AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There was the scrape of a shoe on gravel, a low moan.
I walked slowly toward the car, holding the knife in front of me. The wind brushed the trees, making them sound like rain. I moved one foot, and then the other.
Sitting against the side of the car, her back to the closed passenger door, was Trish. Her knees were up, her hands in her lap. She tilted her head back to look up at me. When lightning lit the sky, I saw that her eyes were normal, her expression drawn in pain. Both of her hands were gripping the tire iron in her lap. Her knuckles were white.
Our gazes locked, and her look was pleading. She couldn’t speak, and she didn’t have to. I knew what was happening. She was fighting it.
She was fighting the Lost Girl as hard as she could.
I thought of Rhonda Jean. I thought of Max Shandler in his big, black truck, going out to pick up beer. Was this how it had been? Had Max felt a chill on the back of his neck as he picked up Rhonda Jean? Had he felt the compulsion Trish was feeling now? Had he fought it?
How scared had Rhonda Jean been when she realized the man who had picked her up was pulling a knife?
The jacket she had been wearing—Max Shandler’s jacket. Had he awoken from a horrible fever dream and realized what he’d done, just like this? Had Max, the real Max, put his jacket on her and told her to run?
Had she stumbled away, bleeding, until Eddie and I pulled over? While Eddie and I were talking to Rhonda Jean, deciding what to do, Max Shandler had been losing his struggle with the Lost Girl. He had been getting back into his truck to chase us down. To finish the job.
I closed my knife and pocketed it. In one quick motion, I took the tire iron from Trish’s hands and threw it as hard as I could into the trees. It landed somewhere in the darkness in a hush of leaves.
I grabbed Trish’s hands and pulled her up. She was freezing, her skin like ice, her body stiff but unresisting. “Move,” I told her.
I pushed her around the front of the car, making her legs move. She moaned softly, but I didn’t let her go. I shoved her into the driver’s seat and put her hands on the wheel of the running car.
“Drive,” I told her. “As fast as you can.”
I slammed the door.
Trish found strength somewhere, and with a roar, the engine opened and the car took off. The back fishtailed briefly on the gravel, and then the taillights faded as she drove away.
I didn’t wait to see if the Lost Girl was still there, if she would come for me. I turned and ran, heading back down the road the way I had come, running down the middle of Atticus Line. When there were footsteps behind me, I didn’t look. When there were footsteps beside me, matching mine, I didn’t look.
When lights appeared in the trees by the side of the road, I didn’t look.
When I saw my car at the side of the road, I felt like weeping in relief. And still, I didn’t stop. I kept my feet moving, my legs pumping, and I didn’t slow down. Not until I had opened the door, the key in my hand.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
When I got out of the car at Rose’s, the front door banged open and Eddie came out. He strode down the front walk toward me. “Where the fuck have you been, April?” he shouted. “It’s late. I came home and you were gone.”
His voice was ragged, his expression frantic. He was still wearing his running clothes. His hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was army big, furious, and coming rapidly toward me, but I never had a whisper of fear. All I felt, looking at him, was that I loved him so much I could barely stand it.
I had never loved any man in my life, but Eddie had changed all of that.
I was bone-tired, and my legs felt like they were on fire. It was full dark now; I had no idea what time it was. I unzipped my windbreaker and slid it off, letting the warm night air cool my sweating skin.
Eddie stopped in front of me. “Well?” he said. “I was going to call the cops.”
“It’s her,” I said.
He frowned, confused. “What?”
“The Lost Girl. All of the murders—they’re her.”
His gaze searched my face. “Where have you been?” he asked, his voice lower now.
“Where do you think? I drove to Atticus Line.” I dropped my jacket and stepped forward. “Tell me how we got here, Eddie.” I raised my hands to his jaw, cupping his face, feeling the scratch of his stubble on my palms. “You were driving. Tell me the truth. Tell me how we got here.”
His gaze locked on mine, and I looked into his eyes. Eddie Carter’s eyes. I watched the emotions at war in them, fear and confusion and the lingering anger over my leaving. The worry about me. Part of him had thought I’d left him. He didn’t have to tell me that—I already knew.
