Chasing Impossible
Page 11

I won’t carry a gun. I’ll sell pot, but I have no interest in killing.
“Stay here until I come for you and, in case you’re wondering, that is an order I mean word for word.” He slips my phone back to me. “Text your friend. Tell him to fuck off and hope he does. It ain’t my job to save him. It’s barely my job to save you.”
He’s right, it’s not, but he made a promise to my father and I’d wager he’s regretting that oath. Linus heads back the way we came and I lean against the warm concrete of the building, permitting my head to hit the wall harder than necessary.
I strain to hear Linus in the silent alley. Strain to hear anyone or anything. Strain, but all I hear is my pulse pounding in my temples. My blood tingles with fear. I hate fear. I hate what I can’t control.
Two shots. Loud. Angry. My body flinches. Two more shots and nausea eats me alive. Everyone thinks I’m big, bad and tough, but the sweat that breaks out on the hand holding the switchblade tells a different story.
I study my surroundings and a lump forms in my throat as I readjust my hold on the blade. I’m trapped—surrounded by three walls, and I exhale to steady my nerves. Calm the fuck down, Abby. Rule number seven: nerves create more problems than the ones you currently have. Learn how to become ice.
I often wish number seven came with an instructional video.
Calming thought: Linus is here. But so is Eric and his crew. If Linus is here, then so are possibly more people loyal to Ricky, but I’m a pawn on the chessboard and pawns are typically the first ones sacrificed.
My phone buzzes again and Logan’s face appears on the screen. I should ignore it. I should text him. I should do a million things, but my hands shake and this sickening fear snakes along my veins.
I don’t want to die. Another breath out. I don’t want to die tonight.
I slide down the wall, caving into a crouch, and accept his call. “Logan?”
“Where are you?” His voice is tight, yet there’s a hint of relief. “There’s all sorts of shit going on. Shots fired. People are running. Screaming to get off the streets. Tell me where you are.”
“Go home,” I whisper. “Stay in your truck and go home now.”
“Not without you.”
My head drops forward. “This isn’t a fucking game. My world is going to hell and you need to leave.”
More shots and a man yells out in agony. He begs. For his life. Asking for whoever not to do it. Says he has a brother. He has a mother. He says please. He says it a lot. He says it like he’s a scared child. He says it like he means it and tears prick my eyes. I can imagine him—on his knees, his body trembling, staring up at Linus.
Probably a lot like me when I collapsed on the ground when I was younger begging God for my world not to be destroyed. How old is he? How old am I? My throat tightens, and my lower lip quivers. This is real. Too real. “Go home, Logan. Go home now.”
“Jesus, Abby. Where are you?”
I’m trapped. Bile sloshes in my stomach, and I breathe out hard as I try for cool and calm. “Too far away.”
“It’s okay, Abby. I’m going to find you, and it’s going to be okay.”
It’s not. It was going to be, but now it’s not. “We were going to have a lunch table at school, did you know that? I picked it out. It’s a big circle one, by the windows, and it would have had plenty of sun during our lunch break. Rachel and I would have had the seats in the shade and you guys would have sucked it up and dealt with the sun in your eyes. It was going to be me and you and Rachel and that friend of West’s.”
“Jax?” Logan says like he’s running. “Do you mean Jax?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll have it. Even if I have to arm wrestle someone for it.”
I choke on the laugh to keep from giving myself away and my eyes burn. “I would have loved to have seen that.”
“It’s going to happen and when it does, I’ll buy you all the tacos you can eat and then we’ll have quiet. You and me and all the quiet you want. There’s a place near my dad’s. A little brook with a small waterfall. Thought of you last time I was there. There were bunnies.”
Bunnies. My heart hurts. “You’re just trying to get into my pants.”
“You figured me out. Are you in the alley, Abby? That’s where people are running to and from. Tell me if you’re in the alley.”
In the distance, police sirens wail, but they won’t get here fast enough. This will be over soon. Too soon. A dry heave runs up my throat as the images of all I’m leaving behind flash in my mind and I shake my head to ward off the panic. There’s a job to do. A job...a life that’s left undone.
