Chapter 24 May

24

MAY

The man hadn’t recognized her. May repeated this to herself, her boots frozen to the ground, as she tried to will herself to follow Faith into the basement of the Ozark Flats. He hadn’t remembered.

She could bolt, save herself; she could run and try to find help, but that would mean leaving Faith alone with the man who’d strangled May on her way home from Gussie’s house, and besides, besides —she pressed her hands to her eyes, her breaths coming so heavily they rocked her back and forth—he hadn’t seemed to recognize her. The night of Gussie’s party, she’d been dressed like a woman of much higher social standing. He must have assumed this girl before him in a drab woolen cloak and stout boots couldn’t possibly be the same person.

She inhaled, the air so cold it seemed to pierce her sinuses, and took a timid step forward. Knees wobbling, she gripped the metal railing and stepped down, down, into the basement.

The man lived in an apartment at the end of a dark hallway, past a hissing black boiler and a maze of dripping pipes. She could hear him whimpering, and Faith speaking in soothing tones—astonishingly, Faith had found the ability to speak at full volume and clearly—before she reached the soft lamplight of his little room. May hovered at the doorway, taking it all in: the slab floor; his unmade, rumpled bed, the sheets stained; a stack of yellowed newspapers that served as a nightstand; a plate heaped with poultry bones, discarded in the corner. The only saving grace was that the room radiated with heat from the nearby boiler. Still, May had never felt a stronger urge to leave a place than she did right now.

“Oh, good,” Faith said, her voice flush with relief. “You’re here.” She cleared her throat and gestured to the man, who’d sat down on the edge of his bed, one arm propped between his brow and his knee. “This is Mr. Blixt.”

May nodded rapidly, making her eyes wide, hoping Faith understood, but Faith appeared distracted, pacing the room in anxious little steps, cataloguing her surroundings, like a detective. Finally, she stopped and rested her hand—May had to wince—on Blixt’s shoulder.

Faith knelt before him. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?” she asked gently.

The question escaped May’s lips before she could think twice about it. “Did you strangle her?” Her voice sounded hoarse.

Both the man and Faith looked up sharply at May, and, finally, May saw a glint of recognition in Faith’s eyes: this was the walrus-like man May had described. She gave May a nearly imperceptible nod.

“No,” the man spat, his expression savage, his eyes still rimmed with red. “I done her quick, so she wouldn’t suffer. She didn’t even make a sound. That’s how he said to do it, make it quick and then bring the gig home.”

“But he made you do it, didn’t he?” Faith said, kneeling before the murderer. May wasn’t sure whether to feel admiration or disgust at her ability to speak gently to this person, to appear sympathetic. “It was all Hayward’s idea.”

Blixt gave a wet sniff and nodded, looking at his bloodstained hands. “It was like he could get his voice inside my head, messing me up. He’d see me looking at her, and he’d say, ‘She deserves to be six feet under.’ And I started thinking it, too. I’d see her and I’d think, That girl should be put in the ground. Someone ought to put her there. ”

There was a little chair beside the door, a wooden chair that looked to have been made for a child. May sank down into it.

“He took advantage of you,” Faith said. “He’s asked you to do so many terrible, terrible things.” Her gaze shifted slightly to the left, in May’s direction. A sickening thought came to May as she realized what Faith was implying: that Hal had told this man to come after her. It had been Hal’s fingers, on her neck, even if Blixt had been the one to carry out the deed.

“That must weigh heavily on you,” Faith said, and even though her gaze still fell on Blixt, May couldn’t be sure whom she was talking to.

The man looked up toward heaven, turning his ruddy cheeks to the light. “It does, oh, it does. I put her in the lake, but she was afloat. They’ll find her, and, oh, they’ll hang me for it. Claus Blixt’s gonna swing.”

Faith shook her head. “They won’t if you tell them how he mesmerized you. How he got into your mind. How he…” She paused, and her eyes took another lap around the room. They seemed to land on the makeshift table, the stack of newspapers, where an oval-shaped frame held something May hadn’t noticed before, something that seemed improbable: a daguerreotype from a wedding. She could make out a pale triangle, the bride’s gown, beside the looming sepia shape of the groom.

