Beneath the Skin

2 THE PERSISTENCE OF LOSS

LAFAYETTE, LA

Eleven years ago

Chloe bounces out of the bedroom she shares with the other girls, wearing the purple Winnie the Pooh shirt he nabbed for her from Walgreens. Grinning, blue eyes bright, she throws her arms around him and hugs him. She smells like strawberries and soap and her red hair smells like baby shampoo.

“It fits, Dante-angel! It’s perfect!”

He laughs and hugs her back. “It looks great on you.”

“Do you want to practice reading?” she asks, releasing him and smoothing her hands down her new Pooh shirt. “I got some books from the library today. One is called The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight. It looks a little spooky.”

“Spookier than Winnie the Pooh’s adventures?” he teases.

“Winnie the Pooh isn’t—oh!” Chloe giggles and smacks him on the shoulder with the plushie orca in her hand.

Dante grins. “Did you learn anything new in math that you could teach me?”

Chloe tucks Orem the Orca under her arm and considers. “Just more multiplication stuff.”

“I like multiplication stuff.”

Chloe’s face screws up into her ick-gross expression. “Yuck.”

“I see that you like it too.”

Hands on her hips, Chloe sticks her tongue out at him.

“Wanna go to the park first? I’ll push you on the swing.”

Just as Chloe opens her mouth to answer, another voice carries in from the front room, the accompanying foot treads punctuating each word. “Boy, you got work tonight, you. Time to get yo’ ass downstairs.”

Those words scour the happiness clean from Chloe’s face. Her blue-eyed gaze seems to age while Dante watches—no longer eight, but a wary forty. She hugs Orem against her chest.

It’s okay, Dante mouths to her. A smile ghosts across her lips. He turns around.

Papa Prejean stands in the hallway in white T-shirt and khakis, his belt loops empty, an amused gleam in his hazel eyes. “Now why ain’t I surprised to find you with Little Ms. Feisty, huh, boy?”

Dante’s gaze tracks down to the belt folded in Papa’s hand. He steps in front of Chloe. “I’m going. Ain’t gonna need that.”

Papa looks down at the belt in his hand. “Oh, this ain’t for you, p’tit.” His gaze slants past Dante. A chill ripples the length of Dante’s spine. “Seems someone didn’t vacuum the parlor like Mama asked.”

“I was gonna,” Chloe says.

“I was talking to her and held her up, so punish me,” Dante says.

Papa laughs, his voice cigarette-smoke rough, then coughs. “How’d I know that too? I ain’t gonna let you do it this time, boy. How’s she ever gonna learn to obey if you always take the belt for her, you?” Papa shakes his head. “Ain’t gonna mark you up before your clients get here, anyhow. Get in the basement, p’tit. After you’re done, I think I’ll give you the belt anyway since you’re so hellfire eager for it.”

“No!” Chloe shouts. “It’s not his fault!”

“Shhh, princess. It’s okay.”

Amusement gleams in Papa’s eyes again. “Aw … ain’t this sweet? Y’all wanting to protect each other from what y’all got coming.”

“Get that p’tite marmaille in here, Papa!” Mama Prejean shouts from the front room. “I want this parlor vacuumed tout de suite. You can beat her lazy ass later.”

“Looks like you get a reprieve, you,” Papa says, nodding his chin at Chloe. “Go do what Mama wants. I’ll deal with you later, me.” His gaze flicks over to Dante. “You too.”

Ice rims Dante’s heart. He has an uneasy feeling that as soon as Papa cuffs him to the bed in the basement, Papa’s gonna march upstairs and beat Chloe. Beat her while he’s cuffed and unable to do anything but listen. That’s gonna be his part of the punishment.

Dante whirls, hooks a hand around Chloe’s biceps, and moves. She squeaks in surprise. Papa shouts and yells as he and Chloe blur down the hallway, into the brightly lit kitchen, blowing past a startled Mama, then out the back door into the night, screen door slamming behind them.

“We’re flying!” Chloe breathes. “You really are an angel!”

“Ain’t no angel. Ain’t flying.” But the houses blur past Dante as he zips down narrow Catherine Street, surprised by his own speed.

“Where we going, Dante-angel?”

“Dunno,” Dante says. The cool night feels good against his face and smells of wet pavement, boiling crawfish, and rain-heavy roses. He swings onto Johnston, then blurs down to Lewis, heart pounding, a wild hunger knotting his belly. He tightens his grip on Chloe’s arm.

“Are we running away?”

“Maybe we are, yeah.” Only wanting to get Chloe out of Papa’s reach, he hasn’t even thought about where they are going.

As cars shush past them on rain-wet streets, headlights starring the night, Dante moves across the street to Girard Park. He slows to a walk, but slides his hand down from Chloe’s arm to her hand and clasps his fingers through hers.

She looks up at him, her long red hair wind-blown and tangled. She smiles, and the sight of it buoys his heart. It rises within him as though on wings.

“Where will we live?” Chloe asks.

“Dunno. Maybe we can find an empty house and move in,” he says, angling a path past the swings and into the evergreens and leafless elms. Leaves crunch underneath their shoes. “But we can’t stay here. Papa’d find us.”

Chloe’s fingers squeeze Dante’s hand hard. She stops walking, forcing Dante to a halt. She looks at him, and her eyes glisten with more than just starlight. “Papa’ll kill you,” she whispers.

Dante pulls her into him, wraps her up tight in a hug. He hears the frantic beat of her heart intertwined with the steady pulse of his own. Smells strawberries and soap and the sharp tang of fear.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, pressing his face into her hair. “He ain’t gonna catch us. I’ll make sure of that. We’ll leave here, go to New Orleans. Go anywhere.”

