The Departed

bucket. There was the barest idea forming in her mind, but she couldn’t be right. It just wasn’t possible. It was unreal even to consider it. The sound of children’s laughter echoed all around and she swallowed, bile churning in her gut.
    Nobody would do that. What kind of sick fucks would do that— how could they do that?…
    Another stream of thoughts blasted her, mostly incoherent, but so full of terror. Oh, God…somebody, please…
    And in that moment, Dez managed to uproot her frozen feet and she was able to move.
    * * *
     
    “WHAT the…?”
    Mark blinked as he saw the chick eyeing the bucket. She was rubbing a hand over her chest, like she was having trouble breathing, too. His mom did that. She had asthma and he’d see her doing that when she was having more trouble than normal.
    But something about this woman had him thinking she wasn’t needing an inhaler, though. She had a look in her eye, a weird one, one that froze him to the bone. His bowels were about to turn to water, but there was something besides terror.
    Relief. Yeah. It was relief. If somebody knew now , if somebody did something now before Brendan’s damn plan got put into motion…Except she was walking away. She turned on her heel and walked out.
    No —
    He blinked, his eyes blurring. Denial burned inside him and he wanted to scream, wanted to rage. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His hands shook and he needed a drink, needed it so bad. Tipping his head back, he stared at the ceiling. God, I can’t do this, I just can’t…But how do I stop it?…
    Tristan had tried. He’d been so much tougher, so much stronger and braver. And look what they’d done to him. Mark was a fucking pussy. But if he didn’t do something, say something—and soon —he’d have to live with this. If he tried and failed and they killed him, so the fuck what?
    A breath shuddered out of him. He couldn’t live with it. He knew it. So he either needed to do something or just fucking slit his wrists and be done with it now, because he couldn’t be part of this. It was killing him already.
    He took a deep breath and swiped at the tears that had leaked out of his eyes. He needed to do it now. Before he lost his nerve again. Hoping his voice wouldn’t crack, he called out, “Hey, I need to go take a piss, man!”
    Luther, the forty-two-year-old ex-cop who worked with him in the afternoons, said, “You already did, and would you quit talking like that? Your mother would kill me if she heard you—she’ll think I taught you to talk like that.”
    “I’ll be back in a few.” Maybe . If I don’t die of a heart attack… He stood and automatically glanced at the security cameras. That was when he saw the woman again.
    She hadn’t left…
    She was striding down the hallway. Heading back toward the water park area. And she had a heavy duffel bag slung over one shoulder. One that didn’t look like any swim bag he’d ever seen. Her eyes glinted with determination and Mark swallowed.
    What are you doing?
    And for reasons he couldn’t explain, instead of hiding somewhere and making an anonymous call, he found himself heading to the water park. He got there just as she was pushing through the doors. Trailing after her, he watched as she breezed by the lifeguard checking the wristbands—they should have checked her bag, he thought as sweat collected and trickled down his neck. They should have checked—it was the rules.
    But they didn’t and he even knew why.
    She walked around with that I belong here attitude. Luther had told him all about that attitude. If you act like you got a right to be someplace, a lot of people won’t even question it. She acted like she belonged there, like there was nothing unusual about the bag she carried. Like there was nothing unusual about her walking, fully clothed, toward the three-story water fort.
    Mark’s radio buzzed, but he ignored it. Water was all over him now, but he ignored that, too. Nothing mattered now except her. She was near the edge of the first floor of the fort now, letting that bag slide off her hand. Something about the way she caught it made him think it was heavy. Very heavy, despite how easily she carried it. She dumped it on the ground and then turned, looked up at the water bucket.
    His heart leaped into his throat at the look in her eyes.
    Oh, fuck. She knows.
    Then she slanted a look his way.
    * * *
     
    SHE’D known he was following her almost from the second he came inside. She’d felt him, even