The Arrangement 16

Chapter 3

Bob rushes toward me. He sees it happening before I feel it. Suddenly, my head is light and I know I’m going to topple over. Trystan’s bodyguard catches me in his beefy arms as I sway. I cling to his huge bicep and stammer, “Marty? Did she say Marty did this?” I saw the gun in his hand, at least I thought I did, but I kept thinking I was wrong—I had to be wrong.

With everything that happened, I won’t allow the truth to surface in my mind. I can’t handle it. Marty is one of my best friends and in the seconds proceeding the shooting, it made sense that all those people were killed because of me.

“Miss Stanz, you need to lie down.” Bob tries to steady me, but I swat at him uncertain of what I need or want.

I’m going to fall apart. I can’t handle this. Sean won’t see me, Mari is Trystan’s old flame, and Marty is a homicidal maniac. No! This can’t be right.

“I’m fine.” I stare at my nails feeling betrayal seep into my heart, even though I can’t accept what I’m hearing on the television. Marty is my best friend, how could he do this to me? I start shifting puzzle pieces together. That means he killed Amber and Naked Guy, and all the others. He kept aiming for me, or Sean, and they got in the way.

Mari says soothing words, but I can’t hear her. My heart is thumping in my ear, blaring like a train horn burst after burst. “Avery.” She says my name loudly, and I glance at her. “Come lie down.”

I shake my head and step back. Lifting my hands, I say, “I can’t. I have to go. Sean doesn’t want me here anyway. I heard Logan. Just keep him safe. Promise me.”

Mari looks confused. By the time she figures out that I was here for Sean, not Trystan, I’m gone. Darting through the front doors, I shove my way past the cameras and blaring lights. I answer no one, and don’t stop until I’m in the parking lot and standing in front of Trystan’s Hummer. I yank the door open and climb inside.


The driver recognizes me. Looking in the rearview mirror he asks, “Will Mr. Scott be joining us?”

“No, not tonight. Please drive me to Babylon Station, and then come back here.”

His brow lifts at the odd request. “The train station?”

“Yeah. I can find my way from there.” I don’t want to explain where I’m going. It’s not my home anymore, but my brain doesn’t seem to know that. When my life crashes and burns to ashes, I end up sitting on the curb watching the sun peek over the treetops. It soothes me when nothing else can, when Jones Beach or the cemetery come up short.

The man nods and guides the car into traffic. We take the expressway and then cut over to Deer Park Avenue, following it until we arrive at the train station. When I open the door to slip out, the driver says, “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you somewhere else?” It’s fairly dark, except for the glow of the platform above and the parking lot lights.

“There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather go.” I thank him and shut the door. The driver hesitates and then pulls away, leaving me alone in the dark night.