“His car is in the driveway. Could be out for his afternoon run . . . could be taking a nap. So . . . we’ll need to be superquiet just in case, I guess.”

I took his hand, and we started walking. There were still forty-five minutes, before I was supposed to meet up with Sheffield. Provided we got in and out without incident or confrontation, that wouldn’t be a problem.

Connor said, “I feel dumb, asking for your help.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s not that I think he’d hurt me. Although I guess I really have no idea what he is and isn’t capable of, if I never . . .”

I didn’t answer. Connor didn’t need my advice, my wisdom. All he needed was someone to listen.

“I’m just afraid if I see him, I’ll—I don’t know, lose it.”

“I get that,” I said.

I could see the treehouse looming in the backyard. Early twilight; it held nothing but darkness inside.

We slipped into the house silently, and made our way upstairs. Connor went to work, sloppily stuffing shirts and pants into a duffel bag.

I stood in the hallway. Watched Mr. Barrett’s bedroom door. Prayed it wouldn’t open.

And then, it did.

And there he was. Struggling into his fancy clothes, for the Halloween dance. Bleary-eyed, like maybe he hadn’t slept so well, but otherwise the same. Strong, broad, scary shoulders. Muscled arms. He could hurt us, if he wanted to.

“Ash,” he said, and a shiver went through me. And nausea. And rage.

You broke him.

“What’s the matter?” he said. “Why are you standing in the dark?”

The next breath would not come.

“Hey,” he said, and reached out his hand, and touched my forearm—

And he wasn’t trying to hurt me—he had no reason to, he had no idea how much I hated him—and my brain knew that, but my body—

Reacted. Tapped into something (the other side), some skill from somewhere else entirely (the other Ash), and my arms moved fast as lightning, grabbing his wrist with one hand and his elbow with the other and twisting, bending his arm a way it should never go, bringing this big strong man to his knees with a yelp of pain and surprise.

“Hell of a move,” he grunt-laughed.

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” I said. Whispering; praying Connor did not come out of his room.

Now he wince-laughed. “What happened, Ash?”

I didn’t mean to say anything. I knew the smart thing was to get the hell out of there without risking a confrontation. Let the wheels of justice handle Mr. Barrett.