Juliet Immortal

no good choices, no mercy or pity. Not for me, not for her, not for anyone.
    Somewhere deep inside me, the spark of hope dies, howling like a child left alone in the dark.

NINETEEN
    T he afternoon fades to evening and the storm grows teeth and snarls outside the door, dimming the gray light in the barn. Ben and I climb into the hayloft, make a bed of straw and the dry sides of our jackets, and lie down. And then we hold each other, whispering in the benevolent darkness.
    He tells me about his childhood, about all the things he’s painted and wants to paint, about the weird odd jobs he’s worked to raise money for art supplies. He tells me about his brother and sister-in-law and his niece, who does dinosaur impressions that make everyone laugh. He tells me about his mother, how she loved him and his brother so fiercely, how he cared for her the way a parent cares for a child before shedied, how there was never time to study and he fell behind in school.
    He tells me how angry he was with his brother for staying away when she was at her worst, and, after his mother died, how his anger kept him living in a cramped apartment with cousins he knew were dangerous, despite his brother’s insistence that he and Marianne wanted Ben to live with them.
    I am more vague, telling him things I wish for, things I believe in, simple joys and everyday doubts and fears.
    And finally, as the night turns colder and the darkness complete, I hug him close and whisper the question I’ve been turning over in my head for hours. “How far would you go? To save someone? To save yourself?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Would you … take things into your own hands? If you knew it was the only way to save the person you love?”
    He stiffens, the muscles beneath my cheek tightening. “Listen, I know … I probably looked scary today, but I swear it won’t happen again. I just went crazy when I saw Dylan with his fist in your hair. I lost it, but I don’t normally—”
    “No, Ben, that’s not—”
    “The counseling group the court made me go to is over in a couple of weeks, and I don’t want to stay in a group with Gemma,” he says. “But I’m going to keep seeing another counselor. My brother thinks I should. At first I thought it was a stupid idea, but he’s right. I’m still angry. At a lot of people. And I’ve got to get that under control so I don’t do what I did today unless I really, really have to.”
    “I know. I’m not worried about you.” I find his hand in the dark and squeeze. “I’m worried about … I’m worried Dylan won’t stop until he hurts someone.”
    “He’ll stop,” Ben says, with the assurance of someone who doesn’t understand the relentlessness of true evil. “We’ll tell my brother what happened and you can get a restraining order. I’ll get one too. We’ll make sure Dylan can’t walk within fifty feet of either of us.”
    “I don’t think a restraining order will be enough. He needs to … go away. Forever.”
    “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he asks, voice careful.
    “He’s not going to stop until someone is hurt,” I say. “Maybe even dead. Trust me, the world will be a safer place without Dylan Stroud.”
    “Is that why you have a paint knife in your pocket?”
    “How did you—”
    “Is it?”
    I hesitate. “Maybe.”
    “Mermaid. You are …”
    “Crazy?”
    “The
persona más temerosa—
the fiercest person I’ve ever met.” His hand grips mine tighter. “I get what you’re saying, and why you’re afraid, but I promise you he’s not worth it. Even thinking about something like that … It won’t make the world better. It’ll only make you worse. Believe me.”
    I shiver but don’t pull my cheek from his chest. There’s something in his voice, something that reminds me of the way he promised he was good at keeping secrets. “How do you know?”
    It’s his turn to hesitate. “I’ve never told anyone.”
    “I’m not anyone.”
    “No, you’re not,” he whispers, the love in his voice tearing me apart and putting me back together at the same time.
    “So tell me.”
    “I … My brother …” He hugs me and sighs. “Remember I told you about that cigarette burn I got when I was a kid?”
    “Yes.”
    “My stepdad, Ray, did that. One afternoon my mom was working late and I was running through the house. I crashed into the table near his chair. The ashtray was overflowing and when it fell it made a big mess. Ray got