“…how he threatened to kill your wife if you didn’t do it,” Faith finished.

Blixt perked up and began nodding. “He did, didn’t he? He told me he’d kill Frances if I didn’t do this broad.”

May watched, amazed, as a little smile appeared on Faith’s face. How could she have known Hal had threatened the man’s wife? Or had she planted the idea in this simple man’s head, to turn him against Hayward, when the police inevitably came? May found herself beginning to relax, warmed by the close air inside the apartment and the extraordinary power her bunkmate seemed to possess. This was beginning to feel like David versus Goliath, with Faith in the role of the giant.

Faith shook her head. “He bought insurance on Miss Ging, did you know that? He’s about to collect a lot of money, and were you to see a dime?”

“A little of the money’s mine, yes,” the man grunted, wiping his wet mustache on his sleeve. “And he said I could keep the revolver.”

“Oh, Claus, no,” Faith said. “You need to get rid of it. That’s part of his plan to pin the whole mess on you, don’t you see? You need to get rid of the gun and those bloody clothes. Here, why don’t you give the weapon to me? I’ll make sure it sees the bottom of a lake.”

At the phrase “bottom of a lake,” Blixt winced, but he got up and went to the bedpost where he’d hung his jacket. He reached into one of the pockets and pulled out May’s revolver. The engraved metal gleamed in the lamplight.

May’s breath caught in her throat on seeing it. The end was blackened with gunpowder. Faith stared at it, too, as Blixt made to hand it to her, then hesitated.

“It’s a lady’s gun,” he said, some contempt in his voice. He brought it to his sleeve and wiped it off, his movements clumsy. At any moment, it seemed the thing could accidentally fire. May fought the urge to run into the hallway. They had to wrest the gun from him, somehow. Then they’d get home as quickly as they could.

“You’ll be all right now,” Faith cooed. She stood, getting just a bit closer to the man. Her belly protruded, just a bit, through the gap in her cloak, yet she didn’t seem afraid. “Get rid of those clothes and there’s nothing tying you to the crime. Why, I’ll bet you have a big sink somewhere down here. But you already thought of that, of course.”

Blixt was still holding on to the revolver. “I was going to do that after I met him.”

“Met him?” said Faith.

“When he gets home, I’m meant to meet him upstairs.” The custodian’s beady eyes narrowed at the brass clock beside his bed. “After the opera. Shouldn’t be long now.”

They watched Blixt polish the gun, his movements jerky and harsh, as though he meant to strip off a layer of metal. Faith’s eyes met May’s over the weapon. She looked as if she was holding in a scream. Slowly, she held out a smooth, white hand and offered it to him gingerly, palm up, the way one might approach a skittish dog. “You don’t need to do that,” she said, her voice soft and breathy. “I can get rid of it for you.”

Blixt stopped wiping the gun, but he hesitated before putting it in Faith’s hand. “It’s a lady’s weapon,” he said again. “ Hayward said he was going to pin the whole thing on some girl who was jealous. Not on me.”

Blood thudded behind May’s ears, so intense it was almost painful.

“But that’ll never work,” Faith replied quickly. “Hand it to me. Easy, now. Before he comes home.”

Nobody moved for a long moment. The brass clock ticked. Blixt peered at the two women as they held their breath. Finally, he handed the pistol to Faith, stretching out his grubby fingers, knuckles caked in blood and dirt. When she took the gun, her body visibly slackened, and May felt the air rush from her own lungs.

Without thinking, it seemed, Faith turned and offered it to May, a reluctant sort of smile on her face. May accepted the revolver, feeling sheepish, wanting to fling herself at Faith’s feet and explain: she’d let herself believe Hal wielded such an influence over her, just as he appeared to control this awful man.

“There you go,” Faith said, and May whispered, “Thank you.”

When she stood to go, anxious to put miles between herself and this place, she realized Claus Blixt was now staring at her. The vacant, weepy expression had left his face, replaced with a suspicious glare. It was as if he’d completely forgotten she was here at all, and now he’d decided she shouldn’t be.

