Chapter 30: The Wet Bar and the Fall
The sunlight was a blade.
It cut through the curtains in thin, relentless strips, falling across Emma's face until she couldn't pretend anymore. She opened her eyes. The ceiling came into focus. White. Cracked. A water stain in the corner shaped like a fist.
Her mouth tasted like copper and regret.
She turned her head. Caron was beside her, still asleep, one arm thrown over her face like she was blocking out something she didn't want to see. Her breathing was shallow. Her skin was pale. There was a bruise on her shoulder—finger-shaped, purple at the edges—and Emma didn't remember making it.
She sat up.
The room spun. She waited for it to stop.
The nightstand was a graveyard. The flask. The ashtray. The empty pouch where the heroin had been. Maggie had cleaned it up last night. Put it somewhere safe. But Emma's hands were already itching. Her veins were already singing.
She needed something.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet hit the floor. Cold wood. She stood. Her knees buckled. She caught herself on the bedpost.
"Fuck," she whispered.
Caron didn't stir.
Emma crossed the room. Slow. Careful. Like walking on ice. The wet bar was in the corner, a small mahogany thing tucked between the window and the closet. She'd seen it last night. Hadn't thought about it then. But now.
Now she thought about it.
She opened the cabinet. Whiskey. Bourbon. Vodka. Gin. A bottle of vermouth that looked like it hadn't been touched since the Reagan administration.
And behind the whiskey decanter—
A bottle of Xanax.
Orange. Round. Prescription label peeled off. The bottle was half full.
Emma stared at it.
She shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't. She'd already put Maggie through hell last night. Already watched her eleven years of sobriety crumble like a sandcastle in a wave. Already held her while she cried, while she shook, while she whispered I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry over and over until the words lost all meaning.
She shouldn't.
She shook two pills into her palm.
They were small. Chalky. They looked harmless.
She swallowed them dry.
The bitterness coated her throat. She chased it with a long pull of bourbon. The burn was good. Familiar. It settled in her chest like an old friend.
Behind her, the bed creaked.
"Emma?"
Caron's voice was thick with sleep. Groggy. Confused.
Emma turned.
Caron was sitting up. Her hair was a disaster. Her eyes were puffy. She looked at Emma. Looked at the bottle in her hand.
She didn't say anything.
She just held out her hand.
Emma walked back to the bed. Sat beside her. Pressed two pills into her palm.
Caron swallowed them. Then she took the whiskey. Drank. Coughed.
"Jesus," she said. "That's rough."
"It's whiskey."
"It's gasoline."
"Same thing."
Caron laughed. A dry, humorless sound. She passed the bottle back.
They sat there. Shoulder to shoulder. The sun moved across the floor.
"The pills are helping," Caron said.
"For now."
"For now."
Emma took another drink. Then another.
"Do you think she's okay?" Caron asked.
"Maggie?"
"Yeah."
"No."
"No?"
"She's not okay. She hasn't been okay for a long time." Emma stared at the bottle. "Neither have we."
Caron was quiet for a moment.
"She looked happy," she said. "Last night. When she took the pills. She looked... relieved."
"I know."
"Is that fucked up?"
"Everything's fucked up."
"Fair."
They passed the bottle back and forth. The pills started to work. The edge softened. The fear receded. Emma's hands stopped shaking. Her heart stopped racing. The world became blurry and warm.
"More," Caron said.
Emma shook two more into her palm. Swallowed. Passed two to Caron.
They drank. They waited.
The room got softer around the edges.
---
Maggie appeared in the doorway.
Neither of them heard her coming. She was just there. Like a ghost. Like a memory.
Her silk robe was hanging open. Her hair was wild. Her eyes were red-rimmed and hollow.
She looked at the bottle in Emma's hand.
Then she looked at the bottle of Xanax on the nightstand.
Eleven years.
Emma could see it in her face. The calculation. The war. Eleven years of meetings and sponsors and counting days on a calendar. Eleven years of walking past bars without going in. Eleven years of saying no when every cell in her body was screaming yes.
Eleven years.
And it all came down to this moment.
Maggie's hand trembled at her side.
"Don't," Caron whispered. "Maggie. Don't."
But Maggie was already moving.
She crossed the room. Her feet made no sound on the rug. She stopped in front of Emma. Held out her hand.
Emma looked at Caron. Caron looked away.
Emma gave her the bottle.
Maggie shook two pills into her palm. Then two more. Then one more. Five pills. She swallowed them all at once. Chased them with the whiskey. Drank until the bottle was empty.
