But the area was vacant. When he made it through the trees and onto the road, Adam screamed again. He panted, eyes panning in both directions. Hayden was alive in his arms, but he couldn’t hear the sound of her breath over his own laborious huffing. Her skin was cold, and her eyes had fallen shut again. She needed medical care.
It was a mile to town, and Adam knew he didn’t have that sort of trek in him. He started downhill toward it anyway, calling for help with what little breath remained in his lungs. The adrenaline that had fueled him was dwindling, and his legs began to give way. Thorns, twigs, and rocks had ripped his feet to shreds, and every step on the rough pavement was torturous. But he had to stick to the road, to keep out in the open until someone found him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to Hayden as his legs shook and faltered.
She was turning blue again. There must’ve been some water still trapped in her lungs. He was losing her. He remembered the lone farmhouse off the beaten path. Lydia Costas’s house, though he’d never given it a thought before. He had no idea what her parents did for a living, but he hoped one of them would be home.
He trundled along up the narrow dirt road, Hayden’s wet body slick in his hands. The farmhouse was in view, but there was no car out front. Adam’s hopes fell.
Then he thought of breaking in. Maybe the Costas family hada landline. He’d call for help and deal with the consequences later.
When he reached the corner of the property, Adam set Hayden down beneath the shade of a sycamore. He noticed the dirt below him, painted red by his bloodied feet. “I’m going to get you help,” he told Hayden, even though he doubted she could hear him. Then he hurried up the driveway.
At the sound of a car approaching the property, Adam’s hopes lifted again. But when it turned into the driveway, he peered through the windshield, finding Lydia’s terrified eyes on him. Adam knew how he looked, wet and bloodied, like some sort of swamp monster. He folded his hands in front of his chest and mouthed, “Please.”
Lydia stopped the car and squinted at him through the windshield.
Having her attention, Adam gestured over to the sycamore. “Please!” he shouted now. “It’s Hayden!”
Lydia glanced over in the direction he’d pointed, stretching her neck for a glimpse. She quickly trained her eyes back on Adam, who knew that out of view, somewhere on the dash, her hands were moving to her phone.
The passenger’s side window rolled down the faintest crack.
“Please!” Adam shouted. “Call 911! Have them send an ambulance!”
Lydia hesitated, licking her lips, and when her hand darted forward, Adam felt despair come over him like a black cloud. She was going to drive off. She wanted to be as far away from Adam as possible.
But Lydia brought the phone to her ear, and the car engine shut off.
Adam collapsed to his knees.
EpilogueHayden; One Week Later
I’m lying on the couch, all comfy in front of the TV, when there’s a knock at the door. I start to call for Dad but remember that I’m on my own today. It’s the first time he’s left me alone since Sage Wheeler tried to kill me.
I get up to find Henry in the doorway. My heart goes through a gamut of feelings—first delight, then disappointment that he’s alone. I know it was too much to hope for. “Come on in,” I say, heading back to the couch.
“Actually,” he says, reaching for my arm, “would your dad kill me if I took you on a field trip?”
“Yes,” I say. “But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” I’m desperate to get out of here, to see something other than a television screen.
He laughs. “Glad my life is so valuable to you. But it’s just a trip to my house, so don’t get too excited.”
“Your house is a museum with its own movie theater and botanical gardens. It’s like taking multiple school field trips all in one day.” Remembering my current disheveled, pajama-clad state, I frown. I’ve showered at least, and Henry has seen me at my worst; still, I’m self-conscious. “I’m a disaster.”
“You’re never a disaster,” he says without a hint of sarcasm.
“But I—”
“Go,” he says. “I’ll”—he glances around the living room, then gestures to the dishes on the coffee table—“clean up a bit.”
“Thanks.”
A few minutes later, I’m dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, my hair thrown up into a ponytail. I dabbed on some blush and tinted lip balm too, since I look like a walking corpse. Henry hovers closely, guiding me to the truck like I might keel over—even though I’m feeling much stronger today. Then we’re making the short drive up the hill in Henry’s truck.
I fight the urge to ask about the case, to ask about Bram. If there’d been any news, he would’ve told me by now. But every day that goes by without hearing from him carves a bigger hole in my chest.
Once Lydia called the ambulance, Adam started to worry that it would take too long. I was frigid and breathing poorly, going in and out of consciousness. He convinced Lydia to drive us until we met the medics on the road.
Before I was rolled into the ambulance, I had a rare and fleeting lucid moment. All I could think about was how I knew the identity of Kennedy’s killer, and if I didn’t survive, it would be Adam’s word against Sage’s.
