Page 27

Jet stumbled back, falling into Billy.

‘Don’t shoot!’ Billy shouted.

‘Henry, what the fuck!’

The gun lowered, hand shaking, Henry’s terrified face behind it.

‘Shit, Jet.’ He fumbled the gun, hid it behind his back. ‘Sorry, I thought you were someone else.’

Jet straightened up. ‘Someone else? Who were you planning to point a gun at, Henry?’

‘No one,’ he sniffed. ‘Doesn’t matter.’ He doubled back inside, put the gun down on the shelf above the radiator, barrel pointed away from them, same place JJ always used to leave his keys.

Jet studied his hands, still shaking, as he stuffed them in the pockets of his jeans.

He’d held the gun in his right hand. Right-handed.

‘Since when do you have a gun?’ Jet’s voice was still frantic, heart in full agreement, dancing against her ribs. Billy could probably feel it too, her back still pressed against him, his panicked breath in her hair.

‘I got it the other day.’ Henry avoided her eyes. ‘It’s registered. Don’t worry.’

‘Don’t worry?! You just almost shot me – don’t fucking worry!’

‘I said sorry.’

Jet studied his face, now the shock was sinking away, slipping into the uneasiness in her gut. There was a graze on his cheekbone, right below one eye, a ring of bruise around it, a wine-dark purple. Recent.

‘Does JJ know you bought a gun?’

Henry shook his head. ‘He’s not replying to my messages, picking up the phone.’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘No, I don’t know, just like I told the cops.’ Henry stepped toward the threshold again, peered around the corner, face rearranging, the fear back in his eyes, the smell of it too, like stale sweat.

‘Anyone with you?’ He eyed the street behind them.

‘No, it’s just me and Billy.’

Henry moved back, hissing when his step landed, doubling over to press his hand against his ribs.

‘Who are you scared of?’ Jet asked, clocking the ribs too.

‘Nobody. I just wanted a gun.’

‘JJ?’ Billy added.

‘Who is this guy?’ Henry sniffed. ‘I’m not scared of my brother.’

‘I’m Just Billy.’

‘Why did JJ leave?’ Jet cut in. ‘He left Friday night, same night I was attacked.’

Henry shook his head, finally meeting her eyes. ‘You think he did that to you?’

‘Well, the police do,’ Jet snapped back. ‘Doesn’t look great, him disappearing the same exact night. If he had nothing to do with it, why doesn’t he come back and explain himself?’

‘I don’t know where he went, or why. He was just gone, after the fair. Some clothes missing. But you know he wouldn’t do that, assault you.’ Henry eyed Jet’s bandages, his left eye a little filmy, a little behind.

‘It wasn’t just assault,’ Jet said darkly. ‘In four days’ time it will be murder.’

Henry’s mouth dropped open, teeth visible again, and a cut on the underside of his lip. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Fuck sake, you too?’ Jet said, sharing a look with Billy. ‘Why do the cops keep only half telling the story? I’m going to die, Henry. There’s a piece of my skull where it shouldn’t be, a brain aneurysm that will be fatal when it ruptures. So yeah, there’s that.’

Henry’s lip shook; his head too. ‘That can’t be true.’

‘Well, it is,’ Jet said. ‘Medical anomaly over here.’ Pointing her thumb to her chest.

Henry wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘Does JJ know?’

‘I assume not,’ Jet said. ‘If no one can get hold of him.’

‘He needs to know,’ Henry said. ‘He’ll want to see you, before … God, Jet. I can’t believe it. Can’t believe that you won’t be …’ He couldn’t finish, but Jet didn’t need him to; that was enough, said it all.

‘I know.’

‘I’ve missed it, you know. Having you around the house. JJ does too. He won’t say it, but I know.’

Jet knew that too.

‘If there’s anything I can do.’

Jet jumped on that. ‘Actually, there is, Henry. We didn’t come over to talk about JJ. I came to ask you some questions.’

‘Me?’ Henry shuffled, glanced back at his gun. ‘You gonna ask me where I was on Halloween between ten and eleven p.m.?’

