Ill-equipped to deal with it right now, especially in front of Ryder and Al, I ignore it for the time being. Top priority right now is getting the hell out of here.
With Ryder at the wheel and luck on our side—at least for now—we make it out. The sounds of sirens flying to the scene are behind us, and Annabelle sits beside me, worryingly silent. Not like I expected her to be a chatterbox when I got back to the car—though I suppose it could’ve gone that way; I can’t really predict how she’ll respond to things—but she still hasn’t even looked at me. It’s impossible to hold her to her unwitting assurance that what I did, who I was, wasn’t a dealbreaker now that she’s actually experienced it. I knew that. I’ve known it all along, every step of the way, but it still stings.
I’m not even sorry. When I fired at Paul, I knew Annabelle’s tormentor was falling and felt no remorse. I didn’t get Pietro, but Ryder did, and when the last breath left his body, Annabelle’s world became a safer place.
I know not everyone who died tonight deserved to, but there are casualties in every war.
Now the war is over.
But now Annabelle carries the survivor’s burden. I shouldn’t have let her experience it. I should’ve made time, dropped her off somewhere and picked her up when it was all over. She would still know what I’d done, but she would’ve been shielded from the cold, brutal reality of being there.
Ryder finally breaks the silence. “What’s the plan for tonight?”
I steal a sideways glance at Annabelle, some stupidly hopeful part of me hoping she’ll look at me—but also afraid she will, and I’ll see her opinion of me forever changed. Where she saw a hero before tonight, now she’ll see a monster.
But she doesn’t look. She remains withdrawn, arms protectively wrapped around herself, her gaze on her left kneecap.
Swallowing, I tell myself to get a fucking grip. I knew this would happen. This isn’t a shock. The reaction I expected back at the mall was just late in coming; then she only heard my words, now she saw me in action. It was idiotic to let my hopes lift in the first place. I knew better.
I’ve always had this dormant streak of fucking absurd hope. No matter what life’s dealt me, no matter what I’ve done, no matter how dark and realistic I’ve felt about the world in general, I had this sleeper cell, apparently just waiting for someone to tap into it. I’m not sure how she did it, but Annabelle has and now I’m fucked.
“Hotel,” I finally respond.
“Can you be more specific? I don’t know the area and we probably want something low-key where they won’t ask for credit cards and license plates an
d all that bullshit.”
I already had just such a place scoped out in case I needed it, so I tell him how to get there. About a half hour later we arrive. I send Ryder and Al in alone to reserve the rooms, leaving Annabelle alone with me. I hate that she wasn’t to begin with, even if only to sit there ignoring me.
I have no idea what to expect. Deafening silence, I guess, which is how it starts. I keep an eye on the lobby door, trying to work out something to say to her.
Finally her voice, low, a little ragged, breaks the silence. “I didn’t look.”
I turn my head to look at her, but I don’t respond ‘cause I don’t know how. Images pass through my mind of the kind of man she deserves, the kind of man who would think of things like that—cradling her head in his hands, gazing deeply into her eyes and imploring her not to look; even despite his misdeeds, seeking to protect her from having to live with visual memories of that kind of horror.
She keeps her head up, but she’s looking out the windshield instead of at me. “Are they all… gone?”
Everything happened in a flurry, and I’m not positive we got every last guest, but once everyone on my list was dead, we left. Raj had brought in reinforcements and there was no time to risk letting them know they had help, but they seemed to figure out pretty quick we were firing with them, not against them. Being last minute men, maybe they thought they weren’t completely filled in. At any rate, they were still picking off survivors when we left, so by the time help arrived on the scene, there’s a good chance everyone was dead.
“Yeah,” I tell her.
“Did you… see…?”
She doesn’t finish, but I imagine she’s asking about someone close to her—maybe her mother, Pietro, Paul. Before the first explosion went off, I saw her mother in the kitchen, where one of the explosives was, so I assume she was one of the first to die. I saw Ryder hit Pietro, saw the ruined, bloody suit stretched across his unmoving body. Paul’s Annabelle-stand-in, Marlene, had the misfortune of being hit with a fiery piece of rubble from the explosion. Her dress caught fire and she writhed and screamed, crying out to Paul for help as he darted away. Might’ve been merciful to shoot her so she didn’t burn to death, but I didn’t.
“Everyone who hurt you is gone,” I tell her.
She’s quiet, but nods slightly.
It’s probably not the right time, but her weird reactions seem to rub off on me and I mutter wryly, “Well, except me.”
She does look over at me, but now I’m not looking at her. Maybe she was going to say something, but Ryder and Al walk out of the lobby and get back in the car, so the opportunity to speak passes. Ryder reaches over his shoulder and hands me a room key.
He parks in front of the stretch of rooms we rented out. We’re all somber as we get out—even Ryder, who usually isn’t, but he can read a room.
Ryder gives me an expectant look, unsure how to proceed with a chick along for the ride. I’m actually waiting on him to give me shit about it, but again, it’s not the time. I need to talk to him and Al before we all part ways anyway, so I tell them I’ll catch up in a minute.
Annabelle walks in front of me, then falls back so I can unlock the door to our room. I wonder if maybe I should’ve gotten her a room of her own, so she didn’t have to be around me while she processed.