In the middle of nowhere, no one can hear Sarah scream. No one can hear the hum of the blade slipping past wool and into muscle. No one can hear Elijah’s laughing or his snort as he gasps wetly.
“Look what you’ve become,” Elijah cackles. “You hurt me. And her. He wins. Dad wins, Caleb.”
No one can hear Caleb’s strangled grunt or Sarah’s cry as he releases her wrist. Triumphant, she sprints toward the road to the Suicide Motel.
Elijah had been right. Shedidenjoy the look of surprise on Caleb’s face.
* * *
Sarah tries to remember what freedom feels like. But all she can think of is the elation that surged through her when she swung those antlers and gored Ben. The giddy knowledge he would never lie to her again, and his look of disbelief as he gurgled his last breath.
She clings to that joy as she approaches the Suicide Motel. The highway is visible from the parking lot, the ground vibrating beneath her feet from the occasional tanker truck rumbling by. The motel is boarded up, plywood tucked where there should’ve been glass. Caleb painted over the slur, but she knows it’s there. Something that ugly isn’t easily covered up by a fresh coat of paint.
Ben’s rental car is camouflaged by half a foot of snow, stacked on top like cake icing. The door is unlocked. Of course. Caleb would have made sure it supported the story that Ben abandoned the car for the woods. Sarah slides into the driver’s seat, tossing her backpack in the back, praying she can start the cold engine before Caleb reaches her. He’s staggering toward the parking lot in the distance. She’s relieved the knife blow wasn’t fatal—she’s left enough bodies behind in Sweetside—but she can’t be blamed for anything that happens next. Anger stains her euphoria at getting away. It’s Caleb’s own fault. He should’ve come with her when she’d asked.Look what you did. It doesn’t have to be like this.
She sticks the key in the ignition, as swiftly as she’d slid the knife into Caleb. The dashboard lights up, and she starts the windshield wipers to brush away the worst of the snow. The rubber blades squeal a protest, but there’s no time to get out with the ice scraper. She turns the key and the car sputters, begging for a gentle warm-up. It’ll have no such luck. She’ll have to burn rubber and hope the cold engine can keep up.
Caleb’s close enough that she can see him shouting in the rearview mirror. She turns the key again with a determined grunt. Nothing can stop her now, not even Caleb’s pretty blue eyes and her name in his pleading mouth.
Nothing except the black-and-white police cruiser that squeals off the highway and comes to a stop in the entrance of the lot.
Sarah’s pulse rattles as violently as the car’s engine. The cruiser’s high beams flick on. She freezes, putting up a hand to shield her eyes from the light.
A door opens, and slams. Officer Isaac is backlit, and Sarah can make out the raised, straight line of his arm and the black service revolver at the end. The rental car engine coughs, and dies, taking the last of her hopes with it.
Isaac approaches the driver’s side and opens the door. The gun and his steely gaze never waver. Sarah slowly raises her hands, shaking from the cold and adrenaline and terror.
“Well, well,” he drawls. “Miss Sarah. Good thing I decided to check out the mystery car idling in the parking lot. Get out, please.”
She obeys, because what else can she do. He’s law enforcement, and she’s anOrientalfrom the big bad city. She knows how that story ends.
Stumbling footfalls sound behind her, and the gun jumps upward. “Caleb,” Isaac says. “You were supposed to keep her contained. I’m disappointed in you, son. Both of you. Up to the house, now.”
“Uncle Isaac,” Caleb says, voice strained and his face pale and clammy. He puts up his hands. The left arm rises a little slower than the right. There’s a slash low in the shoulder of his coat, but no knife hilt. “Don’t be hard on Sarah. It’s my fault. I told her she could go.”
Caleb’s eyebrows draw together, and his apologetic smile doesn’t betray how much pain he must be in. It strikes Sarah that he also has to actniceto survive. Because he’s afraid of becoming his father. Afraid of Jacob Vass’s ghost, looking out from his eyes, the way Ben has started to look out from hers.
She has as much in common with Caleb as she does with Elijah.
“That doesn’t matter. You’re both compromised now.” Isaac motions to the house with the gun. “Two weeks, at least. You know the rules. Walk, and no funny business. If I have to choose between you and the rest of the town, you know who I’ll pick.”
Caleb nods. “Yes, sir.”
They start the trudge back up to the house, Sarah too numb and scared to speak. Sweetside Manor looms up ahead, and she accepts at last it will not let her go until she’s served her time.
Ben’s voice in her head laughs and laughs.
Or maybe it’s Elijah. He staggers to his feet as they approach, eyes glittering behind his bruises. Isaactsksat him. “Not wearing a mask either, I see. Go on inside, Elijah.” He doesn’t mention Elijah’s swelling face or the blood oozing around his nose and mouth. Elijah picks up his duffel and joins Sarah and Caleb on the death march to the house.
Isaac pulls out his cell phone and picks out a contact, his gun still trained on them. The space between Sarah’s shoulder blades tickles. “Jerry? Got a car at the motel that needs towing. Looks like it’s been abandoned.” He pauses, and heaves a sigh. “No, the motel isnotcursed. Obviously someone wanted to ditch their car and vanish. Don’t go spreading rumors. Also gonna need your help with Sweetside Manor. Round up all the guys you can. Get the table saw from Murry and bring extra plywood and tools if you got ’em. No, be nice. They’re cooperating.”
Isaac hangs up, and slams the open door of the pickup truck closed as he passes. Sarah flinches at the noise, convinced he’d discharged his gun. She reaches the front porch, mouth sour with dread and the spot between her shoulder blades itching.
“Inside,” Isaac says.
Elijah pushes the front door open, and the hinges shriek a welcome. “I’d lock your door,” is the last thing Isaac says before the door swings shut behind them.
Caleb gingerly peels off his coat, revealing a dark stain spread over his flannel shirt. Elijah sniffles. His nose bleeds sluggishly, and he cradles his right hand to his belly. Although his downtrodden air may be another act, Sarah can’t help responding. She gently wraps him in a hug. He whimpers and rests his head on her shoulder. She doesn’t tell him she’s sorry. Because she’s not. They’re two peas in a pod, and he would have betrayed her in an instant, too. He knows this; he sees her like no one else ever has. They see each other now.
