Author's note: A big one. Hope you like it! I'll be starting a new post-finale story soon, so keep an eye out!
The closer I get to Jude, the more time feels like it's slowing down. I'm actually twitching with anxiety now, and Brandon seems to notice, because he starts to take my hand in one of his, but I immediately jerk it away. I almost feel bad when I see the look on his face, but I don't know his motive. He's a sixteen-year-old boy, though, so I'm sure it can't be a good one.
The bus is stopping and I practically leap down the stairs, Brandon following behind me. I think I know where I am but it's completely dark now, and I have to make an effort to avoid the streetlights, just in case anyone in the neighborhood recognizes me. They probably wouldn't be too thrilled to have the crazy, property-destroying foster girl back. And if they saw me I'm sure they just couldn't want to call Frank to tell him.
I wonder if his phone is back on the hook now.
I wonder if there's blood on it.
I push that thought away. I think about getting Brandon to try anyway, to call and tell Jude to come outside and meet us, but I don't want to risk Jude getting caught on his way out. Better for me to wait until I can make sure the timing is right. And I don't know what shape he's in. He might not be able to leave the house without help.
I can see the house now. The ugly yellow curtains, the screen door, the brown yard. My breath catches as I try to signal Brandon.
"Wait here," I whisper.
He stays in the shadows as I walk slowly around the side of the house, ducking under the windows. The crickets are chirping loudly, and I'm hoping against hope that the crickets, and the wind, and the dog barking somewhere in the distance will help to cover the noise of my feet on the dry grass. I edge carefully up to the side door that's across the hallway from the kitchen. My whole body sags with relief as I see Jude, propped up on a step-stool, cleaning an enormous pot in the sink. He doesn't look hurt, but I won't know for sure until I see him up close.
Frank is nowhere to be seen. I tap softly on the door.
"Jude!" I whisper it as loudly as I can, my heart pounding. He doesn't turn around; the sound of the water against the pot must be too loud.
I don't have a choice. I go back to Brandon.
"Can you distract him?"
He nods.
I point to the front door and lift two fingers. He nods again. I have two minutes to get to the side door and signal Jude. I creep back to the glass door and start to unlock it when I hear Brandon's knock at the front door. Frank's shadow passes across the glass and I quickly flip my body back against the side of the house.
"Are you deaf?" Frank sneers at Jude.
Jude looks up but doesn't say anything. He just keeps rinsing the dishes.
My blood is boiling but I hold still and stay as silent as I can until I hear Frank opening the front door.
Brandon's asking him for directions to the metro. I want to kick him because Frank is not the type to lend a neighborly hand, but to my surprise it seems to be working, because Frank keeps talking as I slip through the glass door and pad slowly toward the kitchen.
I'm halfway there when Frank catches sight of me, and I freeze.
"HEY! What the hell are you doing?" Frank lumbers toward me and my blood runs cold.
Instinctively I hold my hands out in front of me, pleading for me, defending me.
"I just want to talk to Jude, just for a minute!"
"SHUT UP!" He barks, his finger extending in front of him like he wants to run it through my eye.
The sight of him bearing down on me is too much and I panic.
"Look, I'm sorry about your car, I promise I can pay for it—"
"GET OUT OF HERE!" He grabs me by the shoulders and I can feel waves of pain in the spots under his fingers as he starts to shake me. I can hear Brandon yelling at him, but all I can think about is Jude watching him hurt me, and I lose it.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I yell it as loud as I can. He releases me and I can't believe it worked until he reaches for the drawer in the hall table.
My eyes go wide as Frank pulls out a gun and turns it on Brandon, who stops yelling and takes a few steps back, gesturing with his hands as though he's trying to calm a wild animal.
"Jude, stay in the kitchen!" I say desperately, "Look, I'm sorry, I'm sorry about your car, I promise I can pay for it—"
Frank turns the gun on me and I'm frozen. All I can do is stare at the ground and pray that Jude doesn't see me get shot, that he has his eyes closed, that he stays out of the line of fire; pray that Frank doesn't hurt Brandon, who could die tonight because I've led him here.
I can't leave. I can't. Jude is in this house, and I can't let him stay here. I keep arguing, telling Frank I'm sorry, I'll pay for the car, anything, hoping that I can buy some time for Brandon to run, for Jude to hide.
"I swear to God, sweetheart, if you don't move when I say-!"
I hope he won't make Jude clean my blood off the floor.
The front door crashes open and someone starts yelling.
It's a cop! Frank won't shoot me now will he? Since they're here to arrest me? But then I think I'm seeing things because it's Stef, Stef in her uniform with her gun pulled out, and it's not pointing at me, it's pointing at Frank. She's yelling at him and I lunge for the kitchen and Jude, who's standing in the corner with his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut so tightly he looks like he's trying to block out the world. I pull Jude close, wrapping his head in my arms, desperate to shield his body in case someone starts shooting. But there are no shots, just more yelling, so I pull back a tiny bit.
"Baby are you okay?"
Jude nods, and all I can do is rest my forehead on his as we break down and cry together.