Page 37 of A Sublime Casualt
Not all are lost.
Yesterday it all seemed so simple.
Olden days often are.
Undercover in plain sight.
Fighting for freedom that will never come.
In my misery time stands still.
Not all homes are as they seem, down where the horses feed.
Determined to mend this broken heart.
Meandering through where the rainbows live.
Enduring winter’s wrath with fire in my belly.
I’ve got news for you, Neil. I have a fire in my belly, too.
I hop into Theo’s truck and drive north of the condo I shared with Gabby, north of the only set of tract houses just behind that, and follow a path leading to a single lonely hillside road, so I take it. I haven’t driven in a year, never driven a truck, but it feels familiar, rugged and safe just like Theo. The flat lands give way to thickets of trees, a hillside that could double as a mountain. Fresh tire tracks lie ahead of me, and my entire body comes to life at the sight.
“There you go, Neil. You sloppy, sloppy fool.” I pass a couple of hovels, windows blown out, doors missing like eyeteeth, the wood so rotted a squirrel wouldn’t live there. About six miles in, I spot smoke rising behind a wall of evergreens, a single white plume. A fireplace? My heart races as I pull the truck off the dirt trail and park as close as I can to the thicket of trees. A scrub oak partially blocks it from the road. If Neil were driving down, I doubt he would see it, but coming up is a different story. I pull my backpack on, Lizzy’s gun in hand. I open the chamber and note it’s full.
Thank you, Howard. You were right. Every young lady should know her way around a gun. It’s the only good thing you’ve done for me.
I hop out and let the last few morsels of light guide me through the woods until I come up on the other side.
“Holy shit,” I pant as I spot not one car but two tucked high next to a small cabin, a cherry peach glow coming from inside, the windows covered with thick iron bars. A truck with a sticker of the Wakefield Police department slapped over the back window sits nestled in the driveway. Sitting cockeyed on the side of the cabin is a mint green sedan that holds a mild familiarity to it. It takes everything in me not to run up there, pound on the door to the cabin like an idiot with my gun blazing. Instead, I walk softly around the outskirts of the woods, stooping low as I come up on the back side of the sedan to use it as a cover. I glance through the windows, a box of tissues, a stack of books—and I freeze. Hardbacks. Those cellophane covers. I recognize them. Library books. I glance to the cabin, and my mind reels. Someone else has joined the party. I head south and round out the porch from the back side. A floorboard creaks beneath my foot, and I stop breathing. Can’t move. Carefully, I hug the side of the cabin, my back against it as I ease my way to the window. A loose plank leans against the wall, and I carefully avoid it as I tiptoe near the window. The murmur of voices comes from inside, and my heart ratchets up into my throat. I lean over just enough and peer through the corner, straining my vision for all it’s worth until the room comes into focus.
“Oh my God.”
I never saw this coming.
Theo
The Wakefield Police Department looks a hell of a lot different once you’re in the wrong shoes. Fiona does the bookings procedure, calling me a damn fool under her breath at least sixteen times, all the while reassuring me anyone would have done the same given the circumstances.
I’ve sung my song of innocence enough, but no one seems to listen, so I shut my trap as she lands me in an interrogation room promising to help me get this nightmare sorted.
It feels as if an eternity passes before the door opens up again and in storms Jackson, his hair disheveled, his face fully pissed.
“What in the hell is happening?” He yanks out the chair across from me and lands in it backwards.
“Did you call Thomas?”
“Yes.” He wipes down his face with his hand. “He said he knows the judge in the district, and he’s pushing to have bail set and posted this evening. He says he’s pulling strings and you’ll owe him.”
“Yes. I will.” I swallow hard. “I need to use your phone. I need to talk to Charlie.Phoebe.”
Jackson leans hard across the table, looking up at me, ripe with anger. He’s disappointed, pissed, and scared. I know his every expression, and right now I’m not interested in the least. “No way.”
I launch over and shake the shit out of him before I snatch it from his pocket. “Do not screw with me today,” I grit it from my teeth. I text Gabby and ask her to send me Charlie’s number, and she does. I put in a call to her right away, and it eventually goes to messages. “Shit. She’s not picking up.” I look to my cousin, my brother, my only hope. “You have to listen to me. I need you to set aside your bias for one day and believe everything I’m about to tell you.” I let in about Phoebe’s past—about the torment and abuse she put up with from her stepfather, the murder, the path that led to finding my sister’s wallet. I let him know that in no way, shape, or form did I impale Miles’ skull with a blunt object. Someone else stepped in after I was through with him and finished the job. I change speeds and tell him about Neil, about the girls in Abilene, about the cryptic message on Phoebe’s phone.
“You think she’s at Neil’s cabin?” Jackson is hardly breathing. He’s one hundred percent at attention, and that’s the best I could have hoped for.
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. But if I know Phoebe, in the least she’s on her way there. As soon as Thomas gets me out of this shithole, I’ll be on my way, but I need you to go now. Get to my place. Get Lizzy’s gun.” I rattle off the combination to the safe.