“What’d you say your name was?” he asked.

A feverish terror ran its course through May’s body, making it difficult for her to think of anything more than the last time she’d encountered this man, the way his fingers had gripped the back of her neck as he’d pressed her down to the pavement. He recognized her now, but he was still trying to place her. Another few minutes in this room and he’d figure it out.

He was waiting for her answer. Faith had gone quiet. “Why?” May asked.

“I said, What’s your name? ” Blixt put a sharp edge on the last three words. He lumbered forward, seeming suddenly larger, taller, menacing.

Faith took a step toward the door and pinched May’s elbow lightly, urging her to follow. “Claus, remember. If anyone questions you, tell them everything about the way Hayward threatened you, how he mesmerized you. Tell them how he threatened your wife.”

He didn’t answer. He followed them out of his little apartment, said nothing when they bade him goodbye. May hurried down the dark corridor, willing herself not to look back at him. All she could hear were Faith’s ragged breaths as they climbed the iron stairs. At the door, she couldn’t help glancing downward. Blixt stood motionless at the bottom of the staircase, peering up at them with narrowed eyes, his thick hands balled into fists.

Outside, the air nipped at their faces as they walked as quickly as they could toward the sidewalk. It was well past nightfall, but the sky, draped in a thick blanket of snow clouds, glowed an eerie yellow, reflecting the city’s electric lights. May could see the streetcar stop right up ahead of them, the sign half coated in snow. She’d completely lost track of the hour, of how long it had been since they left the Bethany Home or how long they’d been inside Blixt’s apartment. She prayed that the streetcar was still running. They had to get away from here, to put as much distance between the Ozark Flats and themselves as was possible, and never return.

She tensed as she heard footsteps behind them, relaxed when she realized it was the clopping of horse’s hooves rather than a man’s boots. The horse made a grunt of protest as someone pulled back on the reins, so close to May that she could almost feel the beast’s hot breath on her shoulder. She heard shoes hit the pavement, and then a voice, so clear and confident that it was impossible to mistake who’d just stepped down from the carriage behind them:

“Why, May! What a good little girl you are. You’ve done just as I asked.”

It was as if Hal’s voice had tentacles, reaching out to grip her forehead, her throat, her arm, urging her to turn and face him. Faith took her hand and yanked her forward, giving her the strength to resist, but then she stumbled, as though he’d grabbed her by the ankle. She let go of Faith, and in the second it took May to regain her footing, Hal caught up with her and whirled her around.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he sneered, his white-gloved fingers holding tight to her upper arm. They were a study in opposites, Hal and Claus Blixt: Hal’s skin glowed with good health, his eyes were clear, his shoulders broad. May felt a sinking in her stomach. No one would ever believe he, between the two of them, was the real monster.

Another man stood behind him, slightly older, with wiry sideburns but the same piercing eyes. May recognized Hal’s brother, Adry Hayward. He frowned in her direction. Both men wore white ties, elegant coats, and heavy cologne. They had just come from the opera, of course; if May had accepted Hal’s invitation, she’d have been with them.

“Adry,” Hal snapped at his brother, who moved to grab Faith. May could do little to stop him; now Adry had Faith in his clutches.

May looked around, panicked, but the street was deserted, the theater marquees had darkened, the neighborhood was hushed under its blanket of snow. In the distance, she could hear something coming, the muffled ring of a bell. The streetcar approached.

“What do we do with them?” Adry asked Hal. Faith thrashed in his grip like an animal caught in a snare, her boots skidding in the snow.

Hal held May close enough for his mustache to brush her cheek, her arm pinned to his chest, wrist bent backward. He grinned. “We’ll take them inside. Give ’em a dressing down.”

The streetcar’s bell rang again, closer this time. May felt the LeMat weighing down her pocket. She stopped struggling and went limp. “It’s not me you want,” she said into Hal’s collar. “I brought her here, just as you asked. Now let me go.”

She felt him hesitate for a moment, his body tensed in surprise. Then, amazingly, he dropped her arm.

