Page 27

Appetite for Destruction – Guns N’ Roses

It was almost four in the morning, and I was so exhausted I thought I might fall over. I had no idea where Brooke was, but now, thanks to Megan and her magic ancient software system, I knew where they were going.

Tomorrow night – or tonight, now – Chris had made a reservation for a motel east of St. Louis.

I had no idea if that meant he had always planned to keep moving east, or whether he had been anticipating that would be our next stop.

It almost didn’t matter. At least I had time to sleep before I had to work out how I was going to get there.

‘Are you okay? You look kinda sick,’ Megan said.

I shook my head. ‘I’m just tired.’

‘I forget not everyone in the world is an insomniac,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘Sleep,’ I said. ‘I’ll wait until the morning to decide what my next move is.’

‘I know you wanted to check the CCTV,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to be honest with you – it doesn’t actually work. And when it does, it only covers the staff parking lot.’

I pressed my fingertips to my eyelids as I processed that. ‘I don’t think it matters anymore,’ I said eventually. ‘I know where they’re going now.’

‘Are you sure she’s with him? Like, a hundred percent sure?’

‘Nope.’ I shook my head and blinked on purpose a few times, trying to dislodge the aching, itchy feeling from my eyes. ‘But it can’t be a coincidence. This guy has been showing up all over the place and then she disappeared.’

‘Okay, I get what you’re saying. One more question, then you should go to bed.’

‘Go for it.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to call the cops and let them deal with it?’

‘No,’ I said honestly. ‘That still might be the first thing I do when I wake up later. But I know more now than I did an hour ago.’

‘You could’ve just asked me for help, you know.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said automatically. ‘I’m not good at asking for help. Or trusting people.’

‘Well, I hope you find her,’ Megan said. She turned back to her computer and scribbled something on a Post-it note, then handed it to me. She had written down the address of the motel outside St. Louis with a number circled. ‘That’s his room number for the Phoenix,’ she added.

‘Thanks.’ Now I knew where Brooke was going, I felt like I could put a plan together.

But sleep definitely felt necessary first. I couldn’t drive while I was this exhausted, let alone all the way to the other side of St. Louis.

‘I hate to ask, after everything you’ve already done for me, but is there any chance I could get late check-out? ’

Megan laughed, low and throaty. ‘Sure. I’ll fix that for you, don’t worry about it.’

‘I really appreciate it.’

‘Actually, there is something you can do for me. I’m way too nosy not to know how this works out.’ She took back the Post-it note and scrawled another number on it.

‘Text me,’ she said. ‘Let me know what happens?’

‘I will,’ I said, standing so I could tuck the paper into my pocket. ‘If this works, I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

‘Repay me by telling me you got her back,’ she said.

‘I’ll try.’

I made my way through the silent motel to the staircase that led up to my room.

On the horizon, the first few rays of dawn were starting to warm the night sky.

I turned away from the daylight and tapped my key card against the reader, then locked and bolted myself into the room and fell down face first onto the bed.

I could make a real plan later. I was going to get Brooke back. She wasn’t just the first person I’d ever really cared about – she was the first person who had ever really cared for me . I was ready to burn the world down to find her.

Despite my exhaustion, I didn’t sleep well, and woke up only semi-rested at eleven – too late to get breakfast at the motel.

I still had to repack the bags, settle on a plan and get on the road.

It would take around six hours to drive to the motel Chris was staying at tonight, and I’d need to take at least one break.

And I was going to have to drive the Mustang.

In theory, that was okay. I’d passed my driving test the previous summer, and the Mustang had an automatic transmission, so I didn’t have to operate a stick shift. In reality, I was terrified to drive Brooke’s precious car.

The plan had come to me in between bursts of sleep, when I wasn’t sure if I was lucid dreaming or actually awake and thinking about what I needed to do.

Maybe it had been both. Driving over to St. Louis was the only thing that made sense.

I’d never driven that far before, definitely not on my own, and absolutely not in a car that was both old and beloved.

The thought of getting out of bed was terrifying. I felt like a woman in one of those old paintings with a demon sitting on her chest. Paralyzed, unable to move. If I got up, I had to get dressed and then complete all the next steps of the plan.