She set it down. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Then she reached past them. For the oxy. The bottle was on the nightstand, next to the Xanax. She shook three into her palm. Swallowed them.
She exhaled.
It was a long breath. A slow breath. A breath that sounded like coming home.
"Fuck," she said. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
She started to cry.
---
Caron moved first.
She pulled Maggie onto the bed. Onto the ruined sheets. Onto the sweat and the stains and the evidence of everything they'd done last night.
0
Maggie didn't resist. She collapsed into them. Into Caron's arms. Into Emma's lap.
She was shaking. Her whole body was shaking.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Don't." Emma stroked her hair. "Don't apologize."
"I was supposed to be better. I was supposed to be—"
"Shh."
"I was supposed to be strong."
"You are strong."
"I'm not. I'm not. I'm—"
"You're here." Emma tilted her face up. Looked into her eyes. "You're here. That's all that matters."
Maggie's lip trembled.
"I missed this," she whispered. "God help me. I missed this so much."
---
Caron kissed her.
Soft. Gentle. On the cheek. On the corner of her mouth.
Maggie closed her eyes.
Emma kissed her forehead. Her temple. The hollow of her throat.
Maggie made a sound. Something between a sob and a sigh.
"Don't stop," she breathed. "Please don't stop."
They didn't.
---
The morning dissolved.
The pills and the whiskey turned everything to honey. Slow and golden and sweet. Emma's hands moved through Maggie's hair. Caron's lips traced patterns on Maggie's skin. The three of them tangled together. Arms and legs and breath and heat.
Maggie tasted like salt. Like tears. Like the ocean.
She was soft in ways Caron wasn't. Fuller. Even though they were both in there late fifties. Her body told stories. Scars. Stretch marks. The geography of a life lived hard and fast.
Emma explored her. Learned her. Kissed the inside of her wrist. The curve of her hip. The soft skin behind her knee.
Maggie gasped. Arched.
"Emma."
"Yeah?"
"More."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
---
Caron's hands found Maggie's breasts. Cupped them. Squeezed.
Maggie moaned.
"You're so beautiful," Caron whispered. "You've always been so beautiful."
"I'm old."
"You're gorgeous."
"I'm falling apart."
"You're perfect."
Maggie laughed. It turned into a sob halfway through.
"Shh," Caron said. "I've got you."
"You've always had me."
"I know."
"Even when I didn't want you to."
"I know."
"Even when I pushed you away."
"I know."
Caron kissed her. Deep. Hungry.
Maggie melted into it.
---
Emma watched them. For a moment. Just watched.
Caron's mouth on Maggie's. Their bodies pressed together. The way Maggie's hands grabbed at Caron's back. The way Caron moaned into the kiss.
It was beautiful. It was terrible. It was everything.
Emma felt something twist in her chest. Jealousy? No. Something else. Something darker. Something that wanted to consume.
She moved behind Caron. Pressed her body against her back. Wrapped her arms around her waist.
Caron leaned into her.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi."
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
Emma kissed her shoulder. Her neck. The spot behind her ear that made her shiver.
Caron's breath hitched.
"Emma."
"Yeah?"
"Do that again."
She did.
---
They moved together. Three bodies. One rhythm.
Emma's fingers found Caron's cunt. Wet. Ready. She slid inside. Two fingers. Then three.
Caron gasped.
Maggie watched. Her eyes were dark. Hungry. She reached down. Touched herself. Slow circles. Her breath coming faster.
"Don't stop," she said. "Don't you dare stop."
Emma didn't.
---
Caron came first.
Her body convulsed. Her mouth opened. A sound came out. Something raw. Something primal. Emma held her through it. Felt her shudder. Felt her go limp.
Then she turned to Maggie.
"Your turn."
Maggie smiled. It was a broken thing.
"Show me," she said.
---
Emma moved between Maggie's legs.
She was different than Caron. Softer. Wetter. Her clit was swollen. Sensitive. Emma touched it with her tongue. Gentle. Then harder.
Maggie cried out.
"Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh—"
Emma didn't stop.
She licked. Sucked. Pressed. Circles. Flat. Pointed. Everything. Everything she knew.
Maggie's hips bucked. Her hands found Emma's hair. Grabbed. Pulled.
"Don't stop. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
Emma didn't.
---
Maggie came with a scream.
It echoed off the walls. Off the windows. Off the ocean beyond.
She shook. For a long time. Waves of it. Her whole body. Her whole soul.
