Page 79 of Gone Tonight
I have lost nearly every single person I ever cared about. My topaz ring is all I have left of my father, and the tubes of cherry ChapStick I buy every few months are my only connection to Timmy.
I can’t lose my daughter, too.
I walk over to her bed and climb in next to her. Even though I know James isn’t nearby, I’d feel better sleeping here tonight. I want to be between the front door and Catherine.
I don’t feel the slightest bit tired, but somehow I eventually fall asleep. Though I awaken several times during the night and do roundsto make sure our apartment is still secure, hearing Catherine’s feather-light breaths helps me doze off again. I don’t rest deeply, though. It’s more like I’m skimming the top, most superficial layer of sleep, alert for any noise or disturbance.
When I wake up for good the next morning, I see Catherine has inched away from me. She’s practically hanging off the other side of the bed.
I lie next to her for a little while, thinking about all I need to do today. Finally, when the sun rises high enough to fill the room with light, I get up.
I make my rounds again, checking the front door and peering out the window into the parking lot. When I’m satisfied everything is as it should be, I get dressed and make a pot of strong coffee.
I slowly sip two cups while I sit on the couch, then I break my no-breakfast rule by eating a blueberry yogurt and a handful of walnuts. Something is telling me to marshal my strength.
After a while, I hear Catherine get up to use the bathroom, so I prepare toast for her. She must be starving since she hasn’t eaten a thing since the breakfast plate I left for her yesterday.
I expect her to join me in our living area, but she returns to her room.
I walk down the hall and gently rap my knuckles against her open door.
“Mmm,” she murmurs without opening her eyes. I know she can’t possibly be asleep. She was up only a minute ago.
“Feel any better, Sleeping Beauty?” I ask.
“A little. Still tired though.”
“Want breakfast?”
“Maybe later. Going back to sleep now.”
She pulls her covers up to her neck and buries her head in the pillow. She didn’t even look at me. At least she drank the tea I made for her yesterday.
I glance down at my phone, which I’ve been compulsively carryingaround with me. It’s 9 a.m. Too early for the lawyer to have done his checking, but I still feel compelled to call him. I can’t do it from our apartment, though. The walls are so thin there’s nowhere I can go that doesn’t involve a risk of Catherine overhearing.
“I have to run out for a minute,” I call out softly. “Be right back.”
I follow the same precautions I took before—Mace out, hugging the far wall of the stairwell, moving slowly and listening hard for any unfamiliar noises. The only person I see on the stairs is a neighbor with fiery red hair who’s heading down from the second floor to the lobby with his skateboard in one hand.
I almost make the call in the lobby. Then I decide to buy Catherine some flu medicine from the wizard hat shop down the street in case she gets worse. I’d rather be on the street now, in the light of day, than at night. I walk toward the corner, waiting until I’m about twenty yards away from the apartment before I dial the lawyer’s number on my burner phone.
The lawyer answers midway through the first ring. He sounds breathless and amped up, saying, “Hello?” before I can get in a word.
Something is off in his tone.
I stop walking and instinctively shift to stand with my back against the nearest storefront wall.
“I’m calling about James—”
He cuts me off. “This is you, right? The family member? I hate to tell you this, but James Bates is gone.”
My vision swims. The faces of people passing me are distorted, like I’m seeing them reflected in a fun-house mirror.
“When?” I manage to gasp. It’s hard to talk. It feels like someone’s hands are wrapped around my throat.
“He left the halfway house in the middle of the night. He’s already in violation of parole. The cops and the U.S. Marshals are looking for him. They’re going to find him. Don’t you worry about—”
Catherine.
