She drives and drives and drives, spends the next half an hour telling herself truths that tangle like intersections and feel like lies. They are not on the run. They are victims. They are not perpetrators. She will not let the kidnapper’s version of events become her own.
The world looks the same, but isn’t, not any longer. Normal life as Simone knew it ended several days prior: when she was pissed off with her lost baggage, the late hour, desperate tosee Lucy. She aches for it, those moments when she was just Simone the mother, the wife, the chef, internally criticizing people’s burritos in airports and feeling jet-lagged. Nothing more, nothing less.
As she navigates the highways, burning panic simmers off, reducing and reducing to something concentrated but more manageable. Five minutes later, her phone beeps. It’s Damien, asking her to call him. Anxiety shimmers over her skin. What now?
She drives a little further, then sees a petrol station up ahead. It has a small shop with a night hatch still open, and a scrap car yard. Simone pulls into the forecourt and brakes hastily. Still Lucy sleeps. She manoeuvres the car away from CCTV, into the darkness of the shadows.
Damien doesn’t answer the phone. Confused, Simone tries him again. This time, it diverts to voicemail after two rings.
She parks up, gets out of the car to find better signal, but doesn’t walk away; of course she doesn’t. Instead, she leans against the warm car and tries him again, her eyes never leaving Lucy’s moonlit sleeping form.
Two more calls. Both go immediately to voicemail. And somewhere deep inside, Simone knows that something has shifted again. The moments feel the same, they feel recognizable in some way, like punctuation. The instant Lucy was taken. The ransom. The shooting.
And now this.
A WhatsApp alert arrives:Damien has turned on disappearing messages.
Simone frowns. What? Disappearing messages? Fear presses a plunger hard into her stomach.
Damien begins typing.
Can’t speak. Check the news.
Message deleted.
‘What?’ Simone whispers to no one, her mouth dry.
She tries to breathe, to not let the panic back in. She glances up at the shop. It looks empty, the cashier maybe in the back. Not a single car passes. There’s silence. Lucy’s head is lolling, unaware, part of her chin shining silver with drool.
She takes a breath, then googles Texas news. And it’s there.
THIS IS A BREAKING NEWS STORY THAT WILL BE UPDATED AS SOON AS WE HAVE MORE INFORMATIONa disclaimer reads at the top in red and white.
DOUBLE SHOOTING IN SHAFTERsays the headline. Simone scans the article, frantic.
A MAN was shot dead only hours ago in a rest stop in Shafter, Presidio County. Dashcam footage has been handed in. Police are urgently trying to find two women who match the stills taken below.
Simone’s hands begin to shake. Her entire body goes hot.
There was a camera.
CHAPTER 29
There are two images: Simone, alone, holding the gun, her teeth gritted, her eyes scrunched at their corners but open and staring. Her body is rigid and strong-looking, the gun held straight out in front of her in both hands.
She stares at it, repulsed. She has killed a man, barely processed it. And that moment, that moment that felt so right to her as she protected her daughter at all costs, was actually this: ugly and brutal. She’s the monster. Of everyone in this awful cast, she’s the killer.
The second photograph is Simone and Lucy, standing by the bleeding body, the gun visible on the top of the car.
The back of the car is out of the frame. The reality dawns on Simone like a hangover. The kidnap has not been captured. Only the shooting. The man getting out. Then Simone moving towards him, firing at him in plain sight. Nothing of the boot, Lucy, the handover.
But wait.
DOUBLE SHOOTINGsays the headline, and Simone scrolls down frantically, dread pulsing through her.
A second bullet was fired at a police officer on a surveillance job who arrived at the scene after hearing the first shot. Although he was in an unmarked car, he was in uniform when he started to exit his vehicle and the second woman shot at him.
The officer in question sustained an injury to his lower leg.
