“Early days.”
I laugh at that, even though this is strange and awful, totalk about people being dead so casually. As if they never mattered to anyone. Were they bad men? Yes.
“We can’t tell anyone else about the deaths, not Molly or Ron, not the Weirdos,” Kail says.
“I agree.”
For a while we don’t talk much. The confessions came as a shock to me, but we both need the silence. Finally, I suggest we figure out what we can tell the Weirdos, as well as what we can’t. We decide almost everything should be disclosed. With so much at stake, we owe them the truth.
We take a breather in the kitchen, drinking the last of my milk and sharing a stray snack bar, having checked the paper files in the hallway, and the other downstairs rooms. It’s past midday.
“Let’s check the yard and the boat, then do lunch? Wait.” I tsk at myself. “We might have to eat cat food. I need to shop. I’ve sponged off the McCluskers enough.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s do that. Is there no attic?”
I shake my head. “You know, I don’t think we will find anything new.” I raise my arms out to my sides, then flop them back down, ready to give in. “Apart from some rubbish and the overgrown gardens, there’s nothing outside. Oh. The garage too.”
“We should be thorough. You might’ve missed things.”
“I guess.”
Another hour passes, and we find nothing.
“Phooey.” We clean our shoes at the back door, then I grab my phone and keys off the kitchen counter and head for the car. “Be back soon. With food and you know what.”
“I’m coming with you.”
I stop and turn. “If you’re seen…even your face will make people remember you. The institute must know you’re missing.” Will make-up help disguise him?
“They don’t. It’s a different institute.”
“What? Now this is getting really ridiculous. There isn’t another one.”
“There is. A more secret one.”
He’s dead serious. How bad is this memory problem?
“I remember reading how some memories can sometimes not be read by other parts of the brain. They’re there but not being seen? Maybe that’s you?”
He purses his lips, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far, stepped on a metaphorical landmine.
“Maybe.”
“Even if you’re right, somehow, it’s just too risky.”
“I’ll stay in the car, Hailey. I’m your back-up, your bodyguard. You are at risk, also. Remember?”
He’s right. Damn. “They won’t try to abduct or kill me in public.”
“I’ll be in the car.”
“Tsk. Okay. Come on.”
“I’m grabbing some good clothes to cover up my face and arms. A hoodie.” He returns to the bedroom, and I head downstairs into the garage to the Chevy.
It’s so complicated. Our best defense is being out in public, so long as the cops don’t want to arrest us. If they do, we are fucked. But if Kail is being searched for, being out in public is the opposite of where he should be. Plus, he might scare anyone who sees his scars into next week.
It’s a problem.
