Which might be why, in the aftermath of the chaos that erupted when Mollie folded space between the barn and Kootenai Emergency Health Center in downtown CdA, the cop on duty at the hospital didn’t believe a single thing she said. It wasn’t the best lying she’d ever done. In fact, it was pretty much the worst. Mollie was exhausted as hell, still recovering from her rage-fugue, and so traumatized by what she’d seen and done in the barn she could barely stand much less spin a tale. But the cop started pelting her with questions even while a parade of stretchers went squeak-squeak-squeaking through the hole in space, trailing hay, manure, and shouted medical jargon.

She vaguely recognized the cop from her early days trying to swipe caramel bars and petty cash from the Walgreens. He touched her gently on the shoulder and pulled her aside to make way for the medics.

“Okay. Can you tell me what happened?”

(On the other side of the portal, the first EMT on the scene gasped even as she rushed to stabilize the injured. “Jesus. What the fuck happened here?”)

Mollie cleared her throat. It hurt like somebody had tried to cut her head off with a shoelace.

She spoke with a rasp. “Well, see, we—”

The cop bent forward, staring at her neck. She caught her own reflection in a windowpane; she had vicious purple wheals around her throat. She’d have to hide them under a scarf until they healed.

“Good God. Who did that to you?”

“What?” she rasped. “No, no, this was an accident—”

The welts from the blows she’d taken to the head were easily hidden under her hair; thank God Dad hadn’t managed to hit her in the face or blacken her eyes.

(“We have two Caucasian males, ages unidentifiable, extreme facial and cranial trauma!” First came the stretchers with Jim and Troy, who had beaten each other’s faces into unrecognizable pulp. Mollie wondered if the EMTs noticed the bloody crowbars, or the teeth scattered across the barn floor like hailstones. Ages unidentifiable. Mollie coughed wetly and tasted warm vomit.)

The cop said, “What kind of accident?”

“Um, we were working on some, uh…” She shook her head, but nothing could clear her muddled thoughts. “See, our dad got some hydraulic equipment at auction a few years ago. From an estate sale, back when Mr. Geitzen died of that heart attack and his wife gave up and sold their land to Monsanto. His second wife, I think. Dad figured—”

The cop gestured at her neck and the barn on the other side of the portal.

Oh, shit, she realized. If he looks he’s going to see the slot machines. She inched back, around the side of the hole in space, so that if he stood near to question her he wouldn’t be able to see through the portal. But what the hell was she going to do about the EMTs? Just hope they were too busy saving lives to notice a pile of stolen casino equipment? Shit, shit, shit.