Page 65 of Gone Tonight
He’d probably been driving to work, his mind filled with the list of all the ordinary things he needed to do that day. Now he was caught in a vortex.
It wasn’t until we’d passed him that I realized my hand had risen so my palm pressed against my glass window. The devastated stranger was the only person in the world I felt connected to at this moment.
I stayed wide awake for the rest of the ride.
When the bus arrived in Pittsburgh, I was the last one to get off. I felt like I’d put enough space and miles between me and James and the horrible crime we’d committed. But I had no idea where to go next. I’d have to sleep at some point, but I couldn’t afford a hotel. Plus I didn’t have any ID or a credit card to rent a room.
I looked around at all the people passing by: men and women walking rapidly with briefcases or BlackBerrys in their hands, a group of construction workers jackhammering up a section of the road, and a guywith a backpack slung over one shoulder jaywalking while a car horn bleated at him.
I began to walk, too.
I must’ve roamed the streets for a couple of hours before I passed a pretzel vendor. The yeasty aroma of bread made my stomach rumble. I was suddenly ravenous. I searched through my duffle until I found the red apple and devoured it, crunching all the way down to the core.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and wondered if I could splurge on a pretzel. Then I mentally tallied what I’d already spent on the taxi and bus and kept walking.
I finally stopped when I came to a grand, gray building with arched windows and columns. Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh, the sign out front read.
I stared at it for a moment, then went inside.
The enormous, open space was beautiful, with soaring ceilings and intricate molding and rows of gleaming wood tables. I hadn’t belonged to a church growing up—my father was Catholic and my mother disparaged his religion like she did everything else about him—but to me, this place felt like a sanctuary. It seemed like nothing bad could happen to a person here.
I found an empty seat at one of the wooden tables. Someone had left a few books there, so I reached for one and pretended to read. The subject was the Manhattan Project and the sentences were long and dense. I tried to focus on one, then reread it as the letters blurred and jumped around.
I woke up with a crick in my neck and a parched mouth. My face was pressed against the open book on the table. I lifted my head and rubbed my eyes. The library was more crowded now. A few other people were working at my table, but no one was paying me any attention.
I looked around for a clock, wincing as my tight neck muscles protested. It was a little after six.
I couldn’t believe I’d slept for so long.
Outside, the light was waning. The sun would go down soon, and the library would close.
If I didn’t find a place to stay tonight, I’d be in serious trouble.
I stood up and hurried out the door.
The streets were even more busy now. Car horns honked and brakes squealed and people wove around me on the sidewalk, bumping against my duffle bag. Everyone had somewhere to go.
I began walking, too, my fast pace eating up the blocks. At one point I passed someone in a sleeping bag curled up in front of a closed camera store. I averted my eyes and kept walking. A girl couldn’t stay alone on the street like that, but maybe there was somewhere else I could camp for the night. There had to be a park nearby. I could find an isolated spot, maybe beneath a shrub where I wouldn’t be noticed. I’d stay awake all night and sleep in the library again tomorrow.
I’d been walking for a long while and the sun was setting. I didn’t have time to figure out a better plan.
I looked up to try to get a sense of my surroundings and spotted a giant red bull’s-eye at the end of the block, marking the location of a Target store. I might find a cheap sleeping bag there, and I could buy a bottle of juice and a snack, too.
I walked to the entrance and stepped on the mat to trigger the sliding glass doors to open. I stepped into the brightly lit, clean space, featuring aisles stocked with everything from cereal to board games, and in the middle of the store, rack after rack of clothing.
I made my way to the camping supply aisle and stared at the two brands of sleeping bags that were for sale, one lightweight and one for cold weather. The lightweight one cost less. What else might I need?
I kept walking around the store, looking at all the things I’d buy if I had the money. Skippy peanut butter and saltine crackers. Clean socks. Hand lotion. Deodorant and a washcloth. A bottle of Snapple lemonade.
Then I stopped short. Beneath a glass display shelf by the camping section was a row of pocketknives.
Maybe I should get one, just in case.
But would I be able to use it to defend myself if I had to?
A vision of Coach’s bloody, broken body swam before me and my legs buckled. I grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from falling.
I took a few deep breaths and forced myself to keep moving. My arm was aching from lugging around my duffle bag. I glanced at the backpacks, but everything was too expensive.