‘No.’ Jet hesitated. ‘Do I need to?’

Henry shrugged. ‘Cops already did. I was here. Alone.’

‘No, I wanted to ask you about Mason Construction actually.’

A shadow crossed Henry’s face, eyebrows lowered. ‘Wh-why?’ he asked.

Jet turned to Billy, reached into his jacket pocket like it was her own, pulled out his phone. Billy didn’t mind.

‘Do you recognize this hammer? Know anyone who uses one like this, anyone who works for my dad’s company?’

Jet held the photo up for Henry, the clean picture from Amazon, not the one flecked with her blood and bone.

Henry stared at the screen. ‘Not mine,’ he said. ‘My tools are red and black.’

‘But do you remember if anyone else at Mason Construction had this Coleby set? Anyone who was on that project over on North Street?’

Henry swallowed, transferring his eyes from the screen to Jet, something unfamiliar behind them. ‘Why would I know that? I’ve never worked for Mason Construction.’

Jet’s arm dropped, and so did her stomach, the phone skimming her side. ‘What are you talking about, Henry? I know that you did. I practically used to live here with you. Used to give you rides to go pick up a van.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he murmured.

‘No,’ Jet raised her voice. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Sorry that I can’t help you.’ Henry stepped forward into the morning light, the sun finding new colors in that bruise under his eye.

His hand snaked around the door, knuckles out, hinges creaking, like he was trying to push it shut without them noticing.

A pang in the back of Jet’s head and the world split: two Henrys, two of his hands, two doors, and two guns, spliced over each other.

‘What happened to your eye?’ Jet said, stopping him. And what was happening to hers? Everything still doubled, two Jets, two Billys behind.

Henry blinked. ‘I can’t see so well anymore.

The other eye was injured too, during my accident.

Blunt trauma, they said. I had to have an operation a couple months ago, to stop the retina from detaching.

It … well, it didn’t work. I need another surgery, or they say I’ll lose the sight in that eye too. ’ He blinked again.

‘I was actually talking about the bruise,’ Jet said, trying to read his face. ‘But doctors are usually right. You should get that surgery ASAP.’

He sniffed. ‘Can’t afford it.’

‘You don’t need to afford it,’ Jet said. ‘That’s what health insurance is for. Just ask Luke about it, he deals with all the finance and employee stuff.’

‘Doesn’t help me.’ Henry’s hand tightened on the door. ‘I’ve never worked for Mason Construction.’

Jet stopped the door with her foot. Two doors, four feet. ‘Henry, why are you lying? What’s going on?’

‘You must be confusing me with someone else.’

‘No, I must not be.’ Frustrated, trying to hide it in her voice, trying to hide the panic on her face because they’d all fractured, multiplied, and she was the only one who could see it.

‘Did someone attack you, Henry? The bruise, your lip, the ribs. Is that why you bought a gun? You can tell me, you know. I can kinda relate. You help me and I can help you. What’s going on? ’

‘You have to go.’ He pushed the door and Jet was too unsteady, a replica of herself with no clear edges, stumbling back over the threshold. ‘I have … stuff. You need to go.’

The door slammed shut in their faces.

And maybe it was the slam that did it, because Jet blinked and the world righted again. One door, one set of hands in front of her face, one Billy staring down at her, holding her elbow, concern darkening his pale blue eyes, a gale blowing through that calm lake.

‘I’m fine,’ Jet said, dropping her jacket to the floor, angry hiss of the zipper dragging across, still attached to one arm. ‘It’s just a headache.’

‘I don’t know, Jet.’ Billy pulled her jacket the rest of the way off, placed it on the hook. ‘I wouldn’t describe that as the best driving I’ve ever seen.’

‘Just tired, just a headache,’ she said, narrowing her eyes so the world didn’t split again, holding it together.

‘This whole thing is giving me a headache. Sophia’s lied twice, Luke lied, maybe he’s lying to cover for Sophia.

Because we know Sophia knew about the foundations, because she told you about them.

But now Henry’s lying too, and I can’t figure out why.

