And the door slams shut.

Thea

When I tell Frankie about Carson and Sasha loosening the bolts on Anders’s wheel, she starts to cry. Her face is outlined by the faint evening light that slips down through the open cellar door. One tear glitters as it falls.

“Oh my God,” she says, wiping the tears onto the back of her hand. “You have to let them know I’m okay. Please. Someone will get hurt. Can’t you—can’t you just let them know I’m okay? They don’t have to know where I am. Just—please.”

I stare back at her. Frankie hasn’t had a shower in four days. Her dark hair is matted, and her face is streaked with salt and dirt. She’s still beautiful.

“No,” I say. “No one can know.”

Frankie lets out a sob. When I first brought her here, she didn’t cry. But now she’s getting exhausted. She still tries to hold the sob back, so the sound comes out crushed and thin. “Could you just . . . could you tell my mom . . .”

“I know you don’t understand,” I tell her calmly when her voice chokes off. I’m so tired of having this conversation. But I’ll do it again. “I’m keeping you safe.”

Frankie makes a sound that might be a snort. Derisive, or dubious. She doesn’t want to anger me. She’s probably tired of having this conversation, too.

She turns her face away, wiping her nose on the back of one tied hand. In a lower voice, she says, “This is all about Anders. Isn’t it?”

I don’t answer.

“Do you . . .” She’s trying to find the right words. The words that won’t make me mad. The ones that will lead to a magic way out. “Are you in love with him?”

I move the words around inside myself. They’re a handful of keys that don’t fit anywhere. Are you in love with him? Are you in love with him? Without trying, I can picture him onstage, raised above everyone else, his hair catching the light, his strong, quick hands moving over the guitar.

He’s beautiful, and awful.

“I’m protecting him,” I tell her.

And I am. Aunt Mae saw the white Nissan skidding out of control, Anders inside, smashed against the steering wheel. Just like she saw the fire at the Crow’s Nest. Just in time.

I could have fixed the loosened wheel myself, when I went to Anders’s house to find out what had been done to the car. But I put the note in Patrick’s locker instead. I saw the chance to bring Last Things back together, even for a few minutes.

“You’re protecting him? Like you’re protecting me?” Frankie’s voice is almost bitter now. “Thea. I want to believe you. But it’s hard to believe that you’re just trying to protect me when you kidnapped me, and tied me up, and left me alone down here in the dark for God knows how long.”

She stops herself. She thinks she shouldn’t insult me. Shouldn’t call me crazy. She knows crazy people always think they’re sane.