a purposeful past | s.s

Chapter Fourteen

"Wese leavin' tonight."

Race blinked at her. "Huh?"

Lane nodded to herself, pacing around the room. "Wese leavin' tonight."

Race continued to blink at her.

She huffed and stopped, facing him. "I thought Frisks was gonna let ya out once I got here, but she hasn't, 'n I overheard her sayin' dat tha only way she ev-ah would was if I somehow lost all hope. So, course, me bein' yers truly, I put on a show. Made her think I had given up. Shown her dat I was hers ta do whatev-ah she pleased."

"She really bought dat?"

Lane scratched her head. "Hopefully, else we'll really be food fa tha dogs."

A grin slowly made its way into Race's face, and he chuckled, impressed. "So wese really leavin' tonight, huh?"

The door to the basement suddenly clanged open, and there stood Laces who'd very clearly hadn't taken very much time to do her hair. "Screw tonight, wese leavin' now!"

Both Lane and Race gaped openly at the girl. "Laces?"

She rolled her eyes and adjusted her jacket over her shoulders. "Try ta keep up, guys. Frisks is onto ya."

Lane had a whole list of things she would've loved to say, but she was only able to stammer out, "Why?"

Laces sighed. "'Cause 'a what ya said back when Frisks brought ya he-ah. It's all jus one big lie aft-ah anudda. And I know dis ain't what Brock woulda wanted fa me."

"So ya believe me? Ya know I didn't kill him?"

Laces put her hands on her hips, looking as though she were trying to figure something out, before going out behind the heavy door, dragging over a bag of things that clashed and clanged as they were tugged across the floor. Lane let out an 'oomph' as two heavy jackets were placed into her arms. "I guess. Ya don't exactly seem like tha killin' type, anyway. So, sorry fa everythin'. I jus wanted ta bring him justice."

"I hope ya know 'bout Frisks' role in all 'a dis," Lane said.

Laces paused briefly, before adding a newsie cap onto the pile in her arms. "She nev-ah said much ta me. I guess I shoulda known from tha start."

"Yeah," Lane muttered. "So why do we need all dis stuff?"

Laces shot her a look filled with exasperation. "Yer not gettin' out wit tha way ya look now. Wit dat red hair 'a yers, you'll stick out like a sore thumb. Plus, no one'll think it's you if you've got jackets on. Where would ya have gotten dem on yer own? Face it, ya probably wouldn'a been able ta pull dis off without me."

Lane scoffed. When Laces pulled out two blades from the bag, she shook her head. "I've actually got some 'a those already." She let the pile of clothes fall to the floor and tugged off one of her shoes, letting the two knives that'd been jammed at both sides of her foot crash onto the hard cement ground.

Laces stared down at them after they'd ceased to rattle around. "Ya had those dis whole time?"

"Ise resourceful," she mused. "All it took was tellin' 'em dat I had a real nasty cut dat dey didn't wanna see. So dey checked me ov-ah quick, 'n me 'n me two knives got it without a scratch."

The brunette glanced over in disbelief at Race who was laughing.

"So I take it yer comin' wit us," Lane commented pointedly, noticing the way she seemed to be fully prepared for the cold outdoors.

Laces gave her a long, meaningful, impatient look. "Good job. Yer gettin' dere. Maybe in a minute you'll realize you'll get ta see yer beloved boid-friend again!"