Page 88 of The Perfect Marriage

“Of course, sweetheart. You don’t belong in that prison anyway.”

“Just don’t tell Sarah.”

“I have no interest in speaking to Sarah, and I have half the nerve to slap her again.”

“Again? Mom, you didn’t?”

“Hey what’s taking so long there, bud?” the clerk asks over my shoulder.

“I have to go.” I end the call, delete the call log and click the screen off, handing him back his phone.

“Sorry, thanks for your help.”

“Girl won’t answer, Mr. Pay Phone?” There’s a smile on his face.

“Something like that.”

Out in the night air, I decide that a walk it shall have to be, and I begin my journey, keeping the highway near my line of sight for reference. After a few hours, I arrive at what I’m pretty sure is Rebecca’s neighborhood. Without a phone though I can’t call and ask for an address. I decide to try to spot her car in the driveway, crossing my fingers that she doesn’t keep it in a garage.

It would appear Lady Luck has finally bared her head to me. I spot Rebecca’s Chevy Cruze in the driveway of a ranch-style home. The police must have returned it to her rather quickly after I technically stole it. I hope this is real and hysteria and delusion haven’t set in yet. I stumble to her home and knock on the door with such fervor, willing her to come to the door quickly before a neighbor spots me. I should be all over the news by now, but knowing Sheriff Stevens, he’ll attempt to keep it hush-hush until he finds me. I’ve seen numerous signs in front yards on this hellish journey that say, ‘Vote for Sheriff Stevens.’ It appears he’s up for reelection and the last thing he would want right now is the county thinking he let a killer escape from under his nose to run loose in their backyards. I escaped over twenty-four hours ago. I’m sure he’s fuming. I’m sure they’re looking. I’m sure my time is limited.

Rebecca pulls open the door with frustration. I hadn’t realized I’d been pounding on it for nearly a minute. She has a towel wrapped around her body and her hair is drenched. Her eyes widen when she sees me. “What the hell are you doing here?” She glances around the neighborhood and pulls me inside.

“I need your help.”

She closes the door and locks it, peering out the side panel window once more. She’s skittish, even more than I am. She’s scared. I can see it in her eyes, in her demeanor, in the goosebumps on her freckled skin.

“You can’t be here.” She pushes me aside and walks into the kitchen. She leans against the counter, pulling her towel tighter around her.

“I know. But you’re my last hope,” I plead.

“Did you tell anyone about me?”

“No… well, yes.”

She rubs her arm. She fidgets. Her face flushes. “What the fuck, Adam!”

“Sorry, I panicked.”

“Who?”

“Kelly’s husband, Scott.” I hang my head.

“When?”

“A day ago.”

She pulls at her hair. “Someone’s been watching me. Been following me.” She paces.

“How do you know?”

“They were in my fucking house. I keep getting these phone calls. They started yesterday.”

“I’ll help you.” I grab her and try to pull in for a hug.

She shrugs me off and pushes me back. Tears fall from her eyes. “You can’t even fucking help yourself,” she yells.

“I’ll fix this.”