Becka stood up, her lithe body unfolding. His eyes traveled from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to the ridges of her ribcage, then to her pelvic bone inviting his gaze to the thatch of blond hair between her legs. Becka smiled as he looked at her. She walked along the wall where the wine shelves were hidden from sight by vines and moss. Corey's eyes followed the slope of her b.u.t.tocks, the deep dimple in her a.s.s cheek that appeared when she flexed her leg.

"Stay here with me, Corey," she said.

"I can't," he said. "I have to bring up the sodas. And the fireworks."

Thatwas it.That was why had come down here.

Becka bared her teeth. "Why?" she said. "Becauseshe told you to?"

Corey didn't have an answer for that. Itdid sound ridiculous when Becka put it that way. Humiliating, really. Becka posed seductively against the wall, one arm raised high. She looked like a centerfold from the stack ofPlayboy s his father kept under his bed.

"You lied to me," Corey said, remembering that, too.

"Sorry, Corey, but you needed help. You were too slow. You were going to let himget away with it. You could have died when that horse threw you."

"True," Corey muttered.

"The Beaumont Cryers of this world make other people miserable their whole lives."

"True."

"So I just helped you take care of your business, Corey. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing's wrong with that."

There-he'd admitted it. Bo got what he deserved.

"It's survival of the fittest. And you're the fittest, Corey, because you haveme."

But that was only a trick, wasn't it? How could he have someone who wasn'treal?

"I heard your wish when you were at The Spot," Becka said. "You wished for me. I'll be anyone you want me to be, Corey. I can be Vonetta. Would you like that?"

Before he could answer, Becka had vanished and Vonetta had taken her place; skin the color of caramel, full lips, wide hips, a fuller a.s.s. Vonetta's areolas were the color of chocolate syrup. Corey's eyes savored her, amazed. He took a step toward her, not realizing he'd moved.

"There's no reason you should die a virgin, Corey," Becka said through Vonetta's mouth.

"Who said anything about me dying a virgin?" Corey said, surprised. Who had said anything about himdying?

"It could happen. It would be a tragic turn, don't you think?"

Corey couldn't think of anything more tragic. The idea of it almost brought tears to his eyes.

Vonetta knelt, reaching under the edge of the carpet of fur. She pulled out a gun-Dad's old gun with tape wrapped around it. It was the gun Mom had forced Dad to give away, bossing him around, as usual.

"I don't want that," Corey said.

"Yes, you do. You've wanted it a hundred times, toshut her up."

That was an exaggeration. He might have thought about it once or twice, in the same fantasy part of his head that liked running over old ladies with his car when he played Grand Theft Auto 3 on PlayStation2. But T.'s brother had run over someone in real life, and there was no fun in that.

It wasDad who'd wanted his gun back. It wasDad who sometimes wanted to kill her.

Now, Becka was Becka again. Presto change-o.

"You'll need to be a man and do this, Corey," Becka said. "She's a ball-breaker."

She showed him a vision in his head of how easy it would be: He would take the gun, climb the stairs, and see Mom talking to a black man with a shaved head who'd just come through the door. The man was an old boyfriend, and Mom was flirting with him like a s.k.a.n.k, with her husband right outside. Corey would shoot the man first, and then he would shoot Mom.Pop. Pop. Quick and dirty, to the head.

Then,he would be the only one left in the line. He could have his ring back. He would have Becka all to himself.

Becka smiled. "That's good, Corey. The more you want to do it, the more you'll like it here. It doesn't have to hurt."

She was right. Already, Corey's stomach felt good again. The twisting pain was gone.

"Do you want me, Corey?" Becka said.

Corey nodded. "Yes," he said. He couldn't deny it.

She held out the gun to him, dangling it. Corey took it and wrapped his palm around it. He'd always wanted to shoot this gun.Pop. Pop. Quick and dirty.

"Bossy people are slave drivers, and they deserve what they get," Becka said, and Corey couldn't argue. Mom had been driving him like Kunta Kinte all summer. "Go on, Corey. I'll play music for you on the piano, to give you a grand entrance."

The piano introduction would be a nice touch. Becka thought of everything.

"The music's playing, Corey."

And it was. It was m.u.f.fled and off-key, but Corey heard music floating from the foyer, one of the old jazz ballads. "Getting to Know You." He imagined himself dancing to the music with Becka like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in one of those old-school musicals, gliding across the floor.

"I'll be here when you come back," Becka said.

Corey felt his foot climb up the first step to go back to the foyer. He had already forgotten where he was going, or why, but he hoped he would remember when he got there.Pop. Pop.

You be careful on those steps, Li'l Angel.

