“Pain.”
“What do you mean, pain?” Ash asked. But it soon made sense to her. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, she realized that in a twisted way Snare had done her a favor. By removing her hand, Snare had eliminated the pain that would otherwise hassle her while she rounded up the five prospective Traders.
But the loss of her hand didn’t exactly comfort her. The hand was gone, with nothing to show for it. She’d rather have her hand—unbearable throbbing included—than nothing at all.
“Can I have it back?” she asked. “I don’t care what shape it’s in.”
When the creek didn’t respond, Ash wondered if Snare needed her busted hand for some legitimate reason, maybe as a blueprint for the finished product. Demon, ghost, whatever—there was no telling how powerful Snare was, but chances were she couldn’t easily create an extra hand. If Snare’s creative process was anything like Ash’s songwriting, it could take time.
That led to her final question.
“My hand… Will it be ready soon?”
For the longest time, the creek trickled silently.
19
Karl buckled himself into his truck and watched Ashlee climb one-handed into the passenger’s seat. It mortified him, seeing her like this. Busted dreams were bad enough. Now, unless Snare honored her end of the deal, Ashlee would never be able to tie her bootlaces, let alone play her music.
“We’ll make this happen,” he said, patting her knee. “We will.”
They headed home. Trent, Lauren, and Jake were out food shopping, so Karl and Ashlee had the place to themselves. He suggested lunch. She showed no interest in eating until he pulled some cold pizza from the fridge. She ate slowly, hiding her half-empty cast beneath the table. After a few bites, she paused, staring into space.
“It’s really gone,” she whispered, on the verge of tears. He wanted to hug her, to hold her, but was afraid she’d scream if he so much as brushed her cheek. “My hand… I can’t feel anything. No pain, no sensation, nothing.”
“It’ll be okay. We’ll collect those parts.”
“Where do we start?” Her chair squeaked as she pulled herself closer to the table. “You know anybody?”
Being a town cop with two ears, Karl knew plenty about the locals. He grabbed a napkin and jotted down names. Then he pulled his Trader list from his wallet. He put checkmarks next to people with family members who might need parts. When he finished, he slid both lists across the table.
“Hopefully we can talk your brother into the leg,” he said, watching her skim the names. “For kidneys, you can try the priest at St. Raphael’s. That should be easy. The lower jaw might be tough, though. Can’t think of anybody who needs one.”
“We could always drive up to Scranton and start a bar fight.”
“God, no. Last thing we need is total strangers involved.”
“What about the ribcage and skin?”
“Ribcage, I got a guy in mind.”
“Skin oughta be easy,” she said, patting her tattooed neck. “Tats are technically scars, so that’s damaged skin. Some of my older ones are kinda embarrassing anyway.”
“They all are if you ask me.”
“Here we go.” She rolled her eyes. “Unless you got somebody in mind, I’ll trade for a fresh canvas.”
He frowned. He had some scars of his own. “Know what? Hold off on that.”
“Wow. Who are you? Years ago you wanted to erase my tats with sandpaper.”
“Much as I’d like them gone, hold off.”
“Why, know somebody with skin cancer? Melanoma?”
“Something like that,” he said.
Once they finalized their list, they decided to shoot across town and visit Candace. The sight of her house made Ash nostalgic for the summer when Candace had first placed a guitar in her hands. She’d spent months on the porch swing, rocking back and forth, while Candace taught her everything from scales to power chords. Music became a lifelong love. Now she marched up the sidewalk and noticed a new swing on the porch, a nicer one with a striped canopy. It put a crimp in her nostalgia trip. Her empty wrist ached.
Before they could ring the bell, the front door opened. Candace’s son Mick greeted them, along with the nose-clogging stench of his Axe body spray. A tired smile formed inside his corn-colored beard.
“Morning, Mick,” Dad said, shaking his hand. “Say, where’s your mother?”
“Yo, Ma!” Mick shouted. “Ash and Karl are here.”
They stepped into the high-ceilinged foyer.
Candace thumped along the second-floor hallway and leaned over the banister. “What now?”
“Nothing much,” Ash said, voice hollow. As she looked up, the blinding glint from a chandelier forced her to squint. “We’re wondering if you know anybody with a busted jaw.”
“Not this again.”
“Well, do you?”
“Get out. We’re done talking about Snare. I don’t trust that thing.”
“Ma?” Mick scrunched his nose. “What’s going on?”
“Mickey, this doesn’t concern you. It’s Trader stuff.”
“Actually, it does concern you,” Ash said, turning to Mick. “Your mom can finally leave town and watch your games in person.”
“Enough!” Candace spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s not happening.”
“Candace, hear us out,” Dad said.
“I’m not putting my Traders at risk.” She looked at Ash. “Sorry, but you’ll have to rehab your hand.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can.”
“No. Really. I can’t.” Ash removed her cast. She tucked it beneath her armpit so she could pull the sleeve back.
When the empty stump poked into view, Candace gasped as though Ash had pulled a gun on her. “What the hell happened?”
“Snare and I made a deal.”
“At the creek? Impossible. The cameras are on.”
“I turned them off.” Dad stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with Ash. He looked up at Candace. “Wanted to help Ashlee.”
“Goddammit, Karl!” Candace slapped the banister. The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged foyer. “I trusted you with that passcode. Now I have to change it. And you, Ash—I warned you. But instead of listening you went up there and got robbed.”
“I wasn’t robbed,” Ash said, trying to convince both herself and Candace. “Snare took my hand so I wouldn’t be in pain. Once we trade—”
“The trades stop here,” Candace said, her tone final. “If you think anyone’s trading after that creek swallowed your hand, think again.” She looked at Dad. “And Karl, don’t ever go behind my back again. Remember what we did to the last person who betrayed me? That’ll be you, but twice as bad.”
“Whoa, whoa.” He held up his hands as if shielding himself. “Can’t we talk this over?”
“We just did,” Candace said. “Now both of you, scram.”
Instead, Ash marched across the foyer, toward the staircase behind Candace’s polished grand piano. She climbed the carpeted steps two at a time, growing lightheaded as she neared the top.