He found me.
I move.
Not toward the door, not toward the stairs, not toward any of the exits. My body doesn't follow plans. My body follows the instincts I learned when I was ten years old. Find the smallest space. Get into it. Be small. Invisible.
Move!
I spot the gap between the walk-in freezer and the wall. Eighteen inches of shadow. I squeeze into it sideways, my back scraping against the cinder block, my chest pressing against the cold metal of the freezer. I slide down to the floor and pull my knees to my chest. I wrap my arms over my head and I make myself as small as I can possibly be.
He found me. He found me. He found me.
The words cycle through my head like a siren. No other thoughts. No logic, no reason, no Tex's voice saying, I'm right here. Nobody's going to hurt you.
He found me.
Just the three words, repeating, the only truth my body knows when it sees those shoulders.
I'm rocking back and forth. I can feel my back hitting the wall behind me on each pass, a rhythmic thump against the cinder block, but I can't stop. The rocking is the only thing keeping me from losing my sanity.
The rocking is what I did every night after he left. After the door closed and the boots went down the hall. I would sit on the bed and rock and hold my arms over my head and wait for the shaking to stop.
The shaking doesn't stop this time. My hands are gripping my own arms so hard I can feel my fingernails breaking skin, drawing blood and I can't loosen them. My jaw is clenched. My eyes are open but I'm not seeing the bar.
I'm seeing the doorway. The silhouette. The smile that means terrible things are about to happen to me.
He will always find me.
He found me. He found me. He found me.
Tex can't save me.
It doesn't matter how far I run or who I run to or how safe I feel. He found me here, in a bar on a beach after a hurricane, and he will always, always find me.
I'm going to lose everything.
The bar. My bed. The coffee with three sugars. Sheila's hand on my shoulder. The Christmas lights. The parking lot.Tex's arms. Tex's heartbeat. Tex's voice saying I love you every morning.
I love you, Stormy.
I'm going to lose all of it because Ron is here. Ron doesn't leave without what's his and I am what's his. I've always been what's his and the running was just the space between captures.
Time stops. Or passes.
I don't know which.
The bar hums around me. The freezer vibrates against my chest. Sounds reach me from far away, muffled, like hearing things from underwater. The party in the parking lot. Music. Laughter.
A world that doesn't know I'm losing my mind in the eighteen inches between a freezer and a wall.
Chapter 30: Tex
I hurry inside. The food station is still set up, containers open, a serving spoon resting on the counter. A plate of food is on the floor near the back door, brisket and beans scattered across the tile like someone dropped it.
"Stormy?" I call. My voice echoes off the stainless steel. "Sheila?"
Nothing.
I check the back hallway. The storeroom. The office. I go upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Second floor, third floor. The bedroom door is open. The bed is made. His flip-flops are by the door.