When it was over, she collapsed. Boneless. Breathless.
Emma crawled up beside her. Lay down.
The three of them. Side by side. On the ruined sheets.
The sun was high now. The room was warm. The drugs were still working. They were still floating.
No one spoke.
---
Caron lit a cigarette. Passed it to Emma. Emma took a drag. Passed it to Maggie.
Maggie inhaled. Held it. Let it out slow.
"I'm going to regret this tomorrow," she said.
"Probably," Caron agreed.
"I'm going to hate myself."
"Maybe."
"I'm going to—" She stopped. Closed her eyes. "I'm going to do it again."
Emma didn't say anything. Neither did Caron.
They just lay there. Passing the cigarette. Passing the silence.
---
Eventually, Maggie sat up.
"This can't keep happening," she said.
"I know."
"You both know that, right? This can't—we can't—"
"We know," Caron said.
"Do you? Because I need to hear you say it. I need to—"
"We know, Maggie."
Maggie nodded. Stood. Wobbled. Caught herself on the bedpost.
"I'm going to take a shower," she said. "I'm going to wash this off. And then I'm going to pretend this morning didn't happen."
"That's healthy," Caron said.
"Shut up."
"Love you too."
Maggie walked to the door. Stopped. Turned.
"Don't leave," she said. "Either of you. Promise me."
Emma looked at Caron. Caron looked at Emma.
"We promise," they said together.
Maggie nodded. Left.
---
The room was quiet again.
Emma lay back. Stared at the ceiling.
"That was weird," Caron said.
"Yeah."
"Good weird or bad weird?"
"I don't know yet."
"Fair."
Caron turned on her side. Looked at Emma. Her eyes were still glassy from the pills. Still soft.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you too."
"Even after all this?"
"Especially after all this."
Caron smiled.
"Good."
Emma took her hand. Held it.
They didn't move.
The sun kept rising. The ocean kept singing. The world kept turning.
Everything felt different now.
Everything felt the same.
---
Emma's phone buzzed.
She didn't want to look at it. Didn't want to break whatever spell they were under. But it kept buzzing. Over and over. Insistent.
Finally, she reached for it.
A number she didn't recognize.
A text.
We know where you are. We know what you did. We're coming.
Emma's blood went cold.
She looked at Caron.
"What is it?"
"They know."
"Who knows?"
"Everyone."
Caron sat up. The softness in her eyes disappeared. Something harder took its place.
"When?"
"Soon. Probably tomorrow. Maybe tonight."
Caron nodded. Slowly.
"Then we don't have much time."
"For what?"
"To get ready."
---
Emma looked at the door. Where Maggie had gone. Where the sound of water was running. Where a woman was standing under a spray of heat, trying to wash away a sin she'd been fighting for eleven years.
She looked at Caron. At her lover. Her partner. Her soulmate.
She looked at her own hands. The ones that had killed. The ones that would kill again.
She thought about Jim. About the plan. About the boat. The beach. The airport.
She thought about everything they'd done. Everything they'd become.
Then she stood.
"Okay," she said. "Let's get to work."
---
The water stopped.
Maggie appeared in the doorway. Her hair was wet. Her robe was wrapped tight.
"What did I miss?"
Emma held up the phone.
Maggie read the text.
Her face went pale. Then hard.
"Well," she said. "Looks like we're not going to get that shower after all."
"No," Caron said. "Looks like we're not."
The three of them stood there. Naked and trembling and high and terrified.
Then Maggie laughed.
It was a bitter sound. A dark sound. A sound that had nothing to do with joy.
"Bring it on," she said.
Emma didn't laugh.
She just nodded.
And somewhere in the distance, the first boat cut through the water.
The boat cut through the water like a blade through silk.
Emma watched it from the window. A speck on the horizon. Growing larger. The engine was faint but unmistakable, a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
Caron was already moving. She pulled on jeans. A t-shirt. Boots. No underwear. No hesitation.
"How many?" she asked.
"I can't tell yet."
"Can you see weapons?"
"Not yet."
"Can you see anything?"
"Water. Sky. Boat." Emma turned from the window. "That's about it."
Maggie was still standing in the doorway. Wet hair dripping onto the rug. Eyes sharp despite the pills.
"Jim," she said. "We need Jim."
---
They found him in the study.
He was sitting at his desk. A glass of scotch in one hand. A revolver in the other. He didn't look surprised.
"I heard the engine," he said.
"How long have you known?"
"Since last night. I had a contact make some calls." He set the glass down. "They left San Diego at dawn."
