Ned went silent, staring at the dusty floor as he took Cole’s words in. “That was all I could think of back then,” he whispered, and the soft warmth of his voice was like a gentle hand petting Cole’s cheek and tempting him closer.
Cole swallowed through the discomfort left by years of living on lies and stroked Ned’s back. “I should have believed you. I was angry that you did all those things behind my back, but we were together, and I shouldn’t have let you go. If I’d trusted you… we’d both be better off now.”
Ned took a shivery breath. “But you didn’t. So what are you doing here? You left me the letter, and… I thought that was that. Especially after that pathetic fight we had. Came to save me for old times’ sake?”
“Ned, I—” I love you, screamed Cole’s heart, but how could he say something like this when Ned was still hurting from the blows Cole had dealt him? Rejecting Ned had felt like the right decision at the time, but he was now ashamed of the way he’d treated him. “I was wrong. I don’t think any of the things I said, but you confronted me in public and I-I lied. Today, when I saw Nugget, I realized that I needed to find you, but you weren’t there anymore and I lost it,” he said, looking away when his voice broke.
Ned shook his head. “You’re so dumb sometimes. I don’t know how you survived seven years on your own. We tried and failed, Cole. It’s not gonna work between us. There’s too much baggage, you’re too angry, I’m too messed up. Soon enough you’ll change your mind, and it will be far too painful to go through that again.”
He’d hurt Ned so deeply there might be no coming back from it, but living without him no longer felt possible either.
Cole squeezed Ned’s arm. “Perhaps we could be friends then? Like at the very beginning. I’d look out for you, and you for me. And we’d both make sure Tommy grows into a fine man,” he said, even though those words extinguished the glimmer of hope that so far still flickered inside him.
“A better man than either of us, huh?” Ned asked with a sigh. “I did really like that innocent time. You were the first true friend I ever had. The first one I could be myself with. I would have taken a bullet for you even before we kissed.”
Cole stopped breathing as if he’d just been hit by a bullet, but this one had been sent by Ned and would do him no harm. He’d fallen in love so hard. So fast. From the very moment their eyes had met in Beaver Springs, he’d known fate had put them together, and nothing had changed since.
He opened his mouth, ready to speak, but loud voices below made him rise and peek out of the window. In the afternoon sun, Thaddeus Craig hurried along the street flanked by two police officers. He was right there, like an animal who didn’t know the hunter was nearby.
Slowly, he put his hand on the revolver resting at his hip.
Ned crawled to his side and looked out into the street. “That’s Craig,” he whispered, but when Cole cocked his gun, Ned grabbed his wrist. “What are you doing?”
“He won’t stop until he tracks you down. It’s gonna end up like it had with Zeb. You know this,” Cole snapped, but Ned kept holding his hand, and Cole didn’t truly struggle against the grip, so they stayed trapped in this gentle tug of war.
“He’s a good man, Cole. A true man of the law. He spoke to me in jail. Frankly, without malice, even though he was glad to have me caught. He didn’t throw one punch and only wanted justice done in court. Don’t be the man to end him. Do it for me and my conscience?”
Cole’s mouth dried, but when Ned wouldn’t let go, he met the pleading green eyes and exhaled, descending to his knees. He didn’t like this. Leaving Craig alive meant having to forever remain watchful. Any other lawman would just move on once the Wolfman disappeared from sight, but for Craig the matter of whether Ned lived or died was personal, and he would never stop searching for his father’s killer.
Ned knew that better than anyone.
“And you say I’m dumb,” he muttered and uncocked the gun. His neck was stiff, as if already anticipating all the times he’d have to look over the shoulder to make sure Craig wasn’t following them. “You’re a far better man than I, Ned O’Leary. What have you ever seen in me?” he whispered.
Ned watched him, opening his mouth as if he was about to answer, and Cole wasn’t sure what to anticipate. A hurtful I-don’t-know-either, a dismissive your-cock, or maybe even an enigmatic one-day-you’ll-find-out?
He got neither, because he realized that some of the background noise coming through the window wasn’t the daily commotion. There was a rhythm to it, and a melody too, played on drums and trumpets. He jumped to his feet, and sure enough, a procession of colorful wagons was approaching on the street parallel to the one below.
“Fuck. They’re coming. The street’s littered with coppers!”
He tugged on his hair before tearing off the coat with police insignia. “Jan’s here early, and we’re stuck on this side of the Crying House,” he said, fiddling with even the most nonsensical ideas. It wasn’t the time of the year to wear costumes, but in the middle of the day any police officer would recognize them without fail.
If only there was something to alarm the passers-by and draw attention elsewhere...
Cole’s mind, which had been already boiling, now overflowed with heat, and he grabbed all four dolls before tossing the first toward the nearby crossing. He threw one more before a woman’s shriek echoed through the street like a whistle to call in all the lawmen nearby. The final two dolls flew out of Cole’s arms in all their finery, creepy smiles flashing in the sun as the bodies of fabric and porcelain made their final voyage.
“What are you—” Ned uttered, but Cole pulled on his wrist, searching for a passage that would lead them out of the damn attic and closer to their street, which grew ever louder as police whistles tore through the air.
“The dolls! It’s a sign from the girls. Oh God, those poor souls are still here,” someone cried in a shrill tone, and Cole shook his head.
“This will only keep them occupied for so long. We need to go now,” he said, breathless when he spotted the door close to the sloped ceiling on the other side of the attic.
Ned didn’t argue this time, resigned to his fate, and waited as Cole pressed on the carved handle and opened their exit, trying to make as little noise as possible. A dark, narrow staircase greeted them on the other side, descending steeply toward daylight. Cole didn’t waste time on establishing who might live here, with four depictions of murdered girls in their attic, or whether that person was home.
If the owners discovered their presence, Cole would deal with them. For now though, he made sure to keep the heels of his boots lifted and walked down, facing the wall, to minimize the risk of stumbling on the uneven, and short steps.
Wallpaper peeled off the walls in places, but someone kept the floors and furniture tidy, and while each room in the bright corridor was open, Cole didn’t bother looking for clues about the owners and went straight down a flight of stairs that were much broader, and conveniently covered with a bright red carpet.
He was surprised to find doors at the bottom of the steps, but a dense scent was present in the air even before he opened it, freezing at the sudden change of atmosphere. A heavy, velvet curtain hung beyond the passage, and as he pushed it aside, the choking aroma of spice and musk hit his nostrils. But what would have been intoxicating at another time now felt irritating and intrusive, like smoke filling empty spaces in his skull.