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Strange.
But I set the piece of paper aside and put the key into the ignition, remembering the hiccup the car always makes before the engine turns over. The familiarity makes me smile. Takes me at least momentarily to a different time, a different place. A different life.
God. Has it only been months since the night Abel came to bring me back? Only a few months since my life changed so irrevocably?
I put the car in gear and glance behind me to see people gathering outside as they evacuate the building, and the fire engines with their screeching sirens turn perilously into the parking lot. I try to see if I can find my sister, but there are too many people, and as I glimpse the first of the police cars heading toward the lot, I put my foot on the gas pedal and ease out, trying not to make this appear like a getaway.
And when I’m on the road, and I watch the police cars turn into the lot, their lights and sirens fading as I get farther away, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I did it. I got away.
At least for now.
The weather changes as I drive the long stretch of highway to Lafayette. I consider driving by my old school, the apartment building, but I find I don’t want to. It’s like that life’s not mine. Was it ever?
By the time I get to the small, quiet neighborhood, the sky has darkened with storm clouds. I have to drive up and down a few of the streets until I find Raymond Road. The houses are small but quaint in this middle-income neighborhood of Louisiana. They’re each painted a different vibrant color, reminiscent of The Garden District although so obviously not. I find number 13, which is yellow, and as I pull up into the driveway, I wonder at that number. Thirteen. It’s always been unlucky for me.
But maybe that’s changing.
My stomach growls as I put the car into park and pull up the emergency brake. It’ll roll down the driveway if I don’t. I then grab the money and the phone along with the car keys and the sheet of paper that contains the address and head up to the yellow house with the dark windows.
Although it’s quiet, I can hear the road from here. It makes me think of how still Santiago’s house is. How deadly silent.
It feels so far away now.
Once I get up to the porch, I see the electronic keypad, which is strange. It’s too high-end to fit here. It would be more appropriate for The Manor. I shake off the thought and punch in the code Abel had written under the address, grateful when I hear the sound of the door unlocking and a green light blinks.
I push the door open and step into the dark house. I feel for the light switch and turn it on before I close the door behind me. As soon as I do, I hear the lock re-engage.
Setting the car keys on the table beside the door, I shove the paper with the entry code into my pocket and enter the foreign space. It’s obvious from the stale air and sparse mismatch of furnishings—a couch, a coffee table littered with newspapers and junk, and one chair—no one lives here. No table in the small dining room. The kitchen is the size of my bathroom at Santiago’s house. I open the refrigerator to find a couple of takeout containers of spoiled food. I leave them but grab a bottle of water of which there are plenty stacked, taking up two of the shelves.
I open it and drink half, then remember the candy bars Eva shoved into my pocket and take one out. I rip the wrapper and take a bite as I open the freezer, curious to see if there’s anything inside. I’m surprised to find stacks of frozen dinners and a half-full bottle of vodka.
No one lives here, but someone does use this place. This safe house. I am curious who.
I finish the candy bar and take out one of the dinners, a lasagna dish. Before heating it, I grab the phone out of my pocket and dial Abel. He answers on the first ring.
“Yes?”
“I’m here.”
He exhales. “Good. Okay. Stay put while I figure out what to do with you.”
“Did Evangeline make it out?”
“Of course, she did.” He sounds almost proud.
“Can I talk to her?”
“No, you need to hang up. I’m sure your husband has a search party out by now.”
“I promised I’d call her.”
“I’ll let her know you made it.”
“Whose house is this?” I ask.
He goes quiet for a moment, then snorts. “Dad’s. Don’t touch anything.”
“Dad’s? What?”
“Don’t touch anything, understand? You just go up to bed. Wait for me to call you.”
“But I don’t understand. What do you mean it’s Dad’s?”
