The ground comes much, much sooner than I expect, and when I hit it, I feel death.

CHAPTER 86

Present

EXCRUCIATING PAIN, WORSE than any I could ever imagine, from every piece of me that I didn’t even know existed. I lie there, on my back, and break, my eyes struggling to open, the sky lighter now, pink and pretty, and it is a view I haven’t seen in a very, very long time. Through the pain, through the ragged gasp of my breath, every other sound mutes, my effort to live competing with the hammering of my heart that—at least—tells me I am still alive… I hear her steps. I flick my eyes right and see, upside down, the sprint of Brenda Boles. She skids to a stop, bending before me, her face a blur as it moves in dizzying swirls above me.

“Madden!” An unnecessary yell as I am right here.

I cough.

Yes, I am alive. No, I will not let you take me. I will shrug off this stitch and stand. Run. Faster than you. Get in FtypeBaby and drive to heaven, where I will spend my millions. Alone. I have learned one thing, and that is that I am dangerous. I am my mother, and I hurt those that I love. I will not hurt him anymore.

I will get up and leave Brenda behind because I am young and she is old and there is

Everything goes dark.

CHAPTER 87

Present

THE NEXT TIME I make a dramatic exit through a window, I should look through it first. I’d looked out my own apartment’s window a hundred times, enough to know that my side of the building, which faces the street, is a straight shot down, a plummeting fall that, if you’re lucky, lands you on grass. It turns out that Simon’s side of the building has an extra lip of one-bedroom units; they stick out and run up to the third floor. So my leap took me only three stories down. Good for my life. Bad for my theatrics.

When I fully gain my faculties, I am in the hospital. The blanket over me is pink, the television before me is on. There is a sitcom on, a trio of strangers laughing on its screen. I test my neck, turning my head, and see the tray next to my bed. A cup with water, a bent straw perched in its icy depths. I lick my lips, and they are cracked and dry. There is also red Jell-O there and a bag of chips, opened. I stare at the chips for a long moment.

The door opens and a woman walks in, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her white tank top tucked into designer jeans. This must be the bitch who ate my chips. I watch her casual entrance, her toss of the phone onto a chair, her gaze sweeping over me and then stopping.

“You’re awake.”

I nod.

“Let me get the nurse.” She holds up a hand as if she’s worried I’ll scamper away. “Just a second—”

“Wait.” My voice croaks when it comes, and I swallow, a hard and painful process. “Wait a minute.”

She steps closer, her hands smoothing at my blanket, tucking the edges into the bed, and that must be why they are so freaking neat. I don’t like neat blankets. I like mess and disorder and killing people. I go to link my hands and find out I can’t move one of them. “What’s wrong with my arm?”

“It’s broken.” She perches on the edge of the bed.

“What else?”

“You’re banged up a bit, you’ve got some sprains and a pretty nasty cut on one knee, but that’s it. You landed on a weak section of the roof. I think it had some give.”

That’s it? On one hand, I feel super-tough. On the other hand, those injuries don’t sound bad enough that I couldn’t have hobbled away. “But I passed out?”

“A bone broke the skin.” She picks up the bag of chips and peers into it, pulling one out and chomping on it. “They said it was shock.”

A bone broke the skin. Well good. That sounds alarming enough to faint for. I want to reach for the bag of chips but it’s on my bad arm’s side and I don’t want to reach across and come up short. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Oh.” She sets down the bag of chips and brushes her greasy hand off on her jeans. “I’m Lily, Jeremy’s sister. We spoke on the phone.”

Oh. I shake her hand numbly. And… she’s really here. Sitting in my hospital room. Eating my chips. “Where’s Jeremy?” Half of me doesn’t want to know the answer. The other half wants to rip it from her throat.

“He’s on the fourth floor; you’re on the second. Want to visit him?”

“Is he awake?” My heart seizes in a dozen different ways.

She swallows and puts down the bag. “No. Not yet.” She picks at the inseam of her jeans. “But he will be, the doctors are really confident. He’s on a ventilator now.” She peeks up at me and it is our first moment of full eye contact. She looks like J; I see it now. Same eyes. A few minor tweaks of the face I would never have picked up on unless given the link. “Did they tell you he woke up?”

I lean forward and feel a pull of pain in my back. “No.” I wonder how long I have been out. I wonder if, right now, there is a chorus of police outside this room. I wonder if, if she pulled back this blanket, I’d see my ankles shackled.

“Yeah. Last night.” She pulled at her ponytail to retighten it. “That’s how the cops knew.” She looked back up. “That you were innocent.”

“What?” I need a hundred details, and this woman is feeding them to me through a freakin’ cocktail straw.

“He told me it was Simon.” She reaches out and grips my casted hand and it feels like a violation. “I’m sorry.” She stares at me as if her eye contact alone does something. “I’m sorry that I thought, for a minute…”

“That I did it.” No worries, Lily. I was right there with you on that thought process.

“Yes.”

I pull with my shoulder, and the casted arm moves away. She looks hurt and for a moment, I regret the action. “It’s fine. Thank you for talking to me when I called. I appreciated the update.”

When her cheeks flush, she looks younger, and I wonder how old she is. “It was before you confessed. I was—well, anyway.” She stands. “I should get the doctor. And then get back to Jeremy. I just wanted to have something to tell him—” Her face breaks and she looks away, letting out a huff of breath. “When he wakes up.”