Endless

Too Long

“He’s unconscious?” I said, standing in the stiflingly hot and humid hallway outside the prison area in the basement of the police station. Chief Grantz was drenched with rain and smelled of pungent sweat. Heavy bags settled under his eyes like water balloons. His dark blue vinyl JLPD jacket had a long tear up one arm, and mud covered his black boots, soaking the hem of his police-issue pants as well.

“Yep,” he said, wiping his face with a rag. “We found him at the foot of the wall at the cove. Looks like he slipped and knocked himself out.”

“You could have maybe said that on the walkie-talkie,” Liam said.

Grantz shot him a beady-eyed look. The man seemed as if he were one sarcastic remark away from a meltdown. “Teresa’s in there with him now, assessing him. You can go in if you want.”

I nodded and he opened the door for us. There were two very tiny cells with bars comprising their front walls and the walls between them. Goose bumps popped up on my arms, and I shivered as I moved aside to let Liam in behind me.

Pete was laid out on the cot in the first cell, blankets piled over him. His face was turned to the side, away from us, but I could see most of his cheek, chin, and one ear. He looked fine, just a bit pale. At least his skull was intact.

Why couldn’t we just find someone who was conscious for a change?

Teresa, a woman of about forty with short graying hair, knelt next to the cot holding Pete’s wrist between her fingers. She looked up as we came in and placed his arm gently down on the bed. My teeth clenched as I tried to fight back my vindictive side—the side that felt that Pete didn’t deserve such care when he was the one who had taken Nadia’s and Cori’s lives, who had rendered Tristan unconscious.

“How is he?” I asked.

Teresa stood up and sighed. “Vitals are fine, but he’s out cold. Only time will tell.”

“Do you have any idea when he’s gonna wake up?” Liam asked, pushing his hands into his pockets.

Teresa opened the cell door with a clang and slipped out. “Unfortunately, no. But it’s not as bad as what Tristan suffered. I’d say a few hours maybe? At most a day or two.”

A day or two. I thought of my dad and Darcy and squeezed my eyes closed as a wave of despair crashed over me. Every hour, every minute that they were in the Shadowlands was too long.

“You’re Liam, right?” Teresa said, lifting her chin. “The mayor told me it was your idea to check Cori’s lungs. Good call. I did a rudimentary autopsy, and they were full of salt water. Turned out she did drown.”

Liam looked at me. “I guess that’s a…good thing?”

“It ups the chances that it was an accident,” Teresa replied.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t prove anything,” I said. “Dorn made it sound like everyone knew Cori wasn’t a great swimmer. If he shoved her into the water, the way it’s been raging lately…”

Liam went green and I trailed off. I didn’t want to think about it in too much detail, either—the callousness it would take to do something like that, the terror Cori would have felt as she slipped away.

“You could go in and try to wake him up if you want,” Teresa suggested, tilting her head toward Pete’s bed.

I bristled at the thought. Nothing that I had to say to Pete would make him want to wake up. I was just about to tell her as much when Pete suddenly sighed and turned his head. His eyes were still closed, but I froze, grabbing Liam’s arm. Beneath my grip, his whole body went tense.

“Oh my—” Liam said, biting down on his lip.

“Pete?” I asked. “Pete? Are you awake?”

Teresa slipped a tiny flashlight out of her pocket and moved to the bed. She pried open one of Pete’s eyes and shined the light in it. He didn’t flinch.

“He’s still out,” she concluded, shrugging at us.

Liam’s skin had gone waxy and pale. “I think we should go.” He darted for the door like the room was on fire.

“Shouldn’t we stay in case he wakes up?” I said.

Liam paused with one hand on the doorknob. “Why? She said it could be days. I say we go up to the mayor’s and find out if the Tses are talking.”

It was tempting. At least I knew the twins were conscious. I glanced back at Pete, whose eyes stayed stubbornly closed, his chest rising and falling at a normal, calm rhythm.

“I can radio you when he wakes up,” Teresa said, laying a comforting hand on my arm. “Go ahead. Neither one of you should be going anyplace alone.”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “Thank you.”

Liam shoved through the door. I listened as his footsteps retreated down the long hallway, but I didn’t follow. Instead, I waited until Teresa left the cell and closed the door behind her. Pete had ushered my father and my sister and Aaron and Jennifer and all the other innocent people to the Shadowlands. I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew for certain that he was locked up good and tight.

Teresa pulled out a big, old-fashioned key and placed it inside the lock. When she turned it and the catch slid into place, it let out a loud, satisfying clunk.

“Where does that go now?” I asked, eyeing the key.

“Back to Chief Grantz,” she said. “His is the only key.” She smiled in a friendly, knowing way. “You can come with me if you like.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just—”

“Honey, if I were you right now, I wouldn’t trust which way was up,” she said, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “This way.”

“Thank you,” I said, and meant it. It was the first time anyone had made me feel as if my insane emotions were understandable in such simple terms.

I followed her down the long hall, which opened up onto the back of the police station. Together we walked to Grantz’s office, and I watched her hand over the key, which he tied to a chain that was attached to his belt. Liam was waiting for me near the front door.

“Good?” Teresa asked, turning to me with a smile.

“Good,” I said. “You’ll call me when he’s awake?”

“The second he starts talking,” she assured me. “Don’t worry, hon. One way or another, this is gonna be over soon.”

I nodded and joined Liam at the door, feeling heavy and hollow at the same time. One way or another. It didn’t inspire much confidence.