Page 2

This time he looked up, and his gaze narrowed suspiciously. “No. If we had a second floor we would be required to.”

I nodded and tried to stay cool. The last thing I needed him to do was call the police or something. “Okay, sounds good.”

“Enjoy your stay,” he said and I’ve never been more grateful to have someone dismiss me in my life.

I clutched the key and my bag and as I turned to leave, he spoke again.

“We got vending machines down by the office. Ice machine’s broken. Don’t call to complain about it.”

I nodded and as I heard the bell chime once more, it felt like I could finally breathe. Room ten was at the far end of the building, which meant a longer walk, but hopefully more peace. When I reached the door and tried the key, the lock didn’t budge on the first try. The second time it gave and when I pushed the door open, I was greeted by darkness.

It took me a second, but my fingers finally found the light switch. The light that flickered on was yellow and dim, but it was enough for me to see what I was getting into here.

The room was exactly what seventy-five dollars bought you in Delaware. A bed that sagged in the middle so much that you would think it was a hammock. A television with a remote that might have been an original from the seventies. A bathroom with a shower curtain that had seen better days and a toilet that I would not be sitting on without a layer of something between me and the seat. The carpet had stains that I refused to identify.

I locked the door, slid the chain, and then dragged the desk chair over to wedge it under the handle. It wouldn’t stop someone permanently, but it would make enough noise to wake me if someone tried, and right now, that was the only warning system I had.

With a heavy sigh, I dropped my bag on the bed and sat on the edge of it. I swear I smelled a hint of cigarettes, but it didn’t matter to me. My body had stopped caring about luxury several hours ago, when the only remaining question became “Can I sleep here without being found?”

The answer was yes because I was already beginning to drift before I’d fully made the decision to lie down. I kicked off my sneakers without untying them because did it really matter? I walked into the bathroom, turned on the faucet and let the water run over my hands until they were clean enough. I splashed some cold water on my face, hoping it would count as clean before turning everything off.

I dried my hands on the thin towel and made my way back to the bed, where I sat down and pulled out the burner phone. I stared at it for a moment, fighting the urge to turn it on and check for news. Was Cain dead? Was I already wanted for murder? The uncertainty bothered me, but not enough for me to start researching whether or not I was a murderer.

I lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity. For dramatic effect, the rain picked up again as my mind kept trying to calculate the distance to D.C. It was three hours, maybe less, if I rented a car and drove. I could be home by sunrise.

Home.

It seemed like a foreign concept at this point because what was home really? Chances are if Cain was alive, my condo and car had been ransacked among other things he could have done.

Those thoughts became too much. Instead, I closed my eyes and let the rain fill the silence. Morning would come with its own problems, but for now in this room that cost seventy-five dollars and smelled like cigarettes, I was safe.

I held onto that word like it was the last thing I owned.

Safe.

It wouldn’t last because nothing good ever did.

But it was good enough for tonight.

2

SUTTON

A couple days later

I had been awake since five, which meant I had watched the ceiling for approximately ninety-three minutes before my body decided that sleep was over. The drop ceiling tiles above my head featured a water stain that had bloomed into a shape that kind of looked like Delaware, which I found hilariously—and maybe darkly—appropriate given where I currently was.

This was