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Black rubber handle with a yellow logo at the bottom.

Wait.

No.

Jet turned the pliers to read the brand name, her heart dropping all the way to her gut, taking the wings with it.

Coleby.

Written in a little yellow circle with pointed ends, against the black.

No, no, no.

Her heart was already there but Jet couldn’t follow.

She pulled out more of the tools.

A screwdriver.

A wrench.

Black rubber grips and a little yellow logo.

Coleby.

Coleby.

They were all Coleby .

A measuring tape.

A little knife.

Fuck.

Where was it?

It had to be here.

If the hammer was here, then everything was OK, just a coincidence. Just a strange little coincidence that they would laugh about.

Jet had to find it.

Had to, no choice.

A file.

Another screwdriver.

More pliers.

Where was the hammer? It had to be here.

Jet’s hand retreated from the dark folds inside the tool kit. Grabbed its handle instead, flipped it, turned the whole thing over.

The tools clattered onto the floor, Jet shaking the bag until they were all out.

She sank back on her knees, sorting through the chaos of metal and rubber with her one hand, moving the saw, under the screwdriver heads, searching, searching.

It wasn’t here.

‘No, no, no.’

There was no hammer.

‘Jet, what are you doing?’ Billy said, framed in the doorway.

Jet turned, fell back, the knuckles of her dead arm dragging on the floor as she backed up against the closet.

‘It’s yours,’ she said, voice almost gone, joining her heart in the pit of her stomach. ‘The murder weapon. It’s yours, Billy.’

She kicked out at the empty tool kit, so he could see the yellow logo stitched on the side.

Billy narrowed his eyes, shook his head.

‘Coleby,’ Jet said, bile rising with the word. ‘A sixty-piece set. But the hammer isn’t here. The murder weapon. It’s yours, Billy.’

She couldn’t breathe, no air here, stuck between these two worlds, two Billys moving toward her.

‘It was you.’

‘What?’

He took another step.

‘Don’t come any closer!’ Jet shouted, and pushed herself to her feet, stumbled, tripping over the abandoned tools. ‘Stay back!’

Billy didn’t stay back, he kept coming.

‘Jet, what are you talking about?’

‘It was you,’ she said, her head trying to catch up to her heart, pounding, not the trickling of spiders anymore, a drumbeat. ‘You killed me.’

Billy’s pale eyes went cold.

Now he stopped.

‘No, Jet.’

‘It was you.’

The world went blurry, until she blinked, tears hot and fast, falling into her open mouth. The taste of salt.

‘I didn’t, Jet!’

Billy kept shaking his head, tendons branching across his throat, eyes wide, full of ice.

‘It had to be you. The murder weapon is yours.’

‘No, Jet. I didn’t know about that. I would have told you if I knew. I’ve never used those!’

‘The red hair. It transferred to you from Andrew Smith, when he pushed you at the fair.’

‘Jet, stop!’

‘You had time, if you were running, to take my phone and the hammer. Your hammer, the one you used to kill me. You had time to get over to the site on North Street, then come back to find me, kick down the door.’

‘Jet, stop!’ He was crying now too.

She couldn’t stop. One thing led to another, sliding into place. Drums when she blinked, harder, faster.

‘You knew about the foundations going in the next morning, because Sophia told you about it at the fair. Told you how important this project was to Luke. You knew about the concrete.’

‘Please, Jet, you know me,’ he cried. ‘I didn’t know about that hammer, that it came from here. I swear to you. We can work this out together.’

‘We already did that, this whole week! And you were probably pushing me to look at anybody else but you!’

‘Jet, stop! I would never hurt you, you know that, you do. Why would I hurt you?’

Jet cried, trapped it inside her hand, closed her eyes and listened to the drums.

‘Because … because you knew my dad wasn’t going to leave the company to Luke, if I was alive. You live next door to Andrew; he could have told you about Nell Jankowski anytime. And if Luke had the company, then you could extort him for money –’

‘– Jet, stop! None of this is true! You know me. It’s me, Billy!’

‘Because you knew that Luke killed Emily when we were kids. You’re the one who told me about it. You already knew, just pretended you only half remembered. If Luke had the company, you could threaten him about Emily, get whatever you wanted.’

‘Jet!’

Billy stepped forward and Jet stepped back, toward the coffee table.

‘Or maybe you did it because you knew it was me who made your mom go away. Maybe that’s why.’

‘Jet, please!’

‘Or maybe it’s because I don’t – didn’t – because I didn’t –’

– A thunderclap.

Not in the sky, in her head, out of nowhere, now everywhere.

A pain worse than hellfire and cracking skulls.

Everything else just practice, for this moment here.

