Lily climbed out of bed, walked to the window, and stared out at the dark street, asking herself the same question she’d been asking ever since Jeff had made his startling pronouncement: If Emma Frost wasn’t who she said she was, then who was she? Why all the lies and
subterfuge?
Lily almost laughed. Who was she to judge others? Who was she to complain about people not telling the truth? And if Jeff had been that quick to detect Emma’s fabrications, how long before her own answers proved less than satisfactory?
She walked to her closet, opened it, stared at the few items hanging inside. Maybe it was time to leave. She’d never intended that her stay in Dayton be anything but a temporary stopgap, until she was able to earn some money, figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. She’d always hoped that one day she might be able to go back home. Although not yet. It was still far too early to be thinking of that.
Besides, she liked it here. She had her circle of friends, a job, and even her book club. And Michael was flourishing. So why leave? Because she’d met a man she liked and sensed the possibility of something more? Because it was too early to be thinking about such things? Or because it was too late, she thought sadly, closing her closet door and plopping down at the foot of her bed.
You can’t build a relationship on lies, she was thinking. Just as you couldn’t run from the past forever. Sooner or later, she had to start telling the truth. About her marriage. About Kenny’s death. About her part in everything that happened.
The truth will set you free
. Isn’t that what they said?
Didn’t they also say that
freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose?
Lily closed her eyes. She had a great deal to lose, she thought, climbing back under the covers and staring up at the ceiling, wondering what Jan would think of her
when she learned her trusted employee was a liar, what her friends would think when they learned the extent of her lies. What would Jeff Dawson say, she was wondering as sleep began gnawing on the perimeter of her consciousness, if he were to find out that Emma Frost wasn’t the only imposter on Mad River Road?
Jamie waited until she was confident Brad was asleep before opening her eyes. She’d been lying beside him, listening to the sound of his breathing, for hours now, waiting for his breath to regulate, to even out, to convince her beyond any shadow of a doubt that he was, in fact, asleep and not just testing her. He’d tested her once already tonight, and she’d come perilously close to failing.
Jamie glanced at the red numbers of the digital clock beside the bed without moving her head, shuddering at the memory of her narrow escape. It had come just before one o’clock, two hours after he’d kissed her good night and told her to take off her clothes and turn over so that he could hold her while they slept. Mercifully, he hadn’t pressed her for sex, sensing perhaps that she was too fragile. Or maybe he was just tired after driving all day. Whatever the reason, he’d seemed content just to lie there beside her, and he’d drifted off to sleep with remarkable ease, his arm draped heavily across her naked body, like an iron chain, holding her in place. Jamie had lain there for what felt like an eternity before somehow working her body free of his arm and carefully sliding out from underneath his weight. He hadn’t moved. It was only when she was at the foot of the bed and reaching for her jeans that his voice stretched across the darkness, like
a hand, to grip her shoulder and stop her cold.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he’d asked, the question a coiled reptile, striking at her soul.
Jamie struggled to keep her own voice as flat as possible, despite the mad fluctuations of her heartbeat. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Since when do you put your jeans
on
to go to the bathroom?”
“I wasn’t putting them on.”
“What were you doing?”
“I have a headache. I thought I had some Excedrin in my pocket.”
“And do you?” He flipped on the light beside the bed, watched her intently.
Jamie rifled through her pockets. “No,” she said, the dejection in her voice real. “Maybe there’s some in my purse.”
“You better check.” He pointed toward her purse on the dresser.
Jamie shuffled toward the dresser, conscious of Brad’s eyes following her naked body. She grabbed her purse, her fingers searching for anything that might give credence to her story. “Here they are,” she said, relief washing over her like a giant wave, bathing her in perspiration as she lifted a tiny bottle of Excedrin into the air.
“Better take them then,” he said.
Jamie nodded, continuing into the bathroom and swallowing two pills with a glass of water.
“Might as well pee while you’re in there,” he advised. “I don’t feel like getting up again tonight. Big day tomorrow,” he added chillingly.
