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“We don’t want any trouble,” I say.

“Neither do we,” Ray says, and now his chest is inches from mine, the stink of his breath in my face. “But some pussy’ll do,” he says to Branley.

“Back the fuck off.” I shove him, but he barely moves. It doesn’t even knock the smile off his face as he reaches around me to grab at Branley’s leg.

She yells and kicks, her bare foot striking out to hit him square in the face and splitting his lip open. I take a swing but his friend is on me and the punch hits him in the shoulder instead, not hard enough to do anything other than throw us both off balance as we land on the ground and roll in the dirt, hands grabbing for a hold.

I hear Branley screaming but all I can do is struggle. Billy is stronger than he looks. I get my feet under me but he’s on his too and gets my arms pinned behind my back. I buck and kick, swearing a blue streak as I see Ray drag Branley toward him across the altar, her skirt pulling up to show a tiny red thong that covers absolutely nothing.

He smacks her bare ass, leaving a welt. “You came up here looking for something, girl,” he says. “And you’re getting it.”

I’m fighting and twisting, anything I can do to get free, but Billy’s got a grip I can’t break.

“Ray gets his mind set on something, not much you can do to stop him,” Billy says, his tone weirdly conversational. “He’s had a bit to drink too. Let him have his fun and nobody’ll get hurt. It won’t take five minutes.”

Five minutes. Like the fucking problem is that we’re on a schedule and not that Branley is about to be raped right in front of me. She’s kicking and screaming but he’s already got her panties off and is going for his belt when I hear the sound of a shotgun being pumped.

There’s a moment when I lock eyes with Alex, calm and collected, gun in her hands. I’ve got the space of a breath to tell her not to.

And I don’t.

58. ALEX

This is how I kill someone, the cold steel of a gun unfamiliar in my hand but easy to decipher.

When I pull the trigger he is blown clear off the altar, a spray of blood arcing across Branley’s screaming face as he goes. There’s another yell, this one low and guttural. I hear someone coming for me, but I don’t know how to reload the gun and I always knew it would end this way, regardless. Violence begets violence, and if I want to be a cog in that wheel, I have to accept when it stops on me.

His shoulder hits me right in the sternum and I’m flying, my back arched as I sail over a pew, the first of the stars popping in the night sky trailing across my vision as I land so hard some teeth are knocked loose, slipping down my throat before I have a chance to spit them out.

I hear Jack screaming and Branley crying and a vacuum of silence where Peekay’s voice should be, as blood flows down my shoulders so thick it feels like hair, wet and heavy.

This is how I die.

And I am not surprised.

59. JACK

Branley is hysterical, blood running down her face as she slides off the altar and crumples to her knees. She’s crawling for her underwear and saying my name over and over, but I go right past her to the other side of the pew. The guy who tackled Alex is leaning against the wall, mouth agape. “Shit,” he says, looking up at me. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Alex is half on, half off a pile of rubble—the same one we sat on a few months ago when she gave me her number. There’s bone sticking out of her arm and her shoulders don’t look quite right, but it’s what’s above that rips a sound from my throat as I go down beside her, hand clutching hers. The back of her head is caved in and blood flows down the rocks, bright red contrasting with the light pink of her brain.

“Alex?” I say, hands on her face, fingers on her open mouth. “Alex?”

Her eyes flutter and a ridiculous hope blooms in my chest. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to fix you.”

And I want to, right now with her mind out in front of me. I want to reach inside and pluck out the darkness, find the parts of her that aren’t supposed to be there and let the medics sort out the rest. Her fingers tighten on mine, but barely, and I know I’m bullshitting myself.

“Alex.” I say her name loudly, needing to say at least one thing. “I wasn’t with her, I wasn’t with Branley. I wouldn’t do that to you.” I’m yelling in her face, and the ghost of a smile spreads on her lips.

“I know,” she says, her words barely closing the distance between us even though I’m right on top of her. “You’re a good person.”

And then she’s gone, the inches between us nothing as she slips away and I’m only holding what’s left behind.

60. PEEKAY

My life is a list of things I didn’t do.

I didn’t send five bucks to a girl in Africa.