"How many?"
"Six. Maybe eight."
"Armed?"
"Is the pope Catholic?"
---
Caron moved to the window. Scanned the horizon.
"They sent the tuna boat," she said. "The one Elena mentioned."
Jim nodded. "That's their style. Blend in. Look harmless. Until they're not."
"How long until they reach the cove?"
"An hour. Maybe less."
Emma's stomach clenched. She could still taste the whiskey. Still feel the pills in her blood. Her hands were steady, though. That was something.
"What do we have?" she asked.
Jim opened a drawer. Pulled out a map. Unfolded it on the desk.
"We have the house. We have the beach. We have the cliff path." He traced a line with his finger. "We have two rifles. Three handguns. A shotgun. And about forty rounds of ammunition."
"That's not enough."
"It's what we have."
---
Maggie stepped forward. Her robe was still open. She didn't bother to close it.
"What about the neighbors?"
"What about them?"
"Can they help?"
Jim shook his head. "The nearest house is two miles south. The nearest police station is forty-five minutes away. By the time anyone responds, it'll be over."
"Then we do it ourselves."
"That's the plan."
---
Emma's phone buzzed again.
Another text. Same number.
We see your lights. Nice house. We'll be there soon.
She showed it to the others.
"Bastards," Caron said.
"They're trying to scare us."
"It's working."
"No." Emma pocketed the phone. "It's not."
---
They moved quickly.
Jim handed out weapons. A Glock for Caron. A Beretta for Maggie. A hunting rifle for himself. He looked at Emma.
"You know how to shoot?"
"I've been around guns all my life."
"Good." He handed her a .38 revolver. "You've killed already so you know what to do.'
She took it. The weight was familiar. Cold. Honest.
"What about the plan?" she asked.
"We adapt." Jim rolled up the map. "We hold them off as long as we can. Then we run."
"Run where?"
"The cliff path. There's a boat house on the north end. A small skiff. We can take it around the point. Get to the mainland."
"And then?"
"We disappear."
---
Maggie laughed. That same bitter sound from before.
"Disappear," she repeated. "Just like that."
"You got a better idea?"
"No." Maggie checked the chamber of her Beretta. "I'm just saying. I've been disappearing my whole life. Doesn't work. They always find you."
"Not this time."
"You sound so sure."
"I'm not." Jim met her eyes. "But it's the only play we've got."
---
They gathered in the kitchen.
The sun was fully up now. The ocean was blue and calm. It looked like a postcard. Like a lie.
Caron was at the window. Watching the boat. It was closer now. Close enough to see the shape. The deck. The men on it.
"Eight," she said. "I count eight."
"Armed?"
"Can't tell. But they're not fishing."
Emma stood beside her. Their shoulders touched. Neither of them pulled away.
"You scared?" Caron asked.
"Terrified."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Means you're not stupid."
Emma smiled despite herself.
"I love you," she said.
"I know."
"I'm serious."
"I know." Caron turned from the window. Looked at her. "I love you too. Now stop being sentimental. We've got work to do."
---
They went through the house.
Room by room. Checking windows. Doors. Lines of sight. Jim drilled them on the plan. Where to stand. Where to shoot. When to fall back.
The house was old. Stone walls. Thick glass. Built to weather storms. It would hold. For a while.
Maggie was in the master bedroom. Emma found her there. Standing at the window. Looking at the sea.
"You okay?" Emma asked.
"No."
"Me neither."
Maggie turned. Her face was hard. Tired. But something else flickered underneath. Something soft.
"When this is over," she said. "If we make it—"
"We'll make it."
"Don't interrupt me." She stepped closer. "When this is over. I want to try. Really try. Get clean. Stay clean. For real this time."
Emma didn't know what to say.
"I know I've said it before. I know I've failed. But this—" She gestured at the window. At the boat. At everything. "This is different. This is a wake-up call."
"Or a death sentence."
"Same thing."
---
Caron appeared in the doorway.
"They're slowing down," she said. "They're anchoring in the cove."
"Time?"
"Fifteen minutes. Maybe ten."
Jim's voice came from downstairs. Sharp. Urgent.
"Everyone to your positions."
---
They moved.
Emma took the east window. Second floor. Overlooking the beach. She could see the cove from here. The boat was there. Small. White. Innocent. Men were climbing into a rubber dinghy. Four of them. Two more stayed behind. Two were still below deck.
Armed. She could see that now. Assault rifles. Handguns. Body armor.
She swallowed.
