Page 90 of Stay Awake
“He figured that if the media ran the surveillance footage it would speed things up. The footage ran on the evening news. Now the phones are running off the hook at the precinct. We’re getting hundreds of calls with supposed sightings of Liv Reese all over the city. She’s like the new Yeti.”
“Ninety-nine percent of them will be bogus,” Halliday groaned. “We’ll spend the next week chasing dead ends.”
“That’s not the worst of it,” said Lavelle. “Liv Reese was at theCulturaoffices when our people turned up to search Ted Cole’s office and question the staff. She must have seen herself in the CCTV footage on the news. She bolted out of there like she was being chased by the devil. Liv Reese is on the run.”
Chapter
Fifty
Wednesday 7:58P.M.
Escalators go up and down in endless loops as I join the back of a line at the Amtrak ticket office at Penn Station. It’s impossible to hear myself think over the noisy announcements on the sound system.
I find myself weighing the pros and cons of each route. Deciding which train I’ll take feels like the most important decision of my life now that I know I’m a fugitive.
I killed a man last night. At least that’s what the police think. Not without reason, I might add. Millions of people will have seen the same news report showing CCTV footage of me fleeing the scene of Ted Cole’s murder. It’s only a matter of time until someone realizes that woman is me and alerts the cops.
I overheard enough whispered conversations during my visit to theCulturaoffices to collect scraps of information on Ted Cole. I gather he worked atCultura’s sister magazine in London before he was transferred to New York earlier in the year to lead the commercial team.
The redheaded woman in the tartan skirt at the office said that I was once engaged to marry him.
I can hardly believe that I was in love with a man I can’t remember. Ted Cole is as unfamiliar to me as the random stranger standing in front of me in the Amtrak ticket line.
“I’d like an economy seat on tonight’s train to Miami,” I say when I reach the front of the line.
I pay with cash. I have no idea why I’m carrying so much cash, but I guess I’m lucky I have it. Without this money, I’d be destitute. My phone and wallet are missing, but it doesn’t seem to matter much now that I’m on the run.
“The train leaves in an hour and fifteen,” the man says, printing my ticket and pushing it toward me. “We recommend you head over to the platform at least forty-five minutes before the train is due to roll in.”
Ticket in hand, I pause as Ted Cole’s pixelated face flashes on a giant screen hanging on a pillar in the concourse. I take a moment to watch the news break flashing on the screen. Until a few hours ago, I didn’t know Ted existed, let alone that we were once in love. A deep sadness washes over me as I stare at his crinkling eyes. Mom always told me to marry a man who smiles with his eyes.
A high-pitched squeak breaks into my thoughts. A cleaner in a blue coverall stops his cleaning cart to empty a trash bag and replace it. He works quickly with a practiced air, like he’s been doing this all his life.
The nightly ritual of the station winding down for the night provides a mundane normalcy to this otherwise surreal day. I’m still coming to grips with everything that has happened since I woke on the subway train this afternoon.
I stifle an exhausted yawn. Dr. Brenner told me I forget things whenever I go to sleep. I can’t allow myself to sleep no matter how tired I feel right now.
Since I have nothing else to do, I head to the assigned platform for my train, where I lean against a vending machine and watch a processionof people feed coins into a slot to select snacks. I distract myself trying to guess what snack each person will choose.
After a while, a woman gets up from a bench and I take her seat. An announcement tells us the Miami train is running ten minutes behind schedule. Everyone groans.
My body feels drained and my eyes are heavy. I force myself to stay alert by focusing on the rhythm of a train departing on a platform somewhere behind me. The clatter as it builds up speed morphs into a chant:Stay Awake. Stay Awake. Stay Awake. Stay Awake.I repeat it to myself as I stare at the tracks, waiting for my train to pull in.
The train tracks hypnotize me with their perfect symmetry. Exhaustion overwhelms me. My eyes close and I drift off.
A loud voice startles me awake.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
I snap open my eyes and stare into the concerned face of a train conductor leaning toward me.
“Ma’am, this platform is closed.”
“Platform? Closed?”
I look down in confusion. I’m clutching a train ticket to Miami.
The conductor peers at the ticket. “Ma’am, the Miami train left a half hour ago. You slept through it.”
