Page 5

Skye shook her head. ‘Mandatory reporting.’

Andrea rubbed both hands over her face, clearly overwhelmed. ‘Okay. What do you need?’

‘I need you to withdraw my cash.’

Andrea had saved it in her own bank account, because there was nowhere else for Skye to hide it.

‘And then drive me to the used car dealership off the 45 by Wilmer first thing in the morning.’

‘The one that looks like a car graveyard?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why don’t we just go to the dealership off Lemmon?’

‘I need somewhere that’ll let me pay cash for something cheap. It doesn’t matter if it’s on its last legs, so long as it gets me the fuck out of Texas, and a Ford dealership isn’t going to give me that.’

Andrea pulled out her phone. ‘Okay. I’m making a list. We’ll stock you up on food. Maybe get you a gun.’

Skye laughed. ‘Ah, Dre, while I appreciate the sentiment, there are dozens of places to eat on the road and no shortage of grocery stores. And the last thing I need to worry about is learning how to use a gun.’

Andrea rubbed her chest. ‘Oh, God. I’m panicking.’ She swung around. ‘Why aren’t you panicking?’

Skye lowered herself down onto the closed toilet seat. How could she explain to her best friend that, after looking at the sole of her father’s boot hovering over her face, nothing would ever scare her again?

‘I’m free.’ The words were so simple but so true.

Andrea knelt on the floor. She took Skye’s uninjured hand in hers. ‘I don’t know if running is freedom, Skye. It’s going to catch up with you eventually. He will catch up with you eventually.’

‘Yes. He will.’ As true as those words were, Skye knew that there was no point trying to explain to her friend that running was freedom, so long as you never looked back for long enough to see what was following you.

‘Okay. Fuck. Um, so … the list is: splint flingers, withdraw cash, buy a car. What else?’

‘Will you cut my hair?’

Andrea raised one hand to tug at a long strand of Skye’s hip-length blonde hair. ‘Why? You love your hair.’

‘Time for a change,’ she replied. Because the truth – that no man would ever incapacitate her with her own fucking hair ever again – was too hard to voice aloud. ‘Cut it all off.’

Andrea paled. ‘What?’

Skye grinned as the impulse solidified into something that felt beautifully reckless. ‘You heard me. Get rid of it.’

Andrea plonked onto the floor. ‘Ah, okay. Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think we’ll wait for Stevie to help with that one.’ Andrea held her hands out, showing Skye how they shook. ‘I’m kinda freaking out.’

‘Let’s do the video while we wait for her.’

‘Yeah. Okay.’ Andrea pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She shimmied until she was sitting against the opposite wall and could fit Skye’s entire body in the frame. ‘Ready?’

Skye took a deep breath. She looked into the camera. ‘My name is Skye Marchant. Today is December thirteenth, 2024. The time is 8.05 p.m.’ Taking out her own phone, she pulled up the calendar app and showed the date and time to the camera.

She painstakingly detailed the timeline of events, from arriving at her father’s house intact to leaving battered and bruised. She repeated what had been said, word for word. She leaned forward, showing the camera her split lip. She raised her shirt so that her ugly bruises were documented too. Finally, she lifted her hand, showing two swollen fingers that still skewed slightly in the wrong direction.

Andrea’s sniffles punctuated the video.