"Jim," she called down. "They're coming in two waves."
"How many in the first?"
"Four. Heavily armed."
"How long?"
"Five minutes. Maybe less."
"Fuck."
---
The house went quiet.
Emma could hear her own breathing. Her own heartbeat. The tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. The distant crash of waves.
She checked her revolver. Six bullets. Six chances.
Not enough.
She checked again.
---
Caron appeared beside her. Rifle in hand.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
"You ready?"
"No."
"Good."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true." Caron chambered a round. "The ones who think they're ready are the ones who die first."
"Where'd you learn that?"
"My father. He was a cop."
"Was?"
"He got shot."
"Jesus."
"Yeah." Caron looked at her. "So I learned young. Never think you're ready. Always think you're about to die. That's how you survive."
---
The dinghy hit the beach.
Emma watched through the scope. Four men. Black tactical gear. Faces obscured by masks. They moved in formation. Professional. Practiced.
"Jim," she called. "They're on shore."
"Let them come."
"They're crossing the sand."
"Let them come."
"They're at the stairs."
"Wait for my signal."
Emma's finger hovered over the trigger. Her pulse was a drum. Her breath was shallow. The .38 felt heavy in her hand.
The men reached the door.
Jim's voice. Calm. Clear.
"Now."
---
She fired.
The first shot missed. Went wide. Hit the wall. The men scattered. Return fire shattered the window. Emma ducked. Glass rained down.
"Fuck!"
She was on the floor. Heart pounding. Ears ringing.
"Emma!" Caron's voice. From somewhere. "You hit?"
"No. No. I'm fine."
"Then shoot back!"
She rolled. Raised the revolver. Fired through the broken window.
Another shot. Another. Caron's rifle added to the chorus. Downstairs, Jim's shotgun boomed.
The men retreated. Took cover behind the rocks. Emma had hit one and he was down. Clutching his leg. Screaming.
"One down!" Emma called.
"How many left?"
"Three. Maybe more coming."
"Reload!"
She reloaded. Hands steady.
---
The firefight lasted twenty minutes.
It felt like hours.
Bullets tore through the walls. Shattered the windows. Ripped through the curtains. Emma stayed low. Fired when she could. Moved when she had to.
Caron was a machine. Cold. Precise. Every shot found its mark. She dropped two more men before they retreated to the beach.
Jim held the ground floor. His shotgun was devastating. Close range. Brutal.
Maggie covered the back door. Fired at shadows. Reloaded. Fired again.
They were holding. Barely.
---
Then the second wave came.
Four more men. Fresh. Better armed. They hit the house from three sides. East. West. Back.
Emma heard glass shatter downstairs. Heard Jim shout. Heard Maggie scream.
"Jim!"
"Stay put!" he yelled. "Stay—"
A gunshot. Then another.
Emma's blood ran cold.
---
She ran.
Down the stairs. Two at a time. Into the living room.
Jim was on the floor. Blood on his chest. Maggie was beside him. Firing at the back door. One of the men was down. The other was retreating.
"Jim!" Emma knelt beside him. Pressed her hand to the wound. "Jim, stay with me."
"Can't." His voice was a whisper. "Can't stay. You have to go."
"No. No. We're not leaving you."
"You have to." He grabbed her wrist. His grip was strong. Desperate. "The cliff path. The boat house. Go. Now."
"Jim—"
"Go!"
---
Caron was there. Pulling Emma up. Pulling Maggie too.
"We have to move."
"I'm not leaving him."
"He's gone, Emma."
"He's not—"
"Look at him."
Emma looked. Jim's eyes were open. But they weren't seeing anything. His chest wasn't moving.
He was gone.
---
Maggie made a sound. Something animal. Something broken.
"We have to go," Caron said. "Right now. They're regrouping."
She was right. Emma could hear them. Voices. Footsteps. Getting closer.
"Come on." Caron grabbed Maggie's arm. "Come on."
Maggie didn't move.
"Maggie!"
She looked up. Her eyes were blank. Empty.
"I loved him," she whispered.
"I know."
"I loved him so much."
"I know." Caron pulled her to her feet. "And he loved you. Now we have to go."
---
They ran.
Out the back door. Across the lawn. Into the trees.
The cliff path was narrow. Treacherous. Emma ran it anyway. Maggie was ahead. Caron was behind.
Bullets followed them. Whistling through the leaves. Chipping bark off trees. Emma didn't look back.
The path curved. Descended. The boat house appeared below. Small. Wooden. One light on.
"Almost there!" Caron shouted.
