“I plead the blood,” he whispers, a wet death rattle ringing in my ears, right before his entire body goes slack.
Tears are searing my cheeks now, but I don’t bother wiping them away. “He tried to kill me that night. He wasn’t afraid for his soul. He was afraid of me. Of what I would become,” I say as I tighten my grip on the knife, holding it to the bull’s throat. But still, the bull doesn’t move. He’s kneeling in front of me. Somehow we’re connected in all this. The two of us. It’s something I feel all the way to the marrow of my bones. “What are you trying to tell me?” I ask, my hands trembling.
“He’s losing it,” Ben says, jarring me back to the present.
“Please,” Ali cries. “We have to help him.”
“No.” Tyler holds them back. “Let him be.”
And that’s when it hits me. This is what Tyler wants. He knew exactly what he was doing by bringing me here. He knew this was the same bull from the breeding barn. He wanted me to lose it in front of the others … in front of Ali. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I don’t know what they saw, what they heard, but the show’s over.
Ripping through the rope with the blade, I free the bull from the tether. I get up and turn my back on him. I know he’s not going to hurt me. We have an understanding. We’ve both seen enough carnage for one lifetime.
I climb over the fence and grab the pile of cash, knocking the horseshoe to the ground. “I’ll be taking this.” I stuff the bills in my pocket.
“But … but you didn’t even ride,” Tyler stammers.
“Whoever lasts the longest in the ring. That was the bet.” I stab his knife into the wood post right next to him, watching his Adam’s apple depress. “I guess my winning streak continues. Oh, and you’re welcome for saving your ass.”
31
IT’S DUSK by the time we head back into town.
Tyler drops everyone off first before taking me back to my car at Midland High.
I know he’s got something to say to me, but I’m not about to give him any help.
We pull into the empty lot. I get out and start to close the door when he says, “That stunt you pulled with the bull, making him bow to you. It doesn’t mean shit. You’re nothing but a dead end to her. We don’t even need you on the council.”
“I think your dad has a different take on all that,” I say, drumming my fingers on the door.
“My dad’s an old fool. Besides, Tate blood’s not hard to come by in this town.”
“What’d you say?”
“You heard me.”
I lean in. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but if you come near Noodle or Jess, I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”
A smirk lights his face. “You still don’t know, do you?”
I reach in to grab him but he jams on the gas, fishtailing out of the lot and onto Main Street.
I get in my truck and check my phone. No calls or texts from Miss Granger. Maybe she got what she needed and she’s busy making plans for the exorcism, or maybe it’s all in her head, some fucked-up fantasy. All I know is I feel like that beat-up pinball game down at the rec center. I keep running around, reacting to everything, and maybe that’s exactly what they want me to do. Maybe I’m playing right into their hands and I don’t even know it.
I take a deep breath, running my hand over the dash. This was my dad’s truck, his dad’s before that. I refuse to let that last memory of him in the breeding barn ruin everything we had. Like Noodle said, you choose what you want to remember and I choose good, but that doesn’t mean I turn a blind eye, either. I have questions that need answering. My dad always told me in times of trouble, the answer was in the land.
I go home to the wheat.
Where I don’t have to think.
I don’t have to dream.
All I have to do is plow.
32
THE MOON is full and red, like a bloated tick. I hear heavy breath, discarded wheat stems being crushed underfoot … and a song. A nursery rhyme from long ago. It lures me deep into the wheat and when I finally see the source of the music, I freeze in place. It feels like my heart might burst with fear, with awe, with reverence. The bull stamps forward, with Noodle on his back. He isn’t bucking and kicking for control; he’s as docile as a pony. Noodle strokes his head as she sings her counting song. She’s barefoot and wearing the white eyelet dress she wore to Dad’s funeral, her hair’s down, but there’s something dark and wet on the side of her head. Noodle leans down to hug the bull’s neck, and that’s when I see the blood spurting from its throat. The bull staggers forward into a kneeling position and when Noodle sits up, I realize it’s not Noodle at all, but Tyler.
“Look,” Tyler says with a grin. “I got him to kneel, too.”
*
I WAKE with a jolt on the moving harvester. I slam on the brake and check the gauges.
I’d like to think I was only asleep for a few minutes, but the tank’s nearly empty. It must’ve been running for hours.