On the stairs, a dark-haired black woman stood above him in his path. Although he could not see her face, her hair was in cornrows, and she wore a long dress showered in colors, with bangles and bracelets of cowrie sh.e.l.ls draped across her wrists. She was an amazing sight.

Becka shrieked."You can't come in here, YOU b.i.t.c.h!"

Sure enough, the woman was gone, as if he'd imagined her. Had he brought Gramma Marie in here? Was he strong enough to do that? Tears came to Corey's eyes as he thought of his great-grandmother.She'd been here. Realizing that, he couldn't pretend he didn't see the horror of what Becka wanted him to do. Becka was trying to make him into someone else, like she tried to do that night with Bo at The Spot.

But he could still fight. He wouldbelieve he could fight even if it wasn't true.

Corey stepped down, away from the stairs. He faced thebaka.

Corey's stomach knotted immediately, and he doubled over in pain. This wasn't the pain from Bo's kicks. This pain went deeper, to his soul. Thebaka was taking him by force.

Already, Corey felt a curtain falling inside him, everything going gray. Corey felt words come from his throat, the last remnants of himself he could find. "I love my mom, and I won't shoot her for you. I won't doanything for you."

Becka's grin turned hard, c.o.c.ky. "Oh, I see it differently, Corey. You're going to shoot the man and then you're going to shoot your mother.Count on that. I get what I want."

Corey's body seized, shaking. He was aware of a feeling of struggle, even if his mind was so stripped that he couldn't recognize what the concept of struggle was, or whom he was fighting. Still, he held on, clinging to his fight as the pain swallowed him.

Corey felt the gun's muzzle brush against the side of his head, his temple. His heart flew.

f.u.c.k you,he thought, remembering himself once more.Mom will come for you.

With all his strength, Corey Toussaint Hill won his last fight.

Thirty-Four.

FRIDAY.

AANGELA SHOULD HAVE FALLENfifty times by now. She was running so hard that her head leaned forward as if she were burrowing her way into the woods. She kept her eyes down as much as she could, but her feet were on their own; stepping around knots, roots, holes, stones, and myriad other hazards in her way with each step. Each time she took a misstep, an overhanging branch or stable tree trunk was there to catch her before she fell too far, before she had to slow.

POW.

Another explosion cracked in the woods behind her, a gunshot. Angela didn't hear the bullet near her this time, but the last time Tariq fired, his shot had ripped into a tree within inches of her, flicking bark into her eyes. Maybe he was falling behind.

"I've got an idea, Snook," Tariq's voice boomed from the growth behind her. "I'll count to ten, and you go hide. Isn't that how you used to do, Angie? You'd hide so Myles couldn't find you? I can't say I blame you. I don't know about you, but Myles seems kinda stiff to me. Especially now, if you know what I mean. The brother doesn't have much personality."

Angela sobbed once, and the half-second loss of concentration made her trip, nearly twisting her ankle on a vine maple root. Her legs tried to buckle as she climbed across the slippery bark, but she stumbled on, venturing a look behind her.

She saw only thickets of huckleberry, ferns, and evergreen stands behind her, a sea of green and brown. No visible movement. And she didn't hear Onyx's incessant barking anymore, a relief.

Maybe she had lost Tariq, or else he was tiring out, succ.u.mbing to his injuries. Before, never more than a second or two had pa.s.sed before his head emerged from behind a shrub or a tree trunk, pursuing her in his wild, pivoting gait. Myles had hit Tariq solid in the thigh with his bow, but the injury hadn't prevented Tariq from running within ten yards of her, sometimes less.

s.h.i.t.There he was.

Tariq appeared behind her, and he wasmoving. He pivoted off his injured leg as if it were made of wood, galloping. He'd pulled the arrow out of his shoulder, but the arrow in his leg was cracked in half, the arrowhead still embedded in his skin. Thebaka was helping Tariq run, Angela knew. Here, thebaka could give Tariq monstrous gifts. If Myles hadn't shot Tariq, he could have caught her three times over by now.

He aimed at her again, and Angela ran on, ducking.

At least her legs were strong. Theyhad to be strong.

POW.

The sound of the next gunshot made her cry out, antic.i.p.ating a hit. But he missed again.

Each new gunshot made it harder for Angela to control her legs, made the signals from her brain misfire.Fast meantslow. Right meantleft. Her legs had to teach themselves how to run from scratch, but they always did it, driving hard. It was a killing effort, and now she understood why so many heroines in horror movies gave up, falling flat on their a.s.ses just when the monster got close. Their fear made them fall.

Be still,cher. Pas desplase.

Let me come to you.