A bullet hit the ground beside Emma. She stumbled. Almost fell.
"Hurry!"
She ran faster.
---
The boat house.
The skiff.
Caron was already untying the lines. Maggie was in the boat. Staring at nothing.
Emma climbed in. Grabbed an oar. Caron started the engine.
It sputtered. Died.
"Come on. Come on."
Caron tried again. The engine coughed. Caught. Roared to life.
They pulled away from the dock.
---
The beach was chaos.
The men had reached the boat house. Too late. They fired at the water. At the boat. But the distance was growing. The bullets fell short.
Emma watched them shrink. Felt the cold spray on her face. Heard Maggie crying. Heard Caron breathing.
They were alive.
They were together.
They were running.
---
The ocean opened up before them.
Dark. Vast. Endless. Caron steered north. Toward the point. Toward the mainland. Toward whatever came next.
Emma sat beside her. The .38 was empty. Her hands were cold.
She looked at Maggie. Curled in the bow. Eyes closed. Lips moving. Whispering something Emma couldn't hear.
"What's she saying?" Emma asked.
Caron listened. Then shook her head.
"Praying," she said. "Or cursing. Hard to tell."
---
They rode in silence.
The sun was setting. The sky was red.
Emma thought about Jim. About his revolver. About the way he'd said go.
She thought about Maggie. About the way she'd said I loved him.
She thought about Caron. About the way her hands looked on the wheel. Steady. Sure.
She reached out. Touched her arm.
"We made it," she said.
"Barely."
"We made it."
Caron nodded. Didn't look at her. Kept her eyes on the horizon.
"Yeah," she said. "We made it."
---
The boat house was behind them. The beach. The house. The life they'd built and lost in a single morning.
Ahead was darkness. Unknown. Possibility.
Emma looked at Caron. At Maggie. At the blood on her hands.
She thought about Elena. About the knife. About the way it felt to kill.
She thought about the men on the beach. How many she'd hit. How many she hadn't.
She thought about tomorrow.
---
"We need a plan," she said.
"We have a plan."
"We need a better one."
Caron glanced at her.
"Okay."
"We need to disappear. For real. No phone. No cards. No trails."
"Where?"
"San Francisco. Maybe. Or Portland. A city. Somewhere we can blend in."
"And then?"
"And then we figure out who these people are. Who sent them. Why they want us dead."
"You think it's about Elena?"
"I think it's bigger than Elena."
Caron was quiet for a moment.
"You're right," she said. "It's always bigger."
---
Maggie stirred. Sat up. Looked at them.
"Where are we going?"
"North."
"How far?"
"As far as it takes."
Maggie nodded. Pulled her knees to her chest.
"I'm cold," she said.
Emma took off her jacket. Wrapped it around her.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
---
The skiff cut through the waves. The night deepened. The stars came out.
They didn't talk. They didn't need to.
They were alive. They were together. They were free.
For now.
---
Emma looked at the water. Black and endless. She thought about Jim. About the way he'd looked at her. The way he'd trusted her.
She thought about the gun in her hand. The blood on her clothes. The weight of everything she'd done.
She thought about the boat house. The cliff path. The first shot.
She thought about Elena.
And she knew, with a certainty that settled into her bones like cold water, that this wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
---
Caron broke the silence.
"The boat house," she said. "We forgot to check for supplies."
Emma looked around. There was a small cabin. A cooler. A few cans of food.
"Not much," she said.
"Enough."
"For how long?"
"Long enough."
Emma nodded. It would have to be.
---
They ate in silence. Cold beans. Crackers. Warm soda. The boat rocked gently. Maggie fell asleep. Curled in the corner. Her face was peaceful now. The terror was gone.
Emma watched her. Thought about the morning. The pills. The whiskey. The way Maggie had fallen into them.
"We're going to have to get clean," she said.
"Yeah."
"For real this time."
"Yeah."
"Can we?"
Caron didn't answer right away. She looked at the sky. At the stars. At the black water.
"I don't know," she said. "But we're going to try."
---
Emma lay back. Stared at the sky.
The stars were bright. Distant. Unreachable.
She thought about everything they'd left behind. The house. The drugs. The needle. The sex. The three of them tangled in those ruined sheets.
She thought about everything ahead.
The city. The disguises. The running.
She thought about Jim.
And she made a promise. To him. To herself. To whatever god might be listening.
She was going to survive.
They all were.
---
The boat pushed north.
The night surrounded them. The horizon was a thin line of silver.
They prepared.