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  John called 911 and as soon as the operator picked up, he gave her the Zhous’ address. “Do you have that?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, I do,” said the woman on the other end, taking on an annoyed tone. “But what exactly is the nature of your emergency?”

  “Just send someone there right now,” he said. “Right now. Someone’s life is in danger.”

  “Sir, can you tell me your—”

  John hung up the phone and turned to find Susan staring at him.

  Her hair plastered to her face. Her clothes soaked. Just as beautiful as the day he met her. More so, probably.

  He remembered that first time, at the St. Patrick’s Day parade on Forest Avenue. She was the friend of a friend, and luminous. Sparkling as much as the shamrock sticker on her cheek. The second he saw her, all he wanted was to know everything about her.

  She was a slight woman, and yet in that moment, it felt like she was so much taller than him. All that anger he’d felt turned inward, and it felt like the ground dropped out from under him. He couldn’t believe how selfish and blind he’d been. Susan deserved so much better than this.

  So much better than him.

  He crossed to her and took her hands and said, “I don’t know what to say right now. I just…I am so sorry. For everything.”

  “We have some things we need to work on,” she said.

  “We do. And I want to work on them. I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  She was looking at him with a mix of emotion—concern, disappointment. She let him hold her hands, but didn’t seem to want to get any closer. He dipped his head down and pecked her forehead. For a second it seemed like she was going to move away, but then she let him do it.

  “C’mon, let’s go,” he said.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “We have to see this through.”

  Chapter 43

  Paul Zhou

  PAUL THREW HIS shoulder into the door three times before it finally gave way. The momentum sent him tumbling onto the asphalt.

  They were in the middle of the intersection, cars stopped all around them. The front end of Hanlon’s car was smashed, and steam was rising from the hood. The side was collapsed against a telephone pole, which was now pushed to an odd angle. The side of the silver Prius they hit had crumpled, but the driver was pulling himself out of the mangled wreck, and seemed more angry than hurt.

  Paul stood and felt dizzy. He grabbed the door for support and looked into the back seat and saw Daisy was moving. There was a heavy gash across her head, bleeding freely.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes…”

  Paul looked across to the front. Hanlon’s head was thrown back. It looked like he was napping. Daisy reached over and pressed her fingers to his exposed neck.

  “He has a pulse,” she said. “Go.”

  Paul turned and ran. His shoes, still soaked through from his dive into the tank, were heavy. It was only a few blocks and he cleared it quickly, dodging the tangle of cars that had built up around the accident, throwing himself forward and trying not to slip on the slick surfaces.

  He had never run so fast in his life.

  He could hear sirens in the distance. Hopefully headed his way. When he reached the house he ran up the porch and grabbed the doorknob, throwing it open and nearly stumbling into the foyer.

  Pammy was sprawled on the stairs, flowers and water and shattered glass scattered on the floor around her. Her hands were zip-tied behind her back. He knelt down and saw she was wincing and groaning.

  It made him feel terrible to do it, but he vaulted over her and ran up the stairs toward the bathroom. The door was closed and locked. He kicked at the doorknob till the flimsy plywood gave way, and found Kat on her knees, the faucet running, the tub full of water. She was holding something below the surface.

  Something that was thrashing and fighting back.

  He grabbed her and pulled her away. She screamed and fought, but Paul lifted her clean off her feet and threw her into the wall, bringing down shelving that sent towels and knickknacks scattering across the floor. Kat left a dent in the sheetrock and hit the ground with a thud.

  Paul fell to his knees and reached in, pulling out Jian. The boy was dressed in his navy dinosaur pajamas, sobbing and choking on water, his hair flat and plastered to his forehead.

  When he saw Jian was breathing, Paul held the boy to his chest.

  “It’s okay, Jian,” he said. “I’m right here.”

  Paul looked over his shoulder and realized Kat was gone.

  Chapter 44

  Daisy Zhou

  DAISY WAS PRETTY sure her wrist was broken.

  It felt like it was on fire, and when she wiggled her fingers, the pain only got worse. She was still bleeding from the wound on her head, but she didn’t care. Hanlon was alive and she saw an ambulance fighting its way through the crowd, and that was enough for her.

  Some people tried to stop her from leaving—yes, she was bleeding, and yes, she was leaving the scene of an accident—but she didn’t care about that, either.

  She made her way for the house, hoping Paul had been fast enough.

  Hoping she hadn’t just lost her second child.

  As she turned the corner of her block, she nearly ran into someone. She stumbled and stepped back, instinct kicking in, telling her to say she was sorry.

  That is, until she realized it was Kat.

  The woman was drenched, and her eyes were wide and wild. She was breathing heavily. This calm, kind woman now looked completely the part of the deranged killer that she had been hiding from them for so long.

