“Can we agree this is a massive waste of time and go now?” Jesus said. “She’s a fucking retard and a spaz. She stabbed Miguel and Lucinda, and she slit Nitro’s throat. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

“You’re not getting out of this so easily, Jesus,” Jack said.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Maybe she killed Miguel, and maybe she stabbed Lucinda, but Nitro’s blood was on your jacket. You had a bloody knife hidden on you.”

“Give it a fucking rest, Jack—”

“You’re telling me this woman sneaked up on Nitro without him any the wiser and slit his throat?”

“Ask her about Miguel’s eyes,” Jesus said. “Do it!”

Elizaveta said, “María, the man you ‘stopped’ yesterday, he’s missing his eyes.” She pointed to her own eyes for emphasis. “Eyes. Do you know what happened to them?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“I took them.”

Elizaveta swallowed. Jesus crowed triumphantly.

“You took them?”

“I took them,” she said. “My dad showed me how.”

“Your dad showed you how?”

“With fish. He showed me how to eat them.”

“Oh my God,” Pita moaned.

“See!” Jesus said. “She killed Miguel and Nitro for their eyes! She just admitted it. Now would you fucking untie me, please?”

“What did she admit?” Jack demanded.

Before Elizaveta could explain, María dropped the half-eaten carrot on the floor and reached into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled her hand out. It was balled into a fist. She uncurled her fingers.

Resting in the center of her palm was a white eyeball, the iris and pupil gazing sightlessly at the ceiling.

3

Elizaveta gagged. Her stomach slid up her throat, and she dry heaved twice before uploading a mess of watery yellow gunk. She rode a hot wave of relief before her stomach revolted a second time and more gunk splashed to the floor.

“Hey,” Jack said, kneeling beside her. He pulled back her hair so she didn’t get sick on it. “You okay?”

She wasn’t sure. She waited, her eyes tearing, her throat stinging.

Several seconds passed. Jack stroked her back. She started feeling better and raised her head, pushing her hair from her face—and saw Jesus sneaking up behind Jack. He held the post-hole digger with his bound hands like a baseball bat.

“Jack—!”

That’s all she got out before Jesus swung the makeshift weapon. Jack turned, tried to duck. The long tube of iron caught him on the side of his head. He dropped to the floor. The pistol clattered out of his hand.

Elizaveta stared at it. She knew she should grab it, but she couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t move.

Then Jesus tossed the post-hole digger away and snatched up the pistol. He stepped backward and started using his teeth to free the belt securing his wrists.