“You’re more vicious than I give you credit for, Miss Lombard,” he said.

Faith seemed to have lost the ability to speak, but a wounded sound escaped from her throat. Her eyes, panicked, seemed to plead as May took a step backward, then another, and another. Too far away for Hal to grab her easily. She hoped Faith could read her expression. She hoped Faith knew that, of all the people she’d met since she left Chicago, Faith was the only one who’d treated her like a true friend.

She hoped Faith knew she was not cruel, but weak.

Hal moved toward Faith, making as if to grab her, but at the same time May pulled the gun from her pocket. Adry shouted, and Hal turned.

“Where the hell did you get that?” he said, his lip curled in a sneer.

May pointed the barrel at him. The handle felt cold in her shaking hands. She prayed it still held some rounds. “Don’t move.”

The streetcar was coming closer. She could see its light building, as it prepared to round the curve. With her thumb, she pulled back on the hammer and cocked the revolver. Hal gave a wince that was more of a sneer.

“I said, where did you get that?”

She licked her cracked lips, thinking quickly. “It was on the ground outside your building. You must’ve dropped it there.” She narrowed her eyes. “Clumsy.”

Hal cursed, his breath visible in the cold. She hoped that he was cursing Claus Blixt, that he wouldn’t figure out they’d been to see the man. Hal held his hands up in mock surrender, but he took half a step toward her. She stepped backward, darting the revolver between Adry and him.

“Drop her,” she told Adry.

“May,” Hal said, softly, “we both know you aren’t going to shoot anyone. I haven’t shown you how to use it yet.” He chuckled. “It probably isn’t even loaded.”

Behind him, she could see Faith’s lips moving. Something like flames danced in Faith’s dark-blue eyes. She was saying something, an incantation, over and over again, her gaze trained on May. Fire. Fire. Fire .

May pointed the gun above Adry’s head and fired.

The noise took her by surprise, the unexpected kickback of such a small gun nearly enough to knock her off her feet. Even Hal ducked, hands flung over his head; behind him, the other man had dropped Faith to cower on the ground.

“This is your mess,” Adry spat at Hal. “I’m not ready to die for you, brother.”

The two men began shouting at each other. Only Faith appeared unmoved, serene. When May had recovered, she saw that Faith might even be smiling at her.

The streetcar had rounded the corner, its bell clanging frantically; the driver must have heard the boom. The wheels were beginning to screech as it approached the stop.

“Run!” May shouted to Faith, who obeyed. She managed to slip past Hal’s blundering attempt to grab her and began racing the streetcar to its stop as May held him off, the gun, its metal now hot in her hands, still pointed at his chest. She began taking steps backward, trying to catch up with Faith, but she felt like weeping. Hal would catch her. She knew he would. It would be impossible to fend him off and board the streetcar at the same time. She hoped that Faith, at least, would make it home safely.

“I’m going to tell them you did it,” Hal said, coming closer to her. He stepped into a pool of lamplight, his face turning to a frightful mask of light and shadow.

“Did what?” May asked, still walking backward, hoping not to crash into anything.

“Killed another girl, because you were jealous. I left that gun outside on purpose, May, so you’d pick it up and take it home. They’ll come looking for it. They’ll come looking for you.”

She laughed, a harsh, wet sound from deep inside her throat. His lies were so obvious now; how could she ever have considered him clever? Behind her, she could hear that the streetcar had stopped, but it hadn’t started moving again. Not yet.

There was one thing she could do, she realized, that would ensure he’d leave her be, that might allow her an escape. She could kill him. She could prove to herself, for good, that she was stronger than her desire for this man’s approval. She could make her father proud.

She laughed again. “Nobody knows who I am. Not even you. They won’t come after me. You can’t send them. You don’t even know my real name.”

For the first time, she saw a flicker of doubt pass over Hal’s face.

Another shaky step backward. Her arms were beginning to ache. “What was it you said about the man you killed—that he was ‘someone no one would miss’? Well, who would miss me? I could disappear tomorrow, and nobody would come looking for me. I’m no one.” She lifted the revolver a little bit higher, praying desperately that it still had a bullet in the chamber. “I’m no one,” she said louder, to hide the fact that she now had a lump in her throat. Her lips curved into a hint of a smile. “Who am I without Harry T. Hayward?”

