not almost—she would doanythingfor Indy. She let the words burn inside her.

Fight the fear.She thought about that moment in the black van and watching Kayla in Emile’s bed, both times frozen. The impulse taking over. And now here she was, watching this scene unfold. All because of Dawn. Indy was desperate to get home. She would never give in. And Patrice—neither would she.

It’s easy to say you’d do something. Like leaving Dawn’s side to try the triple flip, promising not to slow down this time. Ana was all talk. When it came time to fight, she froze. She was a coward.

The doctor said the fear needed to become rage to change the impulse.

So she closed her eyes and began to search for it.

The rage that would help her fight for her best friend.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ana

Now

I’m driving back to Echo faster than I should, my head filled with the image of Dawn’s hands around Kayla’s throat, when I feel the car skid, glide, drift from the snow-covered highway onto the shoulder. Then a jolt of adrenaline, foot off the gas. My mind returns to the road, and the wheel, until the car is stopped, but then it goes where it wants—to these images from the past.

From Dawn’s hands around her throat, and Westin reinforcing the message, to the field, the trucker who attacked her. And then to Indy’s fantasy about killing Dawn with the heel of her blade. What Shannon had told me about Kayla, threatening her mother the exact same way. With her skate, her blade.

And the message I got in Aspen. The one that jolted me into the past, so hard I missed an entire session of the conference. Westin was right—I wasn’t there on the second day.

Kayla said she didn’t have any anger left toward Emile. She believed he’d sent her that article from a print newspaper, no return address so it could remain anonymous, letting her know that the man who’dassaulted her was dead. I left her house convinced of this truth. That she didn’t hate Emile.

Then she’d asked about me. Me and Emile. And I’d done what I’ve been doing for fourteen years.

I lied.

Shhhh.I can see Grace in the shadows. Now I can see myself when I was her age. In that dress. Keeping secrets.

I shouldn’t have allowed myself to deviate from my work. My mission.

Focus, Ana. Shhhh.

The evidence is strong, and we need a story by tomorrow. Something to tell the ADA.

This has to be about Grace, and nothing more. I sketch out the arguments again, looking for ways to refine them with the new information I have from Kayla.

First—Grace is innocent. Someone framed her. Not someone from the past—but an angry skater or parent. Dawn or Westin even. They had the most to lose. Someone found her skates where she’d forgotten them in Dr. Westin’s office after a session. And the dress—maybe another skater thought it was hers. They all had one. Blue with yellow butterflies. And we don’t know where Emile went after he picked up Grace. He lived alone in a condo at the edge of town. His neighbors couldn’t remember when they’d seen him last. Not exactly—leaving a three-day window for the murder.

It’s not our job to find the killer. But telling them this story about Dawn’s violence with Kayla will help. I can spin it so it’s Dawn, not Kayla, included among the suspects.

Second—there’s no motive for Grace to want Emile dead. Grace was angry at Tammy. She cried in Shannon’s arms, then asked for Emile. Maybe she wanted an explanation for what she’d heard—about his departure. His betrayal of Dawn. It’s weak.

Third—they could have something we don’t know about. A piece of evidence they haven’t disclosed. They have no obligation until she’s officially charged. So—I consider again the other line of defense. The so-called excuses.