  The two women stared at each other for a few moments, nothing but silence and a massive amount of hatred between them.

  “You’re a mother,” Kat said. “You have to understand. I just couldn’t leave him all alone like that. I just wanted his friends to be with him.”

  Daisy inhaled hard and held her breath.

  So that was it. The reason this woman had killed Daisy’s daughter.

  So her son wouldn’t be lonely.

  For a second, Daisy felt pity for this woman. That the loss of her son had twisted her so badly she was broken in two, her psyche shattered until the most terrible thought possible would seem like a logical choice.

  Then, making sure to use the wrist that wasn’t broken, she made a tight fist, reared back, and punched Kat as hard as she could.

  Chapter 45

  John Kennelly

  THEY HAD BEEN lucky. A cab passed by, headed back to a nearby dispatch garage, and John flagged it down. Even though cabs weren’t supposed to pick up street hails, the guy’s eyes lit up when John whipped out a thick stack of 20s and waved it at him.

  The rest of the ride, he didn’t feel so lucky. The space between him and his wife seemed huge. He put his hand in the empty seat between them, hoping she would take it.

  After a few miles, she did.

  That gave him some hope.

  This was his road to Damascus. The scales had fallen from his eyes, and suddenly the world looked entirely different. He saw what his anger had twisted him into. And not just the anger after John Junior’s death. The anger that had always been a part of him, that he had chosen to bury.

  He had no idea what would come next, but he made himself a promise: He would be a better husband. He wouldn’t follow in the footsteps of Hanlon, who had let his grief twist him so sharply that he would actually put his life and career at risk.

  And for what?

  It wouldn’t have changed anything. Killing Scott—or in this case now, Kat—wouldn’t bring back John Junior.

  Blood didn’t wash out blood.

  The cab turned the corner on the Zhous’ block, and they were met by a cavalcade of police cars and ambulances. A fire truck was pulling up from the other direction.

  “Right here is good,” John said.

  They got out of the car, the rain tapering off, and crossed through the maze of ve
hicles, making it to the house just in time to see a police car pulling away with Kat looking out the rear window, her left eye bruised and nearly swollen shut.

  John caught her good eye for a moment and felt that surge of hatred come back, hard and fast, but he took a deep breath and let it dissipate.

  Kat going to jail would be justice. Maybe not the exact kind of justice he wanted, but at least it would be the right kind of justice.

  Daisy was sitting on the back of an ambulance, Jian next to her, a paramedic looking them over. Paul hovered nearby and turned to face John and Susan as they approached. He smiled and nodded, assuring them that everything was okay.

  John looked around. “Hanlon?”

  “We got in a car accident,” Paul said. “Banged up pretty bad, but they’re taking him to University Hospital now. Should be okay.”

  Then Paul stepped forward and embraced John.

  John was a little taken aback, but he hugged back. He felt terrible for the way he’d treated Paul. After all, Paul had been right all along.

  “I should have listened,” John said.

  “Let’s not worry about that right now,” Paul said. “We’ve got some other problems to address.”

  John looked up and saw a familiar pair of figures across the street.

  “Yes, we do,” John said.

  Amato and Scott were standing together on the sidewalk, watching them, their faces flat and unreadable. After a few moments Scott exchanged some heated words with Amato and then walked toward them.

  This was it.

  John looked around at the police officers milling about. Even if he tried to run, there was no place to go. He wondered if there was any way to keep Susan out of it, to make sure he got the blame for their part in it.

  He deserved the blame. He had to save her. She deserved that.

  More than that, actually. She deserved the world and everything else he had promised her on the day they got married. But right now, he figured he could manage at least this.

  John turned and looked at Paul, who wore a look of concerned panic John figured was pretty similar to his own. They nodded to each other, understanding that there was only one thing left to do: protect the shattered remains of their families.

  Chapter 46

  Thomas Scott

  IT WAS A little incredible, how persuasive Amato could be. He employed his way with words to convince an older gentleman heading to the grocery store to give them a lift in the direction of the Zhous.

  Before getting in the car, Amato turned to Thomas and said, “Keep quiet.”

  Thomas nodded and followed the order as Amato spun a tale about how they were driving and the car broke down and thank you so much for picking them up and they just had to get home because their mother was sick and they called a cab and it never showed up…

  Thomas just looked out the window and stared at the island flashing by.

  It didn’t seem like such a scary place anymore.

  A lot of people like to knock Staten Island. But for Thomas, it was perfect: Not too busy, not too quiet. Just right.

  And even when he was a stranger, he felt like he belonged. He hated the thought of losing that, of his life changing so drastically that it would suddenly become unrecognizable. Now he was innocent. For sure innocent.