She fired just as he lunged for her. She had the weapon trained straight at his head, realizing too late that she should have aimed lower, for a bigger target. Her shot exploded into the darkness, causing Adry to duck once more and Hal to spring forward like a fox snapping at a rabbit.

May yelped and leaped backward, her legs nimble. Her boots planted solidly on the ice. Not today, she thought. Hal’s fingertips grazed her skirts, missing her by a centimeter and giving her a crucial second to turn and run for the trolley. The driver, having heard another gunshot, rang the bell—a frightened, bleating sound—and began to pull away from the station.

“No!” May cried through heaving breaths. “Wait!”

Faith stood in one of the open berths behind the driver, holding on to the pole with one arm, the other outstretched for May. Slipping in the snow, May scrambled behind the moving streetcar, her hand a few feet away from Faith’s, then more. The streetcar was gaining speed, taking its light with it. Soon May would be left in the dark with these two men. And with Claus Blixt. Perhaps it was what she deserved.

She watched Faith’s expression become more rattled as she glanced behind May, who couldn’t resist the urge to look back. Hal had gone sprawling in the snow, the front of his coat and tie ruined, but he was getting up.

Run, May, Faith’s voice urged her. She could hear Faith’s voice, echoing inside her skull, as clear as day. Run and you’ll make it .

Even though she could hear Hal grunting, gaining on her, she made one last push, sprinting as she never had in her life, and somehow her boots found traction, she caught up to the streetcar just as it prepared to hit full speed, and she grabbed hold of Faith’s slim hand. With surprising strength, Faith yanked her into the trolley.

They collapsed onto one of the wooden benches. “You saved me,” May said, breathless, but now that the danger had passed, Faith’s expression was inscrutable.

The driver turned around to face them, concern wrinkling his brow. “Were those gunshots I heard? I don’t want any trouble.”

May shook her head. Her hand slid to her pocket, patting the gun. Through the fabric of her skirt and her glove, she could still feel its heat.

“Those men were harassing us” was all she said. When she turned to peer out the back window of the streetcar, she saw that Hal had given up his chase. She and Faith stared at him, a motionless, menacing figure silhouetted against the snow, watching their car vanish into the night.

—

No one was awake when they crept into the foyer, not even the matron, but the front doors had been left unlocked. May made sure to bolt them before she and Faith went upstairs.

Faith hesitated for a moment at the threshold of their old room. Her bed, of course, had been stripped.

“It’s all right,” May whispered. She didn’t even feel like changing out of her clothes. She took Faith by the hand and led her to her own narrow bed. “We can share.”

They lay spine to spine, which felt comforting to May, protective. She wasn’t sure how long Faith lay there with eyes open, as she did, her breaths shallow, her heart quickening at every sound. Slowly, their frigid skin warmed, their pulses quieted.

“I’m sorry,” May whispered. She didn’t expect a response.

So much lay unspoken between them, but they were too raw, after all that had just happened. May would explain, she would apologize in the morning for not telling Faith that Hayward lived in the Ozark Flats. She would explain who she was: someone who’d never had the luxury of true friendship, though now that she’d found it in Faith, she’d pledge never to let it go.

May tried closing her eyes, but when she did, she could still see Kitty turning the pages of her ledger, Kitty inspecting a dress hem, amused and sure of herself, still in her salad days. What a waste, and for what? A bit of money? May couldn’t help wishing that it would turn out to be untrue, that they’d learn in the morning that Kitty Ging’s heart still beat.

At last, May’s eyelids grew too heavy to stay open. Sleep tugged at her exhausted body, though she realized Faith’s breathing remained shallow. Faith seemed to be listening, alert, biding her time, until May dozed off.

She reached for Faith’s hand, held tight to it. Faith squeezed back, once.

May struggled against sleep, until it finally got the better of her. As she drifted off, she knew that when she woke in the morning she’d be alone again—Faith gone for good.