“It was an accident,” she said, so quietly I almost didn’t catch it. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. “Come on, let’s go.”

Elise got back into the Pink Caddy. She took a deep breath, and then we shot out of the neighborhood into the dark, dark night.

56.

“Where’s the gun, Remy?” Elise asked on the drive back. “Where’d you put it?”

“I—”

She’d found out. A million thoughts flooded my mind. Maybe she discovered it was missing when she looked for matches or maybe her bag felt light.

But maybe it was the one thing I didn’t want to consider—that she was looking for the gun itself. But why?

“Where is it?” she said, and it didn’t sound like a request anymore.

Sighing in defeat, I popped open the glove compartment, showing her the revolver. She glanced over, but she didn’t ask me why I took it, didn’t reprimand me.

As she drove, I kept peeking over at her, trying to understand her, but I was beginning to wonder if I ever would.

After we’d put a few miles between us and the city, she said, “People have this idea of a perfect victim.”

“What are you talking about?” Even though we were on the highway, I kept turning to look over my shoulder, half expecting a storm of lights and sirens behind us.

“I’m supposed to take the higher road. I’m supposed to accept my victimhood, that someone did something horrible to me. Let it go, move on, put it behind me,” she said, anger building in her voice. “I’m supposed to let the justice system do its job, which is bullshit. The system isn’t interested in protecting people like me. The system’s going to take one look at a man like my dad and let him off the hook—probation, maybe a fine, maybe a couple months in a county jail. That’s it.” She took a shuddering breath. “They let him out, Remy. They just let him out after what he did to me,” she said, her voice breaking. “They issued a restraining order and just let him out. Like a piece of paper is supposed to protect me from a monster like him.” Tears spilled over, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand.

“What are you saying?” I asked. I want him to have just one bad night, that’s what she’d said, but maybe what she wanted was him to have only one more night.

“I’m saying it’s not fair!” she said. “I’m saying that no matter what I do—even if I play the part of the perfect victim—he’ll never get the justice he deserves. That I’ll never get the justice I deserve. And I just can’t accept the things he did to me and forget them. I can’t, Remy, I can’t.”

We were on the highway now, heading south. Elise’s voice wobbled. She wiped away her tears forcefully, like she was angry she was crying in the first place.