When Jamie returned to the bedroom, both her purse
and her clothes were gone. She thought of asking where they were, then thought better of it. Clearly Brad had put them somewhere beyond her easy reach, his way of telling her he wasn’t taking any more chances. She climbed back into bed, resumed her former position.
“Hey, Jamie,” he whispered, kissing the side of her neck. “I hear that sex is really good at getting rid of headaches.”
“Please, Brad …”
“Relax, Jamie,” he said, his arm reaching across her, like an anchor, weighing her down, securing her position. “I was just teasing.”
Jamie closed her eyes, swallowed back tears.
“Sweet dreams, Jamie-girl.”
Sweet dreams, Jamie-girl
, Jamie repeated now to herself, wondering if she dared risk a second attempt at escape. It was almost four o’clock in the morning, and while they were only half an hour outside of Dayton, they were still in the middle of nowhere. Even if she somehow managed to get out of the room and away from the motel, where was she going to go? There’d be no one at the desk at this hour, no phone she could use without proper change or a calling card, no doors she could go pounding on without running the risk of discovery. She had no money, no shoes, no clothes, for God’s sake. Could she really run barefoot and naked into the night, hoping to reach the highway and salvation?
If Brad were to wake up and discover her gone, there was no doubt he’d come after her. And if he found her? Then what?
Trust me—nobody’s ever gonna find old Gracie-girl
, she heard him say.
And yet, what choice did she have? He’d already murdered
at least one woman—probably two—and was about to murder another. It was only a matter of time before he decided she was as expendable as the others. She had to at least try to get away. Now might be her only chance.
And so, Jamie shifted her body just slightly, as if she were turning over in her sleep. Brad stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his arm still draped across her hip. Again, Jamie altered her position, slowly flipping onto her back. Brad moved with her, his arm now sliding across her stomach. She felt his breath warm on the side of her face. He sighed, as if in the middle of a pleasant dream. Was he dreaming of his former wife? Was he thinking about what he planned to do to her?
Jamie tried picturing Brad’s wife, but all she could see was a woman cowering in a corner, her bruised arms covering her face, shielding her head from the blows she knew were inevitable. Somehow she’d found the courage to escape her tormentor, to gather up her son and run away. And yet, even after a year, even after obtaining a divorce and moving halfway across the country, finding what she thought was a secure haven in Ohio, creating a new identity, a new life for her son and herself, she still wasn’t safe. He’d found out where she was, and he was coming to kill her. Just as Jamie knew he would come after her should she make good on her escape.
In that instant, Jamie understood that she would never be safe again, as long as Brad Fisher was alive.
She waited a full five minutes before turning back on her side, Brad’s arm sliding off her hip as she moved. Now was her chance, she recognized, although her legs
still refused to move. Where are you going? they seemed to be asking. Where can you run?
It didn’t matter, she decided. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know where she was going, or that she was naked and had no money, no shoes, no identification. Nothing mattered except that she get the hell out of there. She’d worry about everything else later.
Slowly, she inched her torso up in bed until she was sitting. The sheet fell from her breasts. Brad stirred, his lips twitching as his body moved slightly to the left. Jamie held her breath, debating whether to lie back down and abandon her plan. Several more minutes passed before her mind filled with fresh resolve, and she brought her feet to the side of the bed, another minute before she lowered them to the floor. The feel of the worn carpet beneath her bare toes sent shock waves through her legs, as if she’d stepped on a live wire. She’d made it this far before, she was thinking, feeling his eyes on her back, his smirk on her skin. She heard movement behind her and braced herself for his touch. What could she tell him this time? Would she even have a chance to speak before he silenced her once and for all?
Jamie spun around.
There was no one behind her. And when she looked down at the bed, Brad was still underneath the covers, sleeping soundly. Oh, God, she said silently, covering her mouth with her hand to mute the sound of her ragged breathing. She had to be careful. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Not when she was so close.
