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If this is his stuff, then I’m in luck. There’s a pair of knit gloves that I grab and stuff into the pocket of my hoodie, just as I hear the crunch of glass being stepped on from around the corner.Fuck.My heart leaps for my throat desperately, and I dart for the cover of a nearby dumpster with boxes piled in front of it.
Ernie rounds the corner just as I duck down, staggering toward the pile like his balance isn’t what it should be. Or like he’s drunk. As he comes close enough that I can see his eyes, I think that is probably the case.
My fingers flex against my sleeves, and I sink down further as my muscles tense to the point of soreness while he mumbles to himself and sorts through the pile.
He’s going to notice the gloves being gone.My brain is so helpful to whisper that thought in my head over and over, as he paws through the rest of his shit once, then twice.There’s no way he doesn’t notice.Right?
Or…maybe not. With a grunt of recognition, he jerks something free that shines in the light, and my heart twists in my chest when I realize it’s a fuckingknife.God, I don’t want to be anywhere near here. I don’t want to be doing this, and the reality of my situation and the stupidity of my plan hits me while I’m hiding behind a dumpster from a man with a history of abuse and assault.
There’s no way this is going to work. I cram my eyes shut against the burn of tears in my eyes. There’s no way… But I refuse to give up my idea. I don’t know what else there is for me to evendoto help Phoenix.
And right now, helping Phoenix is the most important thing. That’s the thought that steadies me. The one that makes it easier to draw breath into my trembling lungs as finally, Ernie walks back around the other side of the church, holding onto the wall for support and dropping the knife like he never cared about it in the first place.
But I wait, giving him ample time before I stand up and dart away, the gloves safely in my pocket and my feet creating more and more distance between me and the homeless man with every single second that passes.
I need the knife.The thought flickers through my brain and I pause, instead of completely my escape. It’s perfect for this. For me.
Well, for Evan.
But my courage wavers when I sprint back to the building and peer around the edge of it. Ernie is at the far side, and if he sees me, this is all over. It’s been incredibly lucky so far that he’s so dense, and maybe not all there, and I keep my eyes glued to his back as I edge forward until I can bend down, grab it, andrun.
I know this is a bad idea with every inhale, every soft sound of my sneakers against the sidewalk. It doesn’t take much thought to route myself toward my destination, and it gives me time as I walk across town to think about how stupid of an idea this is.
I’m going to get caught, for one. I’ll probably end up in jail. That’s a given. My hands tremble at that, but I ball them into clammy fists at my sides as I focus on the walk instead of the consequences.
I wish I could think of anything else in the world to do to help Phoenix and Rory. If they only arrested him, then they think there’s only one killer. But why wouldn’t they? That’s the illusion that Rory and Phoenix have worked to create, and as far as I know, everyone in town has fallen for it.
Surely if Angleson knew there were two killers, she’d have let it slip or asked if I knew whobothof them were on any of the occasions we’d talked.
I check my phone as I make it to the hospital, going around it to the parking lot behind. Really, I should be thanking Nic for this, though she can never know what I’ve done. The knife is heavy in my pocket as I look around for Evan’s signature red Mustang, which, according to Nic, his mom had driven here a few days ago so it would be here when Evan could leave the hospital on his own.
Normal people would’ve hitched a ride home with someone, instead of wanting to drive themselves. But Evan is a jock, and proud, and stupid.
And I am the luckiest person in the world, when I see the flash of red that’s as far from the building as possible. Maybe his mom hates him, because mine certainly would’ve parked my car much closer, if not insisted on picking me up herself.
For the first time in my life, everything lines up perfectly. Like fate. Like a strange intersection of fate and luck andwantthat I’ve been straining for all morning. But there are still so many things that could go wrong, and I’m acting on instinct, instead of a real plan. After all, the only thing I have to go off of is how Rory killed Jayden last night, and how no one had seen us or even thought to look when we’d sat with his cooling body in the parking lot.
I don’t get close to his car. But I’m also not as worried as I would be if Nic weren’t the sheriff’s daughter, and a twinge of guilt makes me twinge with discomfort. Nic hadn’t told me about Evan for me to come here to kill him. And she hadn’t vented to me about her mother’s continued bad moods as she tried and failed over and over to get the town to set up better security systems.
Especially around important places, like the jail, city hall…
And the hospital.
Casually I walk past Evan’s car, heading to the alley only a few feet behind it where boxes tower toward the high windows of businesses that are long gone. Only a few people live here, but there’s no one in the alley and the windows of the inhabited floors have the blinds firmly drawn.
No one can see me here, if I’m careful. And I’ve never felt the urge to be more careful in my life as I sit down between two of the large containers. I slide to the ground between the boxes, my hood raised, and tilt my head back against the brick wall behind me to find the patience to wait.
For however long that takes.
Footsteps along the asphalt find my ears, but they aren’t a surprise. Not when I’ve been watching Evan’s slow journey from the hospital’s back entrance and across the parking lot for the past five minutes.
He’s exhausted, for one. Weak, for another, and I can tell he should’ve either stayed in the hospital another day or at the very least had someone come pick him up. My eyes stay fixed on him as he staggers, stumbles, and occasionally walks almost steadily toward his car that’s parked on the edge of the lot, keys clutched in one hand.
I’ve thought a lot about this over the past six or so hours. And while the urge to pee is strong and unforgiving, I’ve refused to do more than softly whine to myself about it, while throwing myself the world’s quietest pity party.
Instead, I focus myself by flexing my hands around the knife I clasp in my fingers. I look at Ernie’s gloves that are thankfully big enough to fitoverthe pair I’d stolen from the hotel maid’s cart before leaving this morning. There’s no way this will get tracked back to me, Rory, or Phoenix.
Hopefully, I’ve thought of everything. Even if it means my skin under both pairs of gloves is swelteringly warm even in the Halloween chill.