  He could stay, and without a cloud of suspicion hanging over his head. He could go into stores without being treated like scum.

  The relief he felt at that—he didn’t even know how to describe it. It was the best thing he’d ever felt.

  As they got close to the Zhous’ house, the car moved slower and slower. After two blocks they saw flashing lights and emergency vehicles. A police car drove past them, and Thomas thought he saw Billy’s mom’s face flash in the window before the car turned the corner. Amato had the driver duck down a side street to avoid the mess.

  The rain tapered off and Thomas smiled. The air had never tasted so sweet.

  “So, I guess we’ll just talk to the cops who are already there,” Amato said. “I don’t even know where to start with all of this.”

  Thomas didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. He knew he should be angry. Those people had tried to kill him. All he ever tried to do was be nice to those children, to give them a nice and clean place to play. And his reward was being hunted like an animal, nearly driven from the place he’d called home his entire life.

  And yet, he was so happy to be alive, so happy this was over, he couldn’t be upset.

  Instead he thought about what that must be like—to lose a child. Thomas didn’t have children, but he saw the bond that existed between parents and children. The way a mother’s face would brighten when she picked up her baby from day care. The pride a father would take in learning his son had stood up or taken a step.

  It’s a hurt he would never know, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was probably worse than whatever he’d been through.

  It made him think about his own parents, and how much he missed them after they were gone. The hole it had left in the center of him, but even then, it fit within a natural order to things.

  People died every day. Parents and loved ones and friends and strangers.

  But parents shouldn’t have to bury their children.

  They reached the Zhous’ house and saw the parents assembled around an ambulance.

  “Time to get started,” Amato said. “I’m going to look for the officer in charge. Do you need me to get you a paramedic?”

  “No cops,” Thomas said.

  Amato put his hand on his shoulder and arched his eyebrow. “What? They tried to kill you. They tried to kill me.”

  “Can you blame them?”

  Amato’s eyes went wide. “Yes, I can blame them!”

  “I’m not splitting up a family,” he said. “I don’t want to press charges.”

  “Now wait a minute—”

  “And you shouldn’t, either. We can live with this. Look at what they have to live with.”

  Thomas held up his hand, gesturing across the street, at John Junior’s mom and dad. At Mei’s mom and dad. Jian was there now, holding tight to his mother, hiding his face, sobbing.

  Thomas watched as John Junior’s dad and Mei’s dad hugged. Two men who could barely stand each other a short while ago, come together now.

  And yet, despite the resolution they had reached, they all still looked so sad.

  Everything that had happened here—it seemed to make them realize some things they needed to realize. And that was a good thing. But it would never take away the hurt and emptiness.

  Amato shook his head and started to say something, but John Junior’s dad had noticed them. Thomas didn’t wait to hear what Amato had to say. He crossed the street, cutting between police officers and neighbors, until he reached the parents.

  They looked up at him, their eyes filled with terror and regret.

  John and Paul stopped a few feet away from Thomas.

  “I know what we did was wrong,” John Junior’s dad said, putting his hands up. “I can never…I just…I don’t know what to say. But please, our wives—”

  “Please say it was just us,” Mei’s dad said. “I’m begging you. We’re begging you. It has to be us.”

  “We should pay the price,” John Junior’s dad said, tears forming in his eyes and rolling down his face. “They shouldn’t. We don’t deserve your mercy. We really don’t. But we have to ask for it.”

  Thomas’s throat grew thick, his breath catching in his chest.

  He looked at the two desperate men, and past them, at their wives, their faces drenched in terror. Realizing that this was the moment when everything would change.

  These men were so broken, he wasn’t even afraid of them anymore.

  Thomas raised his hand and John Junior’s dad winced, but Thomas just held his hand out, palm and fingers straight. After a moment John Junior’s dad reached out and took his hand, shaking it cautiously, completely unsure of what was happeni
ng.

  “I am so sorry about what happened to your children,” Thomas said. “I can’t imagine what that must be like.”

  John Junior’s dad’s face spread into a wide smile and he fell into Thomas, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close. The man was shaking, and Thomas couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying, but he held tight, and then Mei’s dad joined them, throwing his arms around them and saying “Thank you, thank you,” over and over.

  The three of them stood there, in the middle of the street, their fractured existence slowly knitting back together, destined to remain heavily scarred but at least with the possibility of healing on the horizon.

  And as they stood there, his face buried in John Junior’s dad’s shoulder, Thomas could feel the warmth of the sun on his back.

  About the Authors

  James Patterson has written more bestsellers and created more enduring fictional characters than any other novelist writing today. He lives in Florida with his family.

  Rob Hart is the author of The New Yorker, nominated for an Anthony Award for Best First Novel, among others. He is the publisher at MysteriousPress.com and class director at LitReactor.

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