“Based on everything you told me last night and what I saw on that video, no.” X sounds frustrated, almost trapped. I can understand that. It’s how I feel, too. It’s like, all I’d have to do is show one of those videos to the FBI and the manhunt would be on.
But no matter how fast they moved, how good they are, how much tech and people power and weaponry they put into their search, it wouldn’t be enough to save Parrish. He would die, and maybe the Slayer would be caught, but it isn’t worth it.
The life of someone you love is worth the weight of the world.
It presents a bit of a moral conundrum, right? How many people will the Slayer kill while I’m trying to save Parrish? I’m essentially trading all of those lives for his, aren’t I?
I’m still going to do it. Whether it’s right or wrong, I’ve made my choice.
“Do you really believe Parrish is here?” X asks, studying my face as I bite my lower lip in thought. Again. Imitating him. Gah. “In the Seattle area, I mean?”
“Sometimes, to solve puzzles you have to start with an assumption or else you get lost in possibilities,” I reply, crossing my arms and leaning my back against the wall. “If the Seattle Slayer is truly committed to this game, there’ll be a solution. Otherwise, what’s the point? He could clearly kill Parrish any time he wants. There has to be a meaning to all this. If there’s not, and we’re just running around like headless chickens, then … there was never a way to save him in the first place.” I exhale past the hot tight feeling in my chest and stand up straight. “So … we play to win. We assume that at some point we’ll win.”
“Oh, we’ll win,” X says, getting a bit of that arrogant, cocky asshole persona of his that makes me feel prickly. “Now that I’m in the game.”
He takes off down the hall and I watch him go, trying to convince myself that having him around is a good idea. Maybe, for Parrish’s sake, it is. But for mine? Well, I’m not so sure about that just yet.
Once I’m dressed in my uniform, I head back downstairs to find Tess and Paul embroiled in a hushed conversation with a pair of women that I don’t recognize. The four of them glance my way, and I freeze, hands clenched around the handle of my book bag.
“Um, hi?” I say, as if it’s a question.
“Maxx is taking you to school today,” Tess tells me, her voice tight and strained, but her makeup flawless. She’s pushing through, but I imagine that if Parrish stays missing for much longer, she’s going to break and there’ll be no coming back from the edge of psychosis.
If I don’t manage to save Parrish, then Tess is also lost.
Kimber is broken. Ben, Amelia, and Henry grow up bathed in trauma. Chasm will never be the same again; Maxx will be devastated.
I … well, I don’t know what I’ll do. Carry on, I suppose, but I’ll never be the same again. Losing Parrish would be like losing a limb. You can figure out how to get along without it, can even thrive and prosper without it, but that doesn’t mean your life will ever look the way you originally imagined it.
“And Dakota,” Tess continues, giving me a sharp stare. “No deviations from the plan today. No search party. And especially no Chasm.”
I just stare back at her, wondering what the hell I’m going to have to do to break through that shell. Last night was so promising and now we’re back to this? Chasm is hurting so damn bad. Who cares if we actually did have sex? He doesn’t deserve to be ostracized from what is, essentially, his family, too.
It occurs to me in that moment that if Tess is this upset with me and Chasm, how is she going to feel when she finds out that it was actually me and Parrish instead? Maybe telling her isn’t a good idea at all. If—no, no when—I get Parrish back, we’ll have to talk it over.
“Okay,” I reply, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible. As annoying as Tess is sometimes, I also know the amount of stress and pressure she’s under right now. I’ll save my protests for later.
Kimber and Maxx come down the stairs one after the other, and the three of us slip quietly into the garage.
“Those women are from the FBI,” Maxx says, opening both the front and back passenger doors for me and Kimber.
“How do you know that?” I ask, and he gives me a tight, sad smile.
“They were at the press conference,” he explains as Kimber leans forward, putting one hand on the back of my seat.
