Part 62 (2/2)

I grunt. ”Figured out where we are?”

”What?” she cries, putting up her hands. ”How would I know, I barely just got to Australia!”

”Alright, alright,” I say, looking around. To the right there's cliff faces, and no doubt beyond is the sea. It's flat blackness is unmistakable.

”So?”

”I think we're a little past Geelong.”

”Where's that?”

”City nearby Melbourne.”

”Is it far?”

”No,” I say. I turn to her, take her hand. There are deep scratches on her palms. ”What happened?”

”I had to cut my hands to cut the zip tie.”

That's when it happens, that's when there's a crack, a breach. It's not loud, it's not dramatic, but for a fleeting moment her face is bunched up in a perfect split, simultaneously laughing and crying.

And then it's over, seconds later, and she's sobbing into her hands. I grip her, pull her toward me, hold her against me, and smell her hair and kiss her head.

”f.u.c.k you, Pierce,” she cries. ”I hate you.”

”I know,” I say.

”I really do!” she says, leaning up and smacking me on my chest. ”G.o.d d.a.m.n it. You need a doctor. Where's the nearest hospital, I'll drive us there.”

”You don't have a license here. If we get pulled over in a stolen car, then-”

”Do you have a f.u.c.king license on you?” she cries, and gestures at me. I realize I'm just wearing my shorts.

We swap sides, and as she's about to put the car into gear I say, ”No, wait. We can't go to a hospital. They'll report us. They have to report these kinds of things.”

”Then where?”

”Hold on.” I look around, spot the car phone, and pick it up. ”Yes! We have signal.” I punch in a number, and moments later a familiar voice floods the receiver.

”Ricky,” I say. ”It's Pierce. Don't talk, just listen. Remember that doc, the one with the big nose? Didn't he help patch you up? Yeah? What's his number? Don't ask me why, just tell me. You sure? Alright, thanks. No, can't talk about it.”

I hang up, and dial the number.

”Doc, it's Pierce. I need your help, where can I go? Where's that, Caroline Springs? Okay. No, it's close. When I get there, don't f.u.c.king call me 'son'.”

I throw the phone down, and tell Penny to take the next exit. ”And stick to the left,” I say. ”We drive on the left here.”

”Who is Ricky?” she asks a moment later.

I sigh, and pinch the bridge of my nose. Blood is beginning to pool beneath my foot. My whole body hurts to h.e.l.l.

”He was eighteen, needed money. Good body, strong, athletic, but no fighter. You're right, he went crying to his mother. He was raising money for her. She's disabled.”

”What?” Penny asks.

I grimace at the memory. ”Four fractures in his face. Edema in his ear ca.n.a.l that was pus.h.i.+ng into his brain. He almost died.”

”Jesus.”

”He stepped into the cage.”

”You do care, don't you?”

I lick my lips. ”He stepped into the cage.”

”But you keep in touch with him?”

”Yeah,” I say. I look at Pen. She's looking at me different, like she's surprised.

”So all your bulls.h.i.+t what goes on in the cage stays in the cage c.r.a.p was a lie. The consequences do matter.”

”I don't want to get into this, Pen.”

”Fine,” she says. ”But is that all you do? Keep in touch?”

”No,” I tell her. ”I help out financially, pay for his mother's rehab. She's learning to walk again.”

I see just the tiniest glimmer of a smile on her lips. She almost looks... relieved.

Who the h.e.l.l did she think I was? The devil?

Chapter Thirty Seven.

Three weeks later...

”Where the h.e.l.l is he?” Dad asks. He's nervous. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, and he wipes his upper lip. ”d.a.m.n it, he's late. Everybody is seated.”

”I don't know!” I hiss. I suddenly feel awkward and defensive. Does Dad... know?

”You haven't been in touch with him at all?”