Cherry Bomb

We were already in hell.

I had no spirituality. The little I was born with vacated the first time I saw a dead child, my second week on the Job. But I always had my morality. Always had my altruism. I was destined to be a Girl Scout, forever helping people cross the street, gaining what ever satisfaction I could from the meager act.

But my efforts weren’t meager. They were worthless. Completely fucking worthless.

Life had no meaning. It had no point. I’d chosen a career to do good. To prevent cruelty, and death, and suffering. To right wrongs. To fight for something important.

But nothing I did mattered. I didn’t change anything. And I’d brought upon myself the very things I’d tried to prevent.

There are no heroes. There are only losers.

“We have to go.” Phin grabbed me under my armpit, pulled me to my feet. “Where does he live?”

“We can’t make it.”

“We can try.”

What was Phin’s problem? Didn’t he know it was useless? Alex will just keep on doing this, over and over. And if not Alex, someone else will. You can’t fight darkness. Darkness comes. You can turn on some lights, lie to yourself that it will all be okay. But it never is.

“Goddamn it, Jack. You can have your breakdown when we’re in the car. Move your ass.”

“I’ve been lying to myself,” I whispered.

“No shit. You’ve been lying to yourself for your entire career. But this is a piss-poor moment to stop lying.”

His words settled in, gave me something to latch on to. Because he was right. Being hopeless had never stopped me before.

Maybe I couldn’t prevent tragedy. Maybe I couldn’t make a difference. Horrible things would keep happening, that was a guarantee, and maybe I’d never be able to stop them.

But I still had to try.

“Okay,” I said, forcing my voice to be strong. “Let’s save him.”

I sprinted for the truck, the moist earth sucking at my shoes. Tripped. Slid on my knees, banging into a rock. Scrambled on all fours until I was up and ru

I beat Phin to the Bronco, wondering where he was, and then he was in the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“Iowa. I’ve got a GPS thing on my phone.”

All four tires kicked up mud, and we headed west.

CHAPTER 38

ALEX HEADS EAST, wondering if she’ll pass Jack on the road somewhere. It’s an amusing thought. Two mortal enemies, their cars zipping by at high speed, perhaps even going too fast to recognize each other. Alex considers pulling over, waiting on the side of the road, shooting out her adversary’s tires so they can have their final showdown.

No, it’s best to wait. Now isn’t the right time. Let Jack lose a few more people she cares about first.

Alex doesn’t believe in destiny. Fate is a future you didn’t try hard enough to change. If you want things to go your way, being smart and being strong are helpful, but you still have to work your ass off. Ways and means plus determination.

Jack is smart and strong and determined. She’s also lucky. But she keeps making a key mistake. The same mistake that loses ball games, and fights, and wars. Jack is reacting rather than acting. And as long as she keeps doing that, she’s not going to change fate.

Alex pulls off the highway to grab something to eat, and after a greasy fast-food meal that will probably go straight to her hips if she doesn’t schedule a workout later, she wanders into a chain store and picks up a few supplies. Focusing on the next victim. Staying one step ahead of Jack. Calling the shots.

Back in the car, the Midwestern great plains blurring by on both sides mundanely, hypnotically, Alex lapses into a very old habit.

She daydreams.

“Daydreams aren’t practical,” Charles used to tell her. “Escaping reality is bullshit. Confront reality. Kick its ass. Make it what you want it to be.”

Easier said than done, growing up with Father. A fantasy world offered a brief vacation from the horrors.

Alex never imagined she was a princess, or owned a unicorn, or any magical shit like that. Her imagination was closely tied to reality. The only difference was that in her daydreams, Alex had absolute control.

Daydreaming now, the endless miles of brown fields morphed into the farm where she grew up. She and Charles are children, and have placed a bushel basket on the hood of Father’s truck, playing a makeshift game of basketball. Father comes out of the house. Normally he’d scream at them, preaching some biblical nonsense mixed with his own par tic u lar brand of paranoia, self-hatred, and psychosis. That might lead to Alex being punished, or almost as bad, Alex being forced to punish Father, wielding some of the awful implements he employed for the task.

But in the daydream, Alex is all-powerful. She prevents him from acting crazy. He stands there and watches, hands on his hips, his face neutral. Then, incredibly, he smiles, and asks to join the game.

A painfully obvious, incredibly pathetic scene. Alex knows this, but it pleases her anyway. In this insipid little fantasy, Alex has everything that was taken from her. Charles. Her face. Her childhood. In having total control, she can give up total control, and the feeling brings a real-life smile to her face.

Well, half a smile.

Which forces reality to return.

Alex then lapses into another childhood habit. When in pain, the best way to take your mind off it is to cause pain. She locates her cell phone on the passenger seat of the Prius and calls Jack.

“I hope you’re close,” she says. “By my watch, you’ve got less than a half an hour.”

“Fuck you, Alex.”

“That’s probably what your husband is thinking about you right now. About how you fucked him by marrying him. I guess it doesn’t pay to get close to you. If we were friends, I’d fear for my life.”

Jack doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t hang up either. Maybe she’s hoping Alex will give her something. Alex plans on it, but there’s no rush.

“He still loves you, Jack. Did you know that? He even called out your name while we were making love. He likes it on the rough side. Ever try cutting him before? He screamed, but I think he enjoyed it.”

“Is that Alex?” Phin, in the background. “Tell her to drop dead for me.”

“I always liked Phin. What is it about bad boys, Jack? Not that you’d know. You like falling for wimps. Does it make you feel stronger, being with men that you can manipulate? Or does their neediness fill some maternal urge?”

“Are you going to get to the point, Alex?”

“No time for girl talk? I understand. You’re on a tight schedule. Another man you love is going to die. Tough to concentrate on idle chitchat.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No you’re not. You’ll listen for as long as I want you to, hoping for a precious clue. Well, here it is, Lieutenant. I’m sure you’re heading to Iowa now, but you probably don’t know where I’ve got your husband stashed. There are a few dozen hotels in Dubuque, and trust me, I’ve made it hard for you. So if you need a little hint, ask Jim Hardy. And here’s some good advice, woman to woman. If you find Alan, and he’s all lit up like a Christmas tree, keep your hands to yourself.”

Alex hangs up, pleased. The hint is obscure-a lot harder than the “Stairway to Heaven” clue. But it’s just cute enough that when Jack figures it out, she’ll kick herself.

Having enemies is so much fun.

Alex pulls off the main highway, into the nearest town, looking for a coffee shop, bookstore, or Internet café. Something with WiFi access.

The next show is about to start.