Yet another opined, “He went out with you all the time, you gotta shower.”

Voice from a bunk across the room: “You get to sleep in the other place.”

“You get to shower whenever you want.”

“ ’Cause you dirty.”

Val grunted and fought to free herself from my grasp. She was sweating and the moisture flew off her face and hit mine.

“She freakin’ out.”

“Like she always does.”

Trish said, “He takes you out all the time!”

Valerie let loose a string of obscenities.

Wascomb shrank back.

Trish said, “She gets up at night and walks around like a . . . like a . . . vampire thing. That’s how she saw Cherish.”

“She wakes us up. It’s good she’s in the other place.”

“Tell ’em, Monica. You sleep in the other place now, too.”

The sole white girl, pug-faced and strawberry blond, stared at her knees.

“Monica goes out.”

“Monica gots to shower.”

“Bitch!” screamed Valerie. She’d stopped struggling but shook her fist at one group of girls, then the others. Her eyes were hard, dry, determined. “Shut up!”

“Admit it, Monica! You gots to shower!”

“He take you out, too, Monicaaaa!”

Monica hung her head.

“Admit it, Monicaa!”

Individual comments coalesced to a chant. “Admit it! Admit it! Admit it! Admit it!”

Monica began crying.

“Fuck youuu!” screamed Valerie.

Wascomb said, “That kind of language really isn’t— ”

“You the fucker,” said Trish. “You and Monica fuck him every night and then you shower.”

“Valerie fucks! Monica fucks! Valerie fucks! Monica fucks!”

Wascomb braced himself against the wall. His skin had turned chalky. His mouth moved, but whatever he was saying was swallowed by the noise.

Val lunged and nearly broke free.

Milo came over and the two of us steered her out of the cube.

The chanting continued, then faded. Behind us, Crandall Wascomb’s voice, thin and tremulous, filtered out into the morning air. “. . . some prayer. How about Psalms? Does anyone have any favorites?”

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 42

I led Valerie to a lawn chair outside. The same chair Cherish Daney had occupied the first time we’d been here. Solemn and weepy, reading a book about coping with loss.

Her grief had seemed genuine. Now I wondered what she was really crying about.

“I want to take a shower.”

“Soon, Valerie.”

“I want hot water.” She bounced her knees together, tickled one. Looked up at the sky. Scrunched her mouth. Glanced back at the block building, now silent. “It’s my fuckin’ water, I want it. The bitches can’t use it up.”

“I’m sorry they did that, Valerie.”

“Bitches.” She lifted a twist of hair from her shoulder, ran it across her mouth, licked.

I said, “You know more than anyone. Do you have any idea where Drew and Cherish went?”

“I told you.”

“You said Drew left before and that Cherish was mad.”

“Yeah.”

“But where’d they go, Valerie? It’s important.”

“Why?”