She pushed one foot in front of the other, gradually increasing the size of her steps. Part of her wanted to make a mad dash for it, but she knew that if she did, it
would only increase the chance of his waking up. Although her eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, the room was still unfamiliar. She couldn’t risk knocking against a piece of furniture or tripping over his shoes on her way to the door. She had to proceed slowly and with great caution.
She was halfway to the door when she saw Brad’s clothes draped over the side of the chair he’d occupied earlier. Slowly, she reached over, carefully dragging his black T-shirt from the top of the pile and quickly pulling it on, her head popping through its round neck, like a wary turtle emerging from its shell. If he’s awake, I’ll just tell him I got cold, Jamie thought, but when she looked toward the bed, she saw he hadn’t moved.
Her fingers grazed the side of Brad’s jeans. Were the keys to her car still nestled in his pocket? Was the switchblade knife still secreted inside? Could she get them out without making any noise? Could she take that chance? And if she managed to retrieve the knife, what then? Could she use it if she had to? Was she capable of killing another human being?
Suddenly Brad stirred, as if her thoughts had jostled him awake. Jamie froze, the palm of her hand resting on the leg of Brad’s jeans, holding her breath as Brad yawned and flopped onto his other side. From this distance, she couldn’t make out whether or not his eyes were open, whether or not he was watching her, waiting to see what she would do next. So she did nothing, simply stood trembling in the middle of the room until, once again, she heard the regular rhythm of his breathing resume.
Slowly, her fingers extended toward the pocket of his jeans, and she carefully wiggled them down inside the
heavy denim. The pocket was empty, she realized, almost bursting into tears, which meant that she’d have to turn the pants over, try the pocket on the other side. Could she do that without causing the keys to jangle? Brad’s heavy leather belt was looped through the waist of the jeans, and maneuvering them wasn’t going to be easy. Still, if her car keys were inside, if she could only recover them, then she stood a real chance of getting out of here, of going to the police, of preventing tomorrow’s horrors.
She turned the jeans over, careful to keep the metal buckle from slapping against the wood of the chair, then slid her hand into the second pocket. Neither the car keys nor the knife were there. She tried the rear pockets, knowing in advance she’d find nothing. Dammit, she thought, returning the jeans to the back of the chair and biting down on her lower lip to keep from screaming. Dammit, dammit, dammit.
It was in that moment she sensed something had changed. A subtle shift in the air currents had occurred, a change in the light. Whatever. She didn’t have to turn around to know Brad’s eyes were open, that his cruel smile was now stretching across his face.
“Are you ready to die, Jamie?” he asked as the sound of a switchblade being released from its sheath stabbed at the stillness.
Jamie didn’t waste time turning around. Instead she flung herself at the door, tearing at the safety chain and pulling the door toward her, screaming into the small sliver of night she was able to see before the door slammed shut again, and she was picked up and thrown across the room, as if she were an inanimate object, weightless and of no consequence whatsoever. She struggled to her feet as
he came at her again, his fist connecting with her stomach as she was almost upright. The air rushed from her body in one giant whoosh and she crumpled to the floor, gagging and gasping for breath. Hands grabbed at her hair, pulling her head up and exposing the whiteness of her neck against the black of his shirt. She saw the blade of the knife as it swooped toward her throat.
Then she saw nothing at all.
E
mma saw the car as soon as she opened her front door. It was parked halfway down the street, in front of old Mrs. Discala’s house, and Emma wondered idly if Mrs. Discala’s son, the doctor she was always bragging about, had gotten himself another new car. Although this one looked as if it had seen better days. Oh, well, Emma thought. Haven’t we all? She’d always loved Thunderbirds for their stylish bravura, and this one was baby blue, which gave it a certain added mystique, although she wasn’t sure why. Emma had never owned a car, didn’t even have a driver’s license, but she decided right then and there that if she ever did get a car, it would be a baby blue Thunderbird just like this one.
“All right, Dylan. Let’s get a move-on in there.”