Crazy House (Crazy House 1)

Regretfully, he shook his head. “My mom and my little brother—I need to go check on them. Who knows if Strepp is going to track us, or whatever.”

“Yeah. I get it.”

At Tim’s cell, Nate contacted someone in the Outsiders, and then we waited by the side of the road for them to fetch us. It was now broad daylight and I felt super vulnerable, missing the cover of night. My throat was tight: I didn’t know if I’d ever see Tim again. I leaned against a tree, out of sight of Nate and Cassie, and kissed Tim for what might be the last time. He’d almost killed me, and he’d saved my life. Both of them more than once.

He pushed a piece of paper into the ripped pocket of my jumpsuit. “This is my cell, my last name, and my phone number. Don’t forget me.”

“I don’t need your phone number,” I said, trying not to cry. “I couldn’t call from my cell anyway. No outside lines.”

“Just in case,” he insisted, and I nodded, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Hey, hey,” he said softly, wiping away my tears. “It’s okay. If you don’t come find me, I’ll find you.”

“You broke my ribs, and now you’re breaking my heart,” I said, trying to joke. It came out much more seriously than I’d intended, and Tim looked like someone had just punched him in the gut.

“I?

?ll find you,” he promised. “Soon.”

The sound of engines coming closer made us look up. It was the Outsiders, three of them, on three motorcycles.

“You head on,” Tim said. “I gotta go drive this truck into the lake.”

Taking a shuddering breath, I nodded, then hugged Tim as tightly as our injuries would allow. We kissed again and again, until Cassie said, “Guys, come on! Let’s go!”

I went over and nodded hi to Cecily, who was waiting on her motorcycle. Cassie was behind a guy named Jefferson, who I also recognized, and poor Nate was propped uncomfortably behind Tara Nightwing.

Climbing onto Cecily’s bike, I felt again the muscle stiffness, injuries, and general pain involved with being an inmate. I held on to Cecily as she kicked the bike into gear, my lip trembling as I felt how small and un-Tim-like she was.

Then we were tearing down the road, away from prison, away from Tim. Heading home. Heading back to Pa. At last.

The big question? What the hell do we do now?

95

CASSIE

ALL ALONG, THIS HAD BEEN the plan—to get back to the cell to see Pa. I admitted (only to myself) that I had absolutely no idea what else we would do. Go someplace else? Now that we knew there were thousands of other cells, it still didn’t seem possible to go anywhere, live somewhere else. Could we live out in the woods somehow? Not be part of any cell at all? That didn’t seem better.

But first we had to go back to our cell. We didn’t know if there would be cops waiting for us at the gates, or whether the gates would be closed and locked against us or what. But we simply drove through them, and no one seemed to notice.

I didn’t know how long we’d been gone. In prison I’d lost all sense of time. But the cell looked different somehow, as if the seasons had changed or it was a new year.

“Where to?” Cecily yelled back at me, and I yelled, “Healthcare United!”

In the broad daylight three motorcycles drew attention, especially as we roared up to the hospital. But we made it there without being stopped or accosted. Once we’d parked it took all of us to drag Nate off of Tara’s motorcycle.

“Thanks so much,” I said to Jefferson and the others. They didn’t smile, but nodded as they revved their engines.

“See you soon,” Cecily said, and they tore off down Main Street, drawing surprised stares from passersby.

Becca took one of Nate’s arms and I took the other. Together we supported him as he limped into the Healthcare United emergency room, dragging his battered, casted leg behind him. The triage nurse did a double take when she saw the two of us with the Provost’s son—especially since we all looked like we’d been shot through a blender of dirt and blood.

“I got it from here,” Nate told us tightly, his face white with exhaustion and pain.

“Are you sure?” I asked. I was dying to go see Pa, but everything in me told me to stay with Nate.

“Yeah,” he said. “Pretty sure my dad will be here soon.” He grimaced, but I didn’t know if it was from that thought or because of pain. A nurse tried to get him to lie down on a gurney, but he became even paler, if possible, and shook his head. Becca and I couldn’t look at the gurney, either. I don’t think we ever would be able to again.

I held his hand tightly as he sank awkwardly into a hard chair. He had come to prison looking for me—like I’d gone looking for Becca. He’d risked his life for me, and had just gone through a nightmare of danger and pain in order to stay with me as we escaped. How could I leave him?