One step at a time.

I wasn’t expecting my mom’s voice to come to me.

Her advice usually came with a sharp edge: Stop being so quiet, just talk to people – why can’t you make an effort? Get up, Jessie, get out into the world. Books aren’t friends .

She wasn’t wrong, she could just be mean, and I’d gotten used to that over the years.

But one step at a time was one of her favorite phrases when I was being smothered by anxiety about tests or quizzes or presentations. One step at a time, one question at a time, one slide at a time . It helped far more than her usual advice.

So, I got out of bed. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, dried my hair and pinned it back from my face so it wouldn’t annoy me when I was driving.

I put on my cropped T-shirt to be more Jessie and less Mouse, and applied some black eyeliner to be more Megan, who was another badass female I could take some inspiration from.

I picked out an outfit that Mouse would never wear: ripped jeans and Brooke’s plaid shirt thrown over the T-shirt. I stared at my exposed stomach in the mirror and ran my fingers over my piercing. Another thing that made me more Jessie and less Mouse.

I put my sunglasses on my head, packed up all our bags and ate frosted blueberry Pop-Tarts for breakfast.

I looked at the gun for a really long time. Then I picked up the keys to the Mustang, went out to put the stuff in the trunk and picked up a handful of cassette tapes to take back to the room, making sure to include that extra-light one. The unmarked box.

I didn’t want to have to put the bullet in the gun when I got to the motel. I wanted to be prepared way in advance of that, to do things in the quiet and security of this motel room with no one else watching me.

I’d never put a bullet in a gun before.

I thought it would be simple, that I’d be able to figure it out for myself, but it wasn’t obvious, and even though the magazine was empty, I didn’t want to mess around with a freaking gun. I felt stupid and sick and scared, like a little girl who didn’t know anything at all.

In the end, I pulled up a YouTube video and followed the instructions on how to eject the magazine, load the bullet and reassemble everything.

Now I was traveling with a loaded weapon, and everything had changed.

Everything.

But I was in control.

I double-checked, triple-checked the safety, then put the gun in my backpack so it would be close to me at all times.

The alarm clock on the nightstand told me it was past noon, and I couldn’t postpone things much longer.

I needed to get moving. I kept wanting to delay the inevitable and try to find Amanda who had taken over from Megan on the day shift and ask her something, anything.

Instead, I took one final trip back to check out and grab a bag of chips from the vending machine.

I got into the driver’s side of the car for the first time, put the top down and adjusted the seat.

My legs were a lot shorter than Brooke’s.

I already knew which album I wanted to play to get myself in the right frame of mind, so it only took me a moment to get the tape deck set up.

I flipped my sunglasses down, turned the engine on and took a deep breath.

‘You can do this,’ I muttered to myself.

I drove for two hours then stopped for gas and to stretch my legs at a tiny service station.

Their restrooms were spotlessly clean, which, after a week on the road, I didn’t take for granted.

I picked up a bottle of water to make sure I stayed hydrated on the next leg of the journey, and a Coke for the sugar and caffeine.

A cop car pulled into the gas station as I was paying, and I closed my eyes and fought the urge to scream.

They couldn’t be here for me. They just couldn’t.

Not now. Even though my instinct was to run away, I knew that would draw attention to myself, and I needed to stay inconspicuous.

I forced myself to smile at the guy behind the counter as he handed me my change.

‘Have a nice day,’ he muttered.

One of the cops held the door for me as I walked out, and I felt dizzy, like I was about to faint. This was my opportunity to tell them everything. To get help. To not be on my own anymore.

‘Nice car,’ the officer said, nodding to the Mustang, which was the only other car out on the lot.

‘Thanks,’ I said. My voice rasped, but otherwise I sounded normal enough.

Was that a hint? Did he know who I was, and who the car really belonged to? Or did he really just think it was a nice car?

‘Yours?’ he asked, pausing to let his colleague catch up, and I forced myself to give him an easy smile.

‘I wish,’ I said.

‘Best not dent it,’ the second cop said, his voice a full Southern drawl.