“We’ve got the photo albums at home,” Tommasulo said. “Wouldn’t you like to see pictures of your wedding?”
Myra didn’t answer. There was a rumble in the sky, and a light rain began to fall. Before I left, I took a last look. The girl had ventured closer to the lip of the porch. I could see the blue of her shirt and her hand clutching that shard of glass, but everything else was still in the shadows. I felt strangely disappointed not to see her face again. Why? She was just some careless infected girl. I didn’t know her. Had barely even seen her.
There was another crack of thunder. I started back down the driveway, heading for the street.
“We can’t wait,” Tommasulo continued behind me. “This thing you have, this virus—it doesn’t just take your memory.”
I stopped where I was. Raindrops pattered on my shoulders.
“That’s right,” Dale said. “Pretty soon it goes to the next stage and makes you sicker. You could die!”
“But it’s okay. We have the cure at home. It’ll be like this never happened. You just have to come with us.”
“That’s right,” Dale agreed, an oily laugh dribbling out between the words. “Just come on out and we’ll take you home and give you exactly what you need.”
I turned and looked through the truck’s windshield. Dale was approaching the edge of the porch, reaching into his back pocket as he did. There was a glint of steel as a pair of handcuffs emerged.
Time jumped forward. I was in the driveway, and then I was in the yard running flat out. Dale turned, his eyes going wide as I drew my knife. But then there was a crash and the world cut to black. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground near the shed and Tommasulo was on top of me, scrambling for my throat. I thrashed underneath him, managing to get my knife hand free. I swung blindly and Tommasulo leaped back, one hand pressed into his thigh.
I got to my feet. The rain was heavier now, soaking my clothes, weighing me down. I saw a blur off to my left, and then a fist plowed into my ribs. The knife shot out of my hand and I stumbled, barely catching myself before I fell into the pile of debris. Dale growled and came at me again. I scooped up a two-by-four and swung, connecting with his shoulder. He groaned in pain and I charged again, aiming for his head this time. There was a crack, but I didn’t let up. I swung again, harder, feeling like I was tearing the muscles in my arms, but not caring. There was another crack, and then the sound of a body falling into the mud.
Movement to my right. Tommasulo was coming at me again. I pivoted toward him, but a wave of exhaustion made me slow. Before I could swing, he buried his fist in my stomach, once and then again. It was like getting hit with a baseball bat. The air shot out of me. I dropped the plank and slumped to the ground. The rain had become an angry squall. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t move. Tommasulo loomed over me.
I looked behind him but the space beneath the porch was empty. The girl was gone.
Tommasulo darted forward and ripped off my mask. He threw it into the mud and smiled, exposing crooked yellow teeth.
“You know,” he said, “one of my great disappointments is that I never had a son. I think maybe it’s time to change that.”
“Mr. Tommasulo, wait! I—”
He reached for me, but I kicked at the mud, pushing myself away until my spine slammed into the fence. He’d maneuvered me into a corner; there was nowhere else to go. Tommasulo leaned down. I clapped my hand over my mouth and nose and shut my eyes, willing myself away from that muddy yard, away from Black River.
A street in Brooklyn. A summer night. I’m seven and you’re ten and Mom is walking us back from a school concert. Out of nowhere, she bounds into the light of a nearby pawnshop. She lifts her arms over her head and does a single perfect pirouette, then stretches out into an impossibly long arabesque, her dark, slender arms reaching out in front of her, one leg reaching back. The universe’s spin slows and comes to a halt. I hear your breath hitch, then stop. Your mouth is hanging open. Mine is too.
I opened my eyes. Mr. Tommasulo was gone.
The girl with the green hair had taken his place. All I could make out through the curtain of rain was her silhouette and the two-by-four in her hand. Mr. Tommasulo was on the ground at her feet, his eyes closed. His skin was as pale as cotton.
The girl whipped around, thrusting the club in front of her. Dale stood there cringing. His face was a mess of bruises. He nodded toward his friend and she stepped away, careful to keep the two-by-four between them. Dale shook Tommasulo until his eyes opened, and then he hooked his hands under Tommasulo’s armpits and hauled him up. Together, the two of them lurched out of the yard and down the driveway. Seconds later they were gone.
I looked at the girl and she looked at me. Something glinted in the hollow of her throat. A silver key hung from a leather cord around her neck.
“Who are you?” I asked.
She dropped the board and ran.
6