Gramma Marie's voice was potent, calling to her from the cascading rainfall, singing from the water as it pa.s.sed from needle to needle, from needle to soil. Grunting to heave herself over another trunk blocking her path, Angela couldn't free up the energy to answer Gramma Marie. Minutes had been winnowed down, each moment taking forever, full of dangers. Th.o.r.n.y bushes that might take out her eyes. Rotted wood that would break under her weight. Hidden nests and holes that could trip her, breaking her neck. And Tariq behind her, a madman propelled by a demon.

Slow down? Angela wished she could do more than that: She wanted to lie down and give up. She had given all she could. She had given her son, her husband, and her love. She had given her friends and her friend's child. There was nothing else, no one else. Angela was empty. Her legs seemed to know what to do, but the rest of her was dead weight.

Yes, you're hurting,cher. Pas desplase.

Angela tried to slow down. She told her legs to slow, but they would not.

As she ran, Angela heard a deep cracking sound ahead of her, a sound she remembered from her house a few days ago: A tree was falling. A ma.s.sive Douglas fir trunk about three yards ahead of her was bending downward, toppling sideways, bringing an avalanche of limbs and needles down with it. But Angela still couldn't make herself stop running.

I'll outrun it,she thought, an instant before she realized shecouldn't . It was falling too fast. But it was too late to stop running now.

Angela let out a hoa.r.s.e yell, surging ahead.

The tree crashed behind her, shaking the ground. Angela couldn't hear herself in the tumult, which sounded like an explosion, jarring her legs. Debris from the fallen tree flew into her neck and back, scratching her. But she had outrun its fall. She wasn't dead yet.

Maybe it had been a friendly tree, she thought, and she almost felt glad. Angela's last true moment of gladness had come two hours ago, when she'd seen Myles's arrow soar above her. She thought about Myles's sure arrow as she ran. Without that arrow in her thoughts, Angela knew she might have died by now. She wished her memory ended with the flying arrow.

That fallen tree had slowed Tariq down. For now, at least, Tariq's voice was farther away.

"Angie, I've got it all planned out for us," Tariq called, m.u.f.fled by the trees between them. He didn't seem to be breathing hard; his voice was too vigorous. She heard twigs crack as he pushed through dense growth. "We'll have a romantic night in the woods, just you and me, babe. I thought we'd pick up where we left off. We've got some talking to do, Snook.Real talking."

Angela didn't answer, crawling beneath a bed of ferns, praying he was still tangled behind the fallen tree, that she would have long enough to lose him this time.

"I was hoping you could show me what you and Myles Fisher did out here on prom night. Or, h.e.l.l, you can show me what you didlast night. I'm good either way. I'm sorry about that little execution at The Spot, Angie, but the man was working my nerves. Myles isn't here to f.u.c.k you, so you'll just have to close your eyes and use your imagination."

Angie had to suppress the scream of rage that tried to rise in her throat. She suddenly wanted to wait for Tariq and lunge at him, clawing at his face with her bare hands if she had to. Maybe that was what she would do. She knew thebaka was speaking through him, but it sounded like plain old Tariq to her, the part he'd always kept hidden under his skin. He sounded like the same Tariq who'd secretly wanted to hurt her, the Tariq who'd always been jealous of the memory of Myles in her.

"Where'd you go, girl? Don't be shy. It'll come back to you, Snook. You know what I like."

Breathing heavily, Angela scurried like a crab to skirt around the upright trunk that had appeared in front of her after she emerged from the ferns. Maybe she'd bought herself a yard or two. She would start in a new direction, back toward The Spot. She would confuse him.

Somewhere behind her, Angela heard a shrill whistle.

"Onyx!" Tariq called. "Here, boy! Tell me which way Mommy went, then we'll both go say h.e.l.lo.Come on, boy." He clapped his hands.

Angela heard the barking again, sounding closer than she'd like.s.h.i.t. Spurred by the noise, Angela ran faster. Her legs quavered at first, but then they obliged her, giving her more speed. Her ancestors had run from dogs in the woods, she realized; this flight was embedded in her psychic memory. If she had allowed her heart to fall still a moment, she might have learned their names.

"Oh, that wasgood, Angie. Nice try, Snook. But he's on your scent now. Don't be fooled by the f.u.c.ked-up haircut. This little mutt's got a nose. And he canrun! He's got you, babe."

Despite herself, Angela turned to look back. She didn't see Tariq. She saw thick, dense woods behind her, knots of trees and brush growing wild, untended. And too much darkness for so early in the day. It was late afternoon, but the sky was on the way to night.

The woods were getting dark.

Slow down,cher.Let me come to you.

Be still.Pas desplase.