“Logan, listen to me. 5212 Brook Street. Go there. The back door key’s in the birdhouse in the backyard. Second-floor bathroom, move the towel shelf, pull up the wallpaper, take the door off. You’ll need a screwdriver. There’s an envelope. You’ll know who to give it to. It needs to be done tomorrow. Before 3:00 p.m. Do you understand?”
“Where are you, Abby?”
I don’t want to die. Not tonight. Not now. I needed time. Time to make things right. Time to be redeemable. Just time. “There’s enough money in there for a few weeks and after that...”
I don’t know what comes after that. “Ask Isaiah. He’ll think of something. But only then. He’ll understand. He’ll figure out what to do. He won’t fail me on this.”
“Stop screwing with me. Are you in the alley?”
Yes. “Stay out. They’ll shoot whoever enters.”
A crunching of debris under heavy footsteps and I rub my forehead. It’s not Linus. Linus would have given me a heads-up. I wonder if this is how my dad felt, if this is how my grandmother felt, I wonder if this what everyone feels before they meet death...I wonder if they feel like they’re falling into an endless pit of cold.
“I’m here,” Logan says. “Just stay with me.”
He is. God knows he is. Though my knees are weak, I struggle to my feet. I’m Abby. I’m the daughter of Mozart, a legend of the streets. Some people at school call me names. They label me a slut, call me evil. Some call me a killer. But they’re wrong on the last part. They’re wrong on most of it.
When I’m standing tall, I speak what normally doesn’t come naturally—the truth. “No matter what, I liked you.”
Logan begins to talk, but I turn off my phone, drop it to the ground and smash it with my foot. I’ll not take down anyone else with me, legally or illegally. Won’t allow my phone to be the trail of bread crumbs. A dark form slowly approaches, the moonlight glinting off the gun.
He doesn’t see me against the wall, but I’m not stupid enough to think he won’t find me. My slick palm causes a weak grip on my switchblade. That Hunger Games nonsense where the underdog can win with a stick is bullshit. I could try to fight, but I’d rather not be tortured.
Escape is my only option. Fighting signifies I have a choice and I don’t. Set fates typically end in the cruelest fashion.
I don’t close my eyes as the shadow inches closer, I only try to imagine what it would have been like to lie in Logan’s truck, listening to a babbling brook and staring at the starlight.
And bunnies. I would have loved to have seen bunnies.
Pretty images of a pretty world that doesn’t exist.
Garbage crackles under his feet in his search for me and intuition causes him to swing in my direction. Adrenaline shoots through my veins, fear floods my mouth, I duck, a shot to the wall behind me, loose rocks cutting my face, my knife slips and the cut into his body misses the mark—off to the side.
He grunts, I push him away, willing my feet to move faster, willing air to push further into my lungs.
Then there is another bang and then there is...
Logan
I’m running and it’s not fast enough. My shoulder rams into people and they shout at me as I pass, but I don’t care. My cell’s in my hand, next to my ear, and it’s ringing. Over and over again. Abby hung up. We were disconnected. The world is functioning in slow motion.
Police sirens wail. From multiple directions. From every direction. People are screaming. My sight is on the alley. Abby’s in that alley.
As I approach it, a girl stumbles out and she latches onto me. She has blond hair, but the rest of her is covered in red...marked by blood. Chunks of something on her shoulder. Her eyes are too wide and she shakes. “They’re killing people. They’re killing people in there.”
I grab onto her arms, not caring what I’m touching. “Did you see a girl? Long dark brown hair? Your height? My age?”
She nods, too quickly. “She was with a guy, they went left. He came out. She didn’t. I was hiding. My boyfriend said he’d be right back.” She’s growing higher in pitch and tears fall from her eyes. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Help me! Please help me! They shot my boyfriend!”
The girl starts screaming and her panic becomes a pulse in my brain. I release her and race into the darkness. A deafening bang reverberates against the walls and instinct causes me to slam my back into the concrete.
Abby. It’s her name in my heartbeat. Her life as a prayer. Please, God, protect Abby.