It’s all just too confusing and, yeah, my head hurts, but I bet yours does too. Whoa.’

Jet’s legs buckled beneath her, catching the arm of the couch, gripping on.

Billy swooped forward, wrapped his arm around her waist. ‘I’ve got you.’

‘I don’t need to be got ,’ she said, wiping the sweat from her upper lip.

‘I think I just need to lie down. Yeah. Just like twenty minutes. A nap. Wake me up in twenty minutes, Billy. I can spare twenty minutes. And then we’re gonna work out why Sophia lied about leaving her phone, and what she was really doing at my house on Halloween. OK, deal?’

‘OK, deal,’ Billy answered, guiding her toward his bedroom.

‘And Luke should have sent the list by then; we don’t need Henry anyway. We have time. Twenty minutes.’

‘Twenty minutes,’ Billy promised, delivering Jet to the bed.

She sat down, kicked off her shoes. Lay back, head on the pillow, facing out. Billy pulled the comforter up over her shoulders, his eyes still troubled, dark and stormy.

‘Twenty m-minutes,’ Jet muttered, the drumbeat back in her head, eyes fluttering shut, locking her inside with it.

A soft rap on the door.

Jet sniffed.

‘Jet?’ Billy’s voice, soft too.

She opened her eyes, slowly. Phew. Nothing was doubled, everything looked right, looked normal. Her head ached, but she was getting used to that now, a new normal.

‘Has it been twenty minutes?’ she croaked.

‘It’s actually been forty. You wouldn’t wake up.’

‘No, Billy.’ Jet sat up, suddenly awake, suddenly angry. ‘We said twenty minutes. I don’t have time to –’

She tried to throw the blanket off.

Tried.

But her arm wouldn’t move.

Her right arm.

She stared down at it and it still wouldn’t move. Not at all.

Jet’s heart fell to her gut, curdled there, swimming in the acid.

No, no, no.

Her left arm would listen, shifting with her as Jet threw the comforter off.

She tried again.

Tried to twitch the fingers in her right hand.

Nothing.

Jet pressed her working fingers to her right arm. Pressed harder. Harder. Half-moon imprints from her nails in the skin.

She felt nothing. Just a hunk of meat, attached to her shoulder.

‘Billy!’ she screamed, voice grating in her throat. ‘Billy, help!’

The door was open before she could scream again.

‘What?’ Billy rushed in, eyes wide and circling. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘My arm.’ Jet picked it up with her other hand, too heavy. It fell back to the mattress. ‘I can’t move it. I can’t feel it. Something’s wrong.’

Billy crashed to his knees beside the bed.

He slotted his fingers between hers, held her hand.

Gave it a squeeze.

‘Feel this?’ he asked.

Jet shook her head, her heart coming back to her throat, bringing the acid up with it.

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I can’t feel it. It’s all gone. It’s –’

Her throat constricted around her heart, no space for any more words around it.

‘Come on,’ Billy said, dropping her hand, hooking his arm under her shoulder instead. ‘We need to get you to the hospital.’

Jet got to her feet, testing her legs before she trusted them.

‘I can walk,’ she said, letting Billy go ahead of her, through the bedroom door.

Arm swaying uselessly by her side, weighing her down.

‘I can’t move my fucking arm, Billy.’

He turned back, tried to hide the panic in his eyes, but Jet caught it before he could, feeding her own. He looked just as scared as she was, maybe more.

‘It’s going to be OK,’ he said, lying, even though Billy didn’t lie. ‘We’re going to the hospital.’

Jet reached for her keys from the table, where she’d dropped them. No. She thought about reaching for her keys, but nothing happened. Her arm just hung there.

She grabbed them with her left hand instead.

‘Billy,’ she said, looking down at the keys, her hand balling into a fist around the sharp metal, because it could, because it still worked. ‘I can’t drive.’

Billy’s eyes hooked onto hers. Blue and hazel and fear.

‘I know how much you love that truck.’

He stretched out his arm, opened his hand, palm up.

Jet took a breath, held it.

No other choice.

She dropped her keys into his waiting hand.