Adrenaline and anger surged through Georgia’s veins, pumping her up so much she felt like a balloon about to explode. She walked up to Connie and pushed her hard against the wall.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Georgia screamed. She was breathing hard herself. “Do you know what I’ve been through? What Mac’s been through?”
Connie didn’t answer. She was bigger and stronger; she could have pushed back. But when she straightened up, her dark eyes were tentative and fearful.
“Goddamn it, answer me.” Georgia pushed her again. “You’re Robin Hood, aren’t you?” she choked out. “You killed those doctors. You set a bomb on the pipeline. Why would you do this, Con? Why?”
Connie gulped some air. Her breathing slowed. She nodded at the wire still attached to Georgia’s wrist. “The radio won’t work down here, you know,” she said in a flat voice. “Your sweat’s shorted it out. And you’re too far from the receiver.”
Georgia stared at her friend in disbelief. “You think I’m asking for them?” she said, gesturing above her head to some mythical police command post.
Connie didn’t answer. Georgia reached inside her sweat-soaked blouse, yanked out the wires and threw them on the ground. “This is you and me. Right here. Right now.” She pulled out the black stone still dangling from a silver chain around her neck. “What was this you gave me—huh? Bullshit, Con? Another bullshit game? You lied to me at every turn. You didn’t tell me about you and Mac. Or your brother. Or your father. Jesus Christ, you didn’t even tell me you got a goddamn tattoo. You were everything I wanted to be, Con. Why did you throw it all away?”
“I was everything you wanted to be, huh?” Connie tossed off a small, bitter laugh. “What? A foster kid? The daughter of a broken man who died before he turned fifty, forgotten by his own department?”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Georgia. She shut her eyes tight for a moment to collect her thoughts. “You brutally murdered those two doctors, Con. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Do you know what those doctors called my father?” Connie asked. “A liar. He couldn’t stand up, couldn’t stop the trembling in his hands enough to feed himself, and they said he was faking. He was strong as a bear before that warehouse fire in Greenpoint,” she said, her voice brittle with emotion. “That’s what everyone called him: Bear. Those doctors deserved to die.”
On the tracks outside, a train rumbled by. The sound exploded out of nowhere, shaking the room—and then it was gone. A headache throbbed behind Georgia’s eyes. She tried to wipe her face, but her hands were black with grime.
“Do you know who started the fire that killed my dad?” asked Georgia. “A six-year-old. In the basement of a store, playing with matches. Kid ran out when it started—never had a scratch on him. And my father burned to death. I still miss him every day. But I don’t go around blaming the city or the kid or his family for what happened. I’m not blowing up pipelines over it.”
“You got to mourn your father’s death,” said Connie. “They gave him a department funeral. They gave your mother a good pension. You go to a firehouse, there’s a plaque on the wall in his name. Do you know what happened to me? Do you?” Connie shouted, her voice echoing in the high reaches of jagged rock and cement overhead.
“Yes,” said Georgia softly. “Your brother told me.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Con. Truly, I am. But you hurt a lot of innocent people. Goddamnit, Connie, you hurt me.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“And you wanted to, didn’t you?” said Georgia.
Connie’s eyes glowed with undeniable satisfaction.
“I couldn’t take the life I was leading anymore. I wanted an end to the pain. All of it,” she said.
“Even if it hurt others.”
Silence. Georgia could read it in her friend’s face: especially if it hurt others.
“My brother chose drugs as his escape,” said Connie. “I tried to erase my life. Start over. God knows, I tried. But Carl was right in the end. One way or another, it catches up with you.”
“You could’ve talked to me about it.”
“You looked up to me—you think I wanted to destroy that? That was one of the only good things I had. And then you started seeing Mac, and even what he and I had started to feel like a sham. You had what I lost.”
“So you decided to destroy his life,” said Georgia, an edge of disbelief in her voice.
“I needed a way to disappear after the pipeline payoff anyway. So I swiped a couple of blood-donor bags and syringes from an EMT. I figured if I doped Mac up on GHB and poured my blood around, you’d forget about having his baby.”
Georgia’s shocked expression made Connie pause. She swallowed hard. Tears crested the rims of her dark brown eyes. Georgia couldn’t ever recall seeing her cry.
“I just couldn’t take the pain anymore,” Connie choked out. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes. “Not from my father’s death. Not from you and Mac.” She clenched her fists as she searched for words to convey the depths of her torment. “You were always wishing you could be me,” she said softly. “Dear God, baby girl, you never knew how much I wished I could be you.”
The damp, cool air made Georgia’s sweat congeal on her skin. She took a step forward and stared at her friend’s face. She saw the butterscotch skin and full lips as she had always remembered them, marred only by a blinding sheath of blond hair. She saw Connie’s failures. But she also saw her own envy and longings reflected back at her. The shame on Georgia’s face was not just for Connie but for herself as well.
“You’ve got every right to hate me, Georgia. I can’t explain the things I did. The worst part about them is…” she held back the catch in her throat “…I really do care for you.”
“Connie, listen to me,” Georgia begged. “Killing innocent people isn’t going to take away your pain. You understand that, don’t you?” Georgia felt as if she were talking to someone who’d just woken up from a deep sleep. Connie seemed dazed and unfocused. Even now, all she could do was nod, distracted.
“Con—please,” said Georgia in a firm voice. “Please tell me where the bomb is.”