Page 97 of I Will Find You

Skunk isn’t going to tell me anything. I should have known that. My best chance at learning the truth?

Beating it out of him.

Before Skunk’s blow has fully landed, I start to swing my right arm around, using the big muscles near the shoulder, shifting my weight down and to the left, I am able to both neutralize his punch and gain momentum for my counter. I tuck my thumb in the palm and lead with the inner edge of my hand.

The strike lands hard against the side of Skunk’s skull.

I feel a vibration in my hand, something akin to a tuning fork for the hand bones, but there is no time to worry about that. I know that Skunk is ferocious and vicious in a thousand different ways. If I let up, he will kill me. That is true in every fight. Fights should never be something casual. That’s something most people don’t get. Every fight you see—drunks at a bar, idiots at a football game—there is the potential for ending up maimed or dead.

Skunk staggers from the shot to the side of his head. I stick out my foot and spin hard. My instep connects with his lower leg. It doesn’t knock Skunk down, but it keeps him off balance. He tries to stumble back, hoping to put some distance between him and me.

I don’t let him.

I step in and then I jump tackle him. He hits the ground hard, me on top of him.

I flip him onto his back and mount his chest. I make two fists and get ready to start throwing lefts and rights at his face. Soften him up, I figure, before I ask him about Hilde Winslow.

But when I cock my right fist, the doors burst open.

I hear someone shout, “Freeze! Police!”

I turn to see a cop pointing a gun at me. My stomach plummets. Then another cop enters the garage. He is pointing a gun at me too. Then another.

I am debating what to do when a small voice in my head reminds me that I’ve turned my attention away from Skunk.

Doesn’t matter.

Something hard—gun butt, tire iron, I don’t know—whacks me in the side of the head.

My eyes roll back. Someone—one of the cops, I think—delivers a body blow. I slide off Skunk. Another cop jumps on top of me. I try to raise my hands, try to fight back, but I have nothing left.

I’m on my stomach now. Someone pulls my arms back. I hear more than feel the handcuffs.

Another blow lands on the side of my head. Blackness swims in. I take one last gasp.

And then there is nothing.

***

Rachel had texted David that she had an errand to run.

She didn’t tell him where or why.

She took the train because David had her car and this phone didn’t have a ride-share app. She checked the time. Again. David had been gone almost an hour. There had been no word. She feared the worst—you always fear the worst in situations like this, she thought, as though situations like this were commonplace in her life—but she also knew that she had to compartmentalize and move forward. If this Skunk guy had done something to David, there was nothing she could do about it. If the police had found and arrested David, well, same thing.

Move forward.

When Rachel arrived at Toro, she thought about something frivolous: Her hair. The styling she’d gotten in New York City this morning had been intentionally designed to disguise her. It had been a long time since she’d seen him in person.

Would he recognize her?

That question was quickly answered. As soon as she entered the restaurant, he rose from his table and gave her the warmest smile. She returned it and for the briefest of moments, she fell through some kind of time portal and forgot why she was really here. Suddenly, this seemed like a reunion of sorts, a deep-dive one, nothing superficial when you bond in tragedy. She wondered how they’d let their friendship drift apart. That was life though, wasn’t it? You graduate from college, you move away, you take other jobs, you meet new people, partners, create families, divorce, whatever. Sure, you stay in touch, check social media, exchange the occasional text, promise you’ll get together, and meanwhile the years fly by and now here you are, in need of a favor, and suddenly you’re back together.

They both hesitated for a moment, not sure how to greet the other, but then she hugged him, and he hugged her right back. The years melted away. When you’ve been through a lot together—when your bond is formed in tragedies like theirs—you never really let go.

“It’s so good to see you, Rachel,” he said.

She held on to him another moment. “You too, Hayden.”

---