Page 98 of Gone Tonight
But James was captured only fifteen minutes after we were due tomeet. He had no way of knowing I was speeding down the highway in the opposite direction by then.
There could have been a dozen legitimate reasons for why I was late: I lost track of time in my state of shock. My father woke up when I came into the house to grab my things, and I had to wait to leave until he fell back asleep. I had car trouble. It took me longer to pack than the scant bit of time James had allotted me.
I was able to come up with all of those possibilities quickly. Of course, James would have considered them, too.
The fact that I never went to the police and gave a statement identifying James as Coach’s murderer in an effort to save myself could support any inclination James might have to give me the benefit of the doubt.
Now I sink into a chair and lean forward, my elbows on my knees, my mind whirling.
Maybe all those pictures he drew of me in prison weren’t a byproduct of his rage. Perhaps they were sourced in his twisted vision of love. He might have imagined we’d be a couple again once he was free.
All isn’t lost. I have one more chance.
This is the only path forward: James must be captured today.
I know how to make it happen, too. After all these years of hiding from the police, I’m finally going to use them as an ally.
I reach for my phone and navigate to the private message function on Facebook and send a carefully thought-out one to James, sprinkling in a few clues of my own.
Meet me at our special spot under the stars at 9 a.m.? Love, your chocolate-chip cannoli girl.
I wait, but there’s no immediate reply.
My eyes grow dry and itchy as minutes pass and I stare at the little screen, waiting for a response that doesn’t come. It’s the middle of the night. James must be asleep. There’s no way he can be driving down the highway, retracing our path here.
Finally, I put down my phone. My mind can’t be sluggish today. I have to get a bit of rest, too. I lie down beside Catherine, but I’m too uneasy to drift off. There’s a flimsy lock on our door, nothing that would stop someone determined to get inside. Every distant footstep is James coming down the hall. Every creak or rustle of wind is him drawing closer to us.
I toss and turn for a long time. Finally, I get up and open the Rice Krispies I smuggled in here. I sprinkle the dry cereal over the tiled floor, in the space between the door and our bed.
Satisfied the crunching noise will alert me to anyone who tries to sneak up on us, I finally close my eyes with my Mace in my hand.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVECATHERINE
I roll over, my eyes adjusting to the thin light seeping in through the cracks in the blinds, and see my mother crouched on the floor, picking up Rice Krispies.
“I was hungry and spilled them,” she whispers.
I watch her as memories of last night overpower my mind.Your name is Ava Morales, I think.You’ve hidden from the world for most of your life. You’ve kept me hidden, too.
I climb out of bed and jerk up the covers while my mother finishes clearing the last of the cereal off the floor.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks. It’s such an ordinary question.
But nothing about today is normal.
I nod, feeling unable—or maybe unwilling—to talk to her.
I walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. When I come back out, my stomach growls loudly enough for my mother to hear it.
“Here.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a granola bar and a bottle of water.
“Where did you get these?”
She shrugs. “They were in the Bonneville.”
I tear into the granola bar. It isn’t until I’ve almost finished it that Irealize my mother must be hungry, too. I offer her the last chunk, but she waves it away.
Just like she has always done when there isn’t enough food for us both.