“Promise?” Chloe’s voice is muffled against his shirt, a tight-throated sob.

Dante drops down to one knee in the wet grass. He gently wipes away Chloe’s tears with his thumbs. “Promise. Just you and me, princess. Forever and ever.”

“Forever and ever,” Chloe repeats, her blue-eyed gaze holding his, her face solemn. “Orem too?” She glances at the orca plushie squashed up against Winnie.

And just like that, she’s eight years old again.

Dante smiles. “Oui, naturellement.”

“Okay.” Chloe hesitates, then says, “But what about Mark and Tami and Perry and Jeanette? Mama and Papa are mean to them too and …”

Dante touches his finger against Chloe’s lips and her words stop. “I’ll think of something, I promise. Once we find us a safe place, I’ll come back and fetch them, one by one, d’accord?”

A smile curves the corners of Chloe’s mouth and her eyes cross in an attempt to focus on the finger against her lips. Laughing, Dante removes it. “Oops. Now you can talk. Sound like a plan, p’tite?”

“Yup, Dante-angel. Sounds like a plan.”

“C’est bon.” He finger-combs the tangles from her tresses, his skin pale as moonlight in the red sea of her hair. “You ready to go?”

“Yup.”

From the sidewalk circling the park, sharp, excited yaps pierce the air as someone walks their dog along the path. Looking over Chloe’s shoulder, Dante sees a chubby woman in a yellow rain bonnet and rubber boots scolding a small white-and-brown-patched dog—maybe a terrier—straining on its leash.

“Behave, Jasper! Bad dog, bad!”

“Let’s go.” Dante stands and holds his hand out for Chloe’s. Her cold fingers wrap around his and he pauses to switch their grips so he can warm her fingers against the heat of his palm. He walks them deeper into the woods and away from the park proper.

Excited yaps, sharp with let’s play! insistence, chase after them, the rapid tapa-tapa-tapa-tap of four small paws hot on the heels of its barked invitation racing through wet grass and withered leaves.

As Dante’s putting distance between them with each quick step, the woman in the yellow rain bonnet yells, “Jasper! No! Bad dog! Come back to Mommy!”

Tugging her hand free of Dante’s, Chloe stops and spins around just as Jasper reaches her. The dog leaps up, yapping, brown eyes glistening with joy, and dances around Chloe and Dante—a twirling, bowing, doggie whirlwind trailing a leash.

“Look!” Chloe says, her voice almost as excited as Jasper’s. “He wants to come with us.” Kneeling in the grass, she giggles as Jasper plants his muddy little paws on her shoulders and licks her face.

Rain Bonnet runs across the grass, huffing with each heavy step, her face flushed. “Please stop him!” she yells breathlessly.

Dante bends and nabs Jasper’s leash. The dog’s whole butt wags along with its stubby tail. He yaps, then sits, tongue lolling between his teeth. “Bon chien,” Dante says, straightening. His gaze lifts to Jasper’s red-faced mommy half running, half walking toward them. “Get behind me, Chloe,” Dante murmurs. “Hold onto my belt.”

Just in case I gotta move.

“ ’Kay.” Chloe rises to her feet and Dante feels a tug at the back of his belt as her fingers slide underneath and wrap around it.

Rain Bonnet stumbles to a stop in front of Dante. She fans her flushed face with her hand. “Jasper,” she pants. “Bad dog.” She smiles at Dante. “Oh, thank you so much, sweetie.”

Jasper leaps up, yapping and dancing around her jeans and rubber-boot-clad legs. Dante extends the leash to her. “Pas de quoi.”

“He’s still a puppy and he hasn’t learned his manners yet,” Rain Bonnet says, accepting the leash and slipping her gloved hand through its looped handle. She shifts her gaze to Chloe. “Hi, cutie. Why you hiding behind your brother?”

“I told her to,” Dante says. He backs up a few steps, Chloe moving with him, her fingers still locked around his belt. “You’re a stranger.”

A wide smile parts Rain Bonnet’s lips, warms her bonnet-shadowed eyes. “Smart boy,” she says, nodding in approval. “I hope you listen to him, cutie. He’s one smart boy.” Her hand dips into her coat pocket. “I want to thank you kids for your help. Who knows where Jasper woulda ended up if you hadn’t been here to stop him?”

“Ain’t necessary,” Dante says. “We gotta go.”

“I’ve got some change here I’m happy to give you.”

“We can use it to buy something to eat,” Chloe whispers.

Dante turns and swings an arm around her shoulders, hugs her close. “You hungry, princess?”

She nods, then she looks past him. Her blue eyes widen. Something whirs through the air and bites into Dante’s throat in several spots—like an angry wasp stinging and stinging and stinging.

Chloe sucks in a breath and she grabs his arm, her fingers digging into him.

Dante slaps a hand against the spot and feels a small, wheeled thing protruding from his throat. He plucks it free. A small ninja-type metal star, its points blood-slicked. It tumbles from his fingers into the night-shadowed grass.

“Run, run, run!” Chloe cries, tugging on Dante’s arm.

Dante tries to run, but his feet refuse to move. Ice water spills inside of him, cascading from his punctured throat, freezing his arms, legs, frosting his heart. His thoughts ice over as well, and he feels like he’s skating and spinning on a glacial lake.

The night whirls around Dante, a streak of pale clouds and glimmering stars and skeletal branches. He no longer feels Chloe’s hand. He tries to shove her away, tries to tell her to run, but his voice and lips don’t work either—numb and far away. He falls, the rain-beaded grass rushing up to meet him.

Rain Bonnet whispers into Dante’s ear as darkness sweeps over him. “No escape for you, sweetie.”