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Evie’s legs shook so badly, she almost couldn’t walk. She pointed her tied hands toward the ground and hugged her arms tightly to her body. Danny’s fingers gripped her shoulder while they mounted the front steps of the old house, to steady her or keep her from running. Probably both.
She should’ve shot him. She should’ve shot Danny when she had the chance. Why didn’t I? she accused herself, bottom lip trembling.
She couldn’t see past the big, black man walking in front of her. She didn’t understand why he was there, but he scared her. It wasn’t that he was black. Old Mr. Llewelyn was black, and Evie wished he lived in their spare room so she could listen to his stories all the time. This man scared her because he reminded Evie of her grandmother tending her flower garden with her spr