A hurt beyond words, beyond nightmares.

Jet screamed.

She screamed.

One hand to her head but what could that do – it was all coming undone.

She screamed.

‘Jet!’

She bent double, all that pain, too much to hold up, her neck stiffening.

‘No!’ she screamed. ‘It’s too soon!’

The world tilted, finally threw her off.

Jet’s legs gave way, too weak.

She crashed sideways into the coffee table, caught herself.

Something fell to the floor, smashed. Glass candle. Cedar Delight.

‘Jet!’

She let go, too weak to hold on.

On the floor.

Billy’s face swimming above her, sitting her up, his hands cupping her face.

‘Jet!’

‘It’s happening, Billy.’

‘No!’ Billy was screaming, now she couldn’t anymore. ‘No! We had more time! We need more time!’

Jet shook her head, as much as she could move, the pain moving with it.

‘It’s happening,’ she said.

‘OK,’ Billy swallowed, his face folding in half, fighting his tears. Losing. ‘It’s OK, Jet. I’m right here.’

‘Billy –’

‘– You did it. You did it, Jet,’ he cried. ‘You solved it. It was me. You’re right. You got it right. You did it.’

‘No, Billy.’ Couldn’t shake her head anymore.

‘Yes, Jet. It was me, it was me, it was me.’ He sobbed. ‘You did it. It was me.’

Jet smiled. Just half, that’s all she could do. ‘No, Billy. I know. It wasn’t you.’

She knew.

Of course she knew.

Everything was coming undone and still she knew.

This was Billy.

Billy would never hurt her. Never. She didn’t know who had, but she did know that. Would bet her whole life on it. And that’s what mattered.

This.

Just this.

Her arm jolted out, legs too.

Stiffening.

Seizing.

Couldn’t move because everything moved for her, shuddering. Head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling when she wanted to look at Billy, into his eyes. Not ice, just water, and the storm behind them.

He held her, held her until it was over, everything weak again, melting to the floor.

But she wasn’t on the floor. She was in Billy’s lap, her head in the crook of his arm.

‘I’m here, Jet,’ he cried over her. ‘You did it, it was me.’

‘It’s OK,’ Jet said, voice weakening too, forcing it out. ‘I know, Billy. It wasn’t you. It’s OK, I don’t need it anymore.’

It wasn’t important.

‘But you did it, you solved –’

‘– Shut up, Billy,’ she whispered, reaching for his face, finger finding the dip of his chin.

‘OK,’ he whispered back, his tears falling down her cheeks too, closing the distance.

‘Billy,’ Jet said, while she still could. ‘There’s letters. In my pocket. For everyone.’

She blinked.

Everything slowed down.

‘Jet?’ Billy’s voice echoed above her. ‘Jet. You’re back.’

‘I’m here,’ she said. ‘The letters, Billy. You have to make sure everyone gets them. They’re in my – my –’

‘– They’re in your pocket, I know. I’ll make sure, I promise.’

Jet shifted, body peeling away from her, neck too stiff, made of metal not flesh. But she wanted to see his eyes.

‘Billy.’

‘I’m here.’

Here.

Right where they started.

No blood this time; it was all on the inside.

Billy holding her lifeless body. Again.

Nothing had changed.

Except.

Everything had changed.

She blinks.

‘Not yet, Jet,’ Billy is saying. ‘Not yet.’

‘I’m here.’ It’s her turn to say it.

‘I’ll finish this for you, Jet. I promise.’

He promises. He presses his warm hand to her face, strokes his thumb across, stealing her tears.

Jet lets him have them.

Blinks.

‘Come back, Jet, come back.’

She’s here. Opens her eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ Billy cries.

Jet isn’t. She’s home, because she’s here with Billy.

He holds her, tucks her hair out of her face.

Jet smiles up at him, fighting her eyes.

‘I love you, Jet.’

She knows that too.

‘Your letter, Billy,’ she whispers. He leans closer to hear her. ‘You have to read my letter.’

‘I will.’

He’s trying so hard not to scream again, she can tell, can feel it vibrating under his hot skin, the way he’s biting his lip.

‘It’s OK,’ she tells him. ‘Your letter.’

‘I’ll read it.’

Another promise.

Another blink.

Slower to come back this time, the other side of that tunnel.

Billy is crying over her, holding her to his chest.

‘Bi-lly.’ Not a word, just two detached sounds, her lips then her tongue.

‘Jet.’

She knows that when she closes her eyes, she won’t come back again. She knows. The tunnel is too far.

Jet stays as long as she can, not wasting a second.

The last thing she wants to see are those eyes, swim in them, and never find the end.

She blinks.