Page 113 of Dark Ugly Places

“Good. So, you will take my car and head to this address.” I pull out the piece of paper from my pocket with the name and address written in Sharpie. It wasn’t hard to find in Nicola’s phone, along with all her personal info, even her bank accounts. Those will come in handy.

Bambi unfolds the paper, exposing the oversized handwriting. “Where is this?”

“Nubia Ramos. She’s a friend nearby. Remember, get out of the city as fast as you can. You can’t stay in LA.”

Bambi nods. “Right.”

“Give him the drink. Get in the car and get out of there. Understand?”

“Yes. I get it.”

She swallows, her throat thin like a bird’s neck. “What if it’s too much?”

“Jason will be fine,” I tell her, trying to make my voice sound certain. “The house is full of EpiPens. This is just a distraction. Something to buy you time.”

She eyes me, frantic, unsure.

“You wanted a way out, Bambi. This is it.”

“I know, I know,” she says. Bambi starts winding up her window when Emmy reaches out and leans in.

“Don’t let him open the bottle himself,” she says, and I smile inside because she’s thinking ahead.

Bambi’s head arches back in surprise. “What? Why not?” She looks at the bottle.

“It’s already been opened. He’ll notice.”

Smart kid. “She’s right,” I add. “If he suspects anything …”

“I get it,” Bambi says. “You don’t have to explain.”

Hands up, I step back from her car. She winds up the window, and the engine purrs.

“See you tomorrow,” I call through the glass, but Bambi doesn’t hear me. She’s already pulling out and reversing up the street so she can cross the busy intersection and head back into the hills.

49

Nicola

The realization washes over me: She did this. All of it. It was Martha all along.

My father.

Ben.

Jason Redfern.

Her!

Why didn’t I see it? Where had it been all along? Perhaps I just didn’t want to see it. The truth is ugly that way. So, we shove it down deep, in places where no one can see what we know, what we hide.

Did I give her permission that day, or did she just take it?

Did I ever give Martha permission for anything, or like the darkness itself, has she always been swallowing me up whole?

I can’t tell anymore.

The loop has paused, the truth wrung out like blood from an open wound. Coursing, spilling, seeping, it rushes forth. Undeniable.