Page 66 of The Locked Ward

Scott’s curt reply lands on my cell phone in response to my text asking him to cover for me tonight: Sure.

When I get back to my regular life— if I get back to it—I’ll try to make amends with him.

I don’t feel safe using Ubers anymore, but my burner phone lets me book a cab anonymously. I ask the driver to drop me off a few blocks away from Georgia’s place.

I take the back exit to the building and don’t let down my guard until I’m inside Georgia’s apartment and have checked every possible hiding place. Then I put my six-shot back in my purse and double-lock the door.

I sit in silence in Georgia’s office for a few minutes, thinking through my sister’s idea. It has too many holes in it to count. But I may have come up with another way. I don’t know if it’s a better or worse plan, but I need to do something and do it fast.

I’m through with hiding and sneaking around, trying to find out the truth. Every single person in this tangled, sordid mess seems like a twisted liar—including my twin, who dragged me into it and complicated my memories of my parents.

Anger is tearing through me, the kind I felt in my bar when that woman was being hit, and when I found out what Beth’s date had done to her in the fraternity house.

I jab out a two-sentence text on my burner phone, using the phone number Georgia gave me the last time we talked.

Then I stand up and look in the full-length mirror on the door of her closet.

I’m not dressing like a wealthy ex–sorority girl today, pretending to be someone I’m not.

I’m going in as myself: My hair is up in a ponytail and I’m not wearing any makeup.

I’m in jeans and a simple shirt. My cross-body purse carries my keys, two phones, and gun.

I start to head out, then turn around and tuck one more item in my bag.

I call for a cab and go into the lobby to wait, sitting on a couch in full view of anyone who might be passing by.

I’m done hiding. This needs to end today.