“Did she get one?” I asked in surprise. “The Bride.”

Elise nodded. “Don’t you remember? When he says, ‘So I suppose it’s a little late for an apology, huh?’ and she goes, ‘You suppose correctly.’ ”

It was a non-apology apology, but I didn’t push back.

“It’s his way of acknowledging he was wrong. And then there’s that moment he’s telling their daughter what he did to the Bride. He explained to her that after he shot her, he was sad. ‘And that was when I learned, some things, once you do, they can never be undone.’ ” Elise knew almost every line from the movies, and in the last few times we rewatched them, she’d sometimes whisper them perfectly in sync with the actors—every syllable, every intonation.

“We should turn around, go home,” I blurted out. “I have a bad feeling about this. What if he’s awake and he sees you? What if he comes outside, and—”

“He’s the one who should worry,” she said. “He’s the one who should be scared.” The way she said it sent shivers down my spine. Her father should be scared because she would make him fear her—that was what she was saying.

We were finally pulling into a neighborhood. It was a little past two in the morning. Dread buried me as we rolled to a stop. I checked my phone to see a few missed calls from Jack and texts asking me where I was. I didn’t have time to respond, I had to focus on Elise.

“Some things, once you do, they can never be undone,” Elise said softly. Then she looked at me with a sad smile. “Just because I didn’t die that night doesn’t mean a part of me isn’t gone, permanently. He took a piece of my soul, Remy. He stole my whole childhood. I’ll never get it back.”

I thought she was going to cry, the way her voice shook, but she didn’t. There were no tears in her eyes, only anger. It was devastating, hearing that. I wished I could help her. I wished I could give her everything he’d taken from her, but we both knew what she’d lost was gone forever.

“He’s given me so many bad nights, Remy. Too many to count. I want him to have just one bad night,” she said with such pain in her voice that I knew even then her words would haunt me forever.

54.

We parked down the street, where her father couldn’t see us. All the lights were out along the row of houses on both sides. Elise popped the trunk and stepped out of the car to get the fireworks. As soon as I saw the top swing up, blocking the rear windshield, I pulled the gun from her shoulder bag and shoved it into the glove compartment like it was scorching to the touch, my heart pounding as I slammed it shut. I could barely breathe, feeling claustrophobic in the Pink Caddy.