“The chase. We were invisible… Until we weren’t.”
“Yeah, that’s how it works.” He downs that water as well. “They’re always going to be chasing us, as long as we’re running. For a while at least. It eventually will let up, I’d assume.”
“Maybe,” I say, not sure I believe him.
He pulls me into a light kiss and then lies back, falling silent until his deep breaths turn to a light snore.
It must be nice to be so exhausted that you can just crash anywhere, in any situation.
I sigh, stand, and walk over to the small dresser, pick up the sticky plastic TV remote, and walk back. I hit the power buttonand immediately turn the volume down to a faint whisper, just needing the white noise to drown out the ringing in my ears.
The screen flickers to life, casting a pale blue glow across the dark room. It’s tuned to a national news network.
I freeze.
Mymotheris on the screen.
She looks older, her face pale and drawn, standing in front of a cluster of microphones, my younger sister, Eliza, standing just off to the side. The chyron beneath her reads,Mother of Suspect Pleads for Safe Return.
“What the fuck…” My voice trails off, and I ease down onto the bed, my eyes wide.
"Ruth is a good girl,"my mother’s voice is shaky, thin, and desperate through the TV speakers."She would never do anything like this. She’s never been in trouble. He... he has to have taken her by force. He has her, and I’m sure she’s terrified. Please, if anyone sees them, she is not a criminal. She’s a victim. Just bring my daughter home. We miss her so much."
The camera cuts away to a stern-looking Marshal, echoing her statement. He looks dead into the lens.“Ruth Iverson, if you’re out there, send us some kind of smoke signal, and we’ll get you out of this. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
I smash the mute button and stare at the screen, my chest tight, the blue light washing over the grime on my hands.
A good girl. Taken by force.They are handing me the perfect alibi. My mother is practically building my parachute on national television. All I have to do is put my hands up, cry on cue, and let Noah take the fall.
I could go back to the world of the living. I could be Rue again.
I look over at the bed. Noah hasn’t moved. The rise and fall of his back is the only proof he’s even still breathing.
It’s hard to believeheis the monster on the news. He’s the convict who dragged me into the dirt. But standing here in this suffocating room, listening to the world beg for my safe return, I realize how completely foreign the girl on that television screen feels to me now.
They don’t even know me. None of them do.
I press the power button on the remote. The screen goes black, cutting my mother off mid-sob and plunging the room back into darkness.
I walk over to the duffel bag resting by the door. I drop to my knees, unzip the top, and reach past my clothes until my fingers find the cold, heavy steel of the Colt .45 hidden at the bottom.
We might actually need this.
But I leave the gun where it is, grab fresh clothes, and zip the bag shut. I spend the next fifteen minutes washing as much dust as I can from my body, and then crawl onto the mattress, curling my body around Noah’s back, letting the heavy, steady weight of him anchor me to the bed.
They are all wrong about us.
And sooner or later, I’m going to have to prove it.
55
NOAH
“Noah,don’t you want to come and play today?” Rue’s voice is just outside of my window, her voice sweet and small.
“No,” I call back from where I’m lying in my childhood bed. “I don’t want to come outside, Rue.” My eyes drop to my fingers on my left hand, bruised and swollen.
She can’t find out about this. She can’t know my dad did this.
