Heather thought of Bishop, and the fight she’d had with Nat. She thought about everything that had happened over the summer, all of the changes and tension and weird shifts, as though the air was blowing from somewhere totally unfamiliar. “I’m scared all the time,” she whispered.
“You’d be an idiot if you weren’t,” Anne said. “And you wouldn’t be brave, either.” She stood up. “Come on. I’m going to put the kettle on. This tea is ice-cold.”
Bishop had, for the most part, come clean to the police. He’d been questioned for the better part of three hours and had at last been released back home to his father, pending official charges.
But he’d lied about one thing. The game wasn’t over. There were still three players left.
It was time for the final challenge.
It was time for Joust.
THURSDAY, AUGUST 18
dodge
DODGE KNEW IT WAS JUST A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE Bishop came to see him. He didn’t wait long. Just three days after Bishop had turned himself in to the police for the Graybill fire, Dodge came home from work and spotted Bishop’s car. He wasn’t outside, though; Dodge was surprised to see that Dayna had let him in. Bishop was sitting on the couch, hands on his knees, knees practically to his chin, he was so tall and the couch was so low. And Dayna was reading in the corner, like it was normal, like they were friends.
“Hey,” Dodge said. Bishop stood up, looking relieved. “Let’s go outside, okay?”
Dayna looked at Dodge suspiciously. He could tell she was waiting for a sign, an indication that everything was okay. But he refused to give it to her. She had betrayed him—by changing, by suddenly flipping the script. Panic had been their game, a plan they had made together, a shared desire for revenge.
He knew, obviously, that nothing could bring his sister back, and that hurting Ray, or even killing him, wouldn’t restore Dayna’s legs. But that was the whole point: Ray and Luke Hanrahan had stolen something Dodge could never get back. So Dodge was going to steal something from them.
Now that Dayna was shifting, turning into someone he didn’t know or recognize—telling him he was immature, criticizing him for playing, spending all her time with Ricky—he felt it even more strongly. It wasn’t fair. It was all their fault.
Someone had to pay.
Outside, he gestured for Bishop to follow him into Meth Row. For once, there were signs of life here. Several people were sitting out on their sagging porches, smoking, drinking beers. One woman had snaked a TV out into the front yard with her. Everyone was hoping to catch a glimpse of the tiger; in just a few days, it had become an obsession.
“I’m out, you know,” Bishop said abruptly. “I won’t get my cut or anything. It was all pointless.” His voice was bitter. Dodge felt almost bad for him. He wondered why Bishop had ever agreed to judge, to go along with it. Or why anyone else agreed to it, for that matter. Maybe all of them—the players, the judges, Diggin, even—had their own secrets. Maybe the money was only part of it, and the stakes were much higher for each of them.
Dodge said, “We’re almost at the end. Why back out now?”
“I don’t have a choice. I broke the rules. I talked.” Bishop took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, then smashed his hat back on. “Besides, I hate it. I always have. Fucking Panic. It drives people crazy. It is crazy. I only did it because . . .” He looked down at his hands. “I wanted to give Heather my cut,” he said quietly. “When she started playing, I had to keep going. To help her. And keep her safe.”
Dodge said nothing. In a screwed-up way, they were both acting out of love. Dodge felt sad that he hadn’t gotten to know Bishop better. There was so much he regretted. Not spending more time with Heather, for example. They could have been real friends.
And Nat, of course. He’d royally screwed things up with her.
He wondered if all of life would be like this: regret piled on regret.
“Did you ever do something bad for a good reason?” Bishop blurted out suddenly.
Dodge almost laughed. Instead he simply answered, “Yes.”
“So what does that make us?” Bishop said. “Good, or bad?”
Dodge shrugged. “Both, I guess,” he said. “Like everybody else.” He felt a sudden pang of guilt. What he was doing—what he wanted to do to Ray—was really bad. Worse than anything he’d ever done.
But there was that old saying: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. That’s all he was doing. Getting even.
After all, he wasn’t the one who had started this.
Bishop turned to him and stopped walking. “I need to know what you’re going to do,” he said.
Bishop looked so lost, standing there with his big arms and legs as if he didn’t know how to work them.
“I’m going to keep playing,” Dodge said quietly. “We’re almost done. But not quite. Not yet.”