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Lila sits up in her sleeping bag and pounds her fist onto his foot. “Would you shut up?”

“What?” He looks around, eyes wide until his friend whispers into his ear, probably explaining that girl who turned up dead was Alex’s sister.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” Lila says to Alex.

“I don’t mind. But there is something I have to take care of, if you’ll excuse me,” Alex says politely, and hurls her beer bottle against the far wall. Glass sprays in a shower above the heads of the tweakers, who look like they’re finally leaving. They duck instinctively, and Peekay slides to the ground between them, hair spilling out in a fan around her as she hits the stone floor.

“Oh, hell no,” Adam says as he stands up from the pew, dumping Branley off his lap.

Alex beats him there, Park and me half a second behind, her sober strides cutting a straight path to where Peekay lies. “What are you doing?” she asks, each word heavy and cold.

“You throw a fucking bottle at me?” the guy with the chain asks.

“What are you doing?” Alex asks again, this time spacing each word out, as if to give him the benefit of not understanding her the first time.

“Just having some fun,” he says. “You got a problem with it?”

People are up now, shadows thrown from fires reaching long as they gather to see what’s going on. Sleeping bags unzip, and couples with messy hair emerge.

“Yes,” Alex answers.

“Really, Adam? Just throw me on the ground, that’s fine, that’s awesome,” Branley complains, forcing her way through the crowd until she sees Peekay. “What the hell?”

“She’s just drunk,” one of the other tweakers says, the lilt of panic in his voice giving away the lie. “She asked us to take her home.”

“Oh yeah, where’s she live?” Park asks.

“She’s not drunk,” Branley says, suddenly on her knees, cradling Peekay’s head in her lap. “She’s totally out. Dead weight.” She holds one of Peekay’s hands in the air and it drops to the ground heavily. “She was walking around a few minutes ago.”

Branley looks up at them, her face set in a fierceness I remember from the night she went ballistic on me. Branley is about to blow.

“You roofied her,” she says.

“I’d like your mouth better with my dick in it, bitch,” the blond says, and I go for him, but Alex’s arm is across my chest.

“No, Jack.” She presses me back, pushing me a couple of inches behind her. She looks the guy up and down for a second. “What is your name?”

“What’s it matter?”

“It’s Ray Parsons,” somebody yells from the back.

“Ray Parsons,” Alex repeats, and Park shoots me a questioning glance, like he doesn’t know if we should take care of this shit now or let Alex do her thing.

But she’s shifting her weight, so subtly I doubt anyone else sees her moving. She’s back on her heels, torso turned to the side, her hands (long unclenched from mine) open and palms up. Alex is ready to fight, and she looks like she knows what she’s doing. I remember Park crumpled on the hallway floor in two seconds flat and I shake my head at him. Right or wrong, I think she’s got this.

“Yeah, I’m Ray Parsons,” the blond says. “And you’re a fucking bitch who should mind her own business.”

“By which you mean I should let you rape my friend,” Alex says.

All around us people flinch at the word rape, and it’s so ridiculous I almost start laughing. Peekay is unconscious, her body flowing like water through Branley’s arms as she tries to get her into an upright position. Her shirt is torn open so far I can see her bra. Her jeans are unbuttoned, already pushed a few inches below her underwear. Yet the word rape still jolts people, like maybe these guys were just dragging her out to the woods to help Peekay take a piss.

“By which I mean,” Ray mimics Alex’s words, his temper punching through, “that I think you need to shut the fu—”

Alex’s hand shoots out, her finger resting lightly on his lips. “Shhh,” she says, almost whispering. “It’s my turn now.

“Ray Parsons, you have no soul,” she says, her voice gaining volume as she speaks. “You are a bag of skin. You are a pile of bones. Every cell that has ever split inside of you was a waste of energy. Where you walk you leave a vacuum. Your existence should cease.”

Ray’s mouth hangs open as he formulates a response, the church quieter now than it has ever been, even in prayer. One of his friends finds his voice first, saying exactly the wrong thing.