I lean forward and kiss him. My god I would do anything for this man, he has imprinted on me and I don’t ever want to be free from him. I love how he tastes, like coffee and the desert air, and I want to memorize it. When I pull back, his eyes are watching me intensely, like he is holding himself back from taking me right now.
"I need to make some calls," he says. "Set up the new IDs and transfer money. Get everything in place."
"Okay."
"And you need to finish your work."
I glance at the camera. "I do."
He stands and moves to the front of the van, pulling out his phone. I watch the way he moves with purpose, the way his mind is already three steps ahead, calculating routes and risks and contingencies.
He's keeping us alive. And I'm keeping us real.
I grab another one of my lollipops and place it in my mouth, before picking up the camera again and photographing him. The way the light falls across his shoulders. The tension in his spine. The phone pressed to his ear as he talks in low, clipped tones to whoever's on the other end.
This is my art now.
Not just death. Not just the truth hiding under the surface.
But us.
The radio is still on in the background, cycling through stations. Another news report breaks through the static.
"– authorities are expanding their search for two individuals believed to be connected to the death of Gary Hollis. Police areurging anyone who sees the suspects to call immediately and not approach…"
I turn it off. We don't need to hear any more. We already know what we are. Murderers. Fugitives. Ghosts in the making.
And in one week, we'll be gone.
I look through the viewfinder one last time, framing Dom against the desert landscape visible through the windshield. The emptiness and endless horizon. The space where people go missing and are never found.
Click.
I set the camera down and start packing. We have work to do. By next week, Roxy and Dom will be dead.
And whoever we become next will be free.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DOM
The phone rings three times before he picks up.
"Yeah."
"It's me."
Long pause.
"Didn't think I'd hear from you again."
"Things change."
"They do." Marcus' voice is rough, careful. He knows better than to ask questions on an open line.
"You need something?"
"Yeah, new IDs, the works."
