The eyes were blank, unseeing.
Channing worked at the knots that held Liz down, but her struggles had tightened them, and it took a long time. When she finished, Liz was with her, if only just. Her lips moved.
“What?” Channing leaned closer.
“Tie him.”
Channing didn’t know if the preacher was alive or dead, but it sounded like a good idea. She tied him as tightly as she could.
“What do I do now?” Channing touched Elizabeth’s face. “Liz, please. I don’t know what to do.”
*
Elizabeth was crushed in the bottom of a deep hole. She thought maybe the hole was a grave. It had hard edges, the right shape, the darkness. The walls were ragged and black, the opening so small above she could barely see it. Her father was somewhere close, but she couldn’t think about hurt that big or betrayal so vast. Shadows and black wind and sharp-edged stone. It was the place she couldn’t go: her father and childhood and his face as he’d tried to kill her. She wanted to collapse the hole, instead, to pull down earth and rock and all the things that made her feel. Maybe she wanted to die. That didn’t feel like her, but what else did? The blood in her vision? The utter despair?
The hole darkened and deepened.
Her father was above it. Beyond him was a question.
Elizabeth drew a breath that burned all the way down. Something troubled her about the question. Not the question. The answer. People called the police when they were in danger. That was the problem. They called the police.
Why was that wrong?
She had the answer, but it slipped away in the dark. She found it again and felt it stick. Channing needed to understand the danger. She wouldn’t see it coming.
“Channing…”
She felt her lips move, but knew the girl hadn’t heard. Her face was in the world above, a slash of color, a kite.
“No police…” It was the smallest sound.
The girl leaned closer. “Did you say no police?”
Elizabeth tried to move her head, but could not. “Beckett…” She was in the grave, and hurting.
“Call Beckett.”
*
When Elizabeth woke, the light was dim but she sensed Beckett in the church. It was his size, the way he loomed. “Charlie?”
“It’s good to have you back. I was worried.”
“There was a grave.…”
“No. No grave.”
“My father…”
“Shhh. He’s alive. He’s not going anywhere.”
Beckett moved to where she could see him. Same face and suit. Same worried eyes.
“Channing told you?”
“Let’s talk about you, first.” He put hands on her shoulders to keep her down. “Just breathe for a minute. You’re hurting. You’re in shock. I feel your heart running like a train.”
She felt it, too, the thunder and noise. “I’m going to be sick.”
“You’ll be fine. Just breathe.”
“No, I’m not.” Panic was a fist in her chest. “Jesus. God. I’m not.” She felt slippery and cold. Her hands were shaking.
“He can’t hurt you, Liz. He can’t hurt anybody.”
She risked a glance and saw him on the floor. He was tied and handcuffed, still unconscious, still her father. She lost it then, the rush of bile and the hard, hot vomit. She rolled left, and it spilled out of her like belief and warmth and life. She curled into a frozen ball, and Beckett was still touching her: his hands, the press of his cheek. His voice was there, too, but like the sound of surf. She thought of Channing and Gideon; wanted to move, but absolutely could not. The grave was all around her; she was choking.
“Breathe…” Beckett’s voice was an ocean beyond the horizon. “Please, Liz. I need you to breathe.”
But, the pressure in her chest crushed everything. The world built and pushed her down, and when it dragged her back, Beckett was still there.
He lifted her so she could sit. “Liz, look at me.”
She blinked, and the rough edges filled in. She saw his face, his hands.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Can you stand?”
“Give me a minute.”
Elizabeth touched her throat, felt swollen flesh and ridges from her father’s fingers. She squinted around the church, saw the kids and her father and no one else. “Where is everybody?” She meant cops, paramedics. “There should be people here.”
“You’re still wanted on charges. Did you forget that?”
She nodded, but everything was fuzzy. She was dressed again, which must have been Channing’s doing, or Charlie’s. “Give me some space. Okay?”
“You sure?”
She raised a hand, and he backed off. Whatever happened next, she needed to do it on her own, to know she could. She swung her legs over the edge, coughing hard enough to choke all over again.
“Liz!”
Elizabeth pushed out with the same hand, keeping him back. She touched her chest and focused on taking careful, shallow breaths. He moved closer. “Don’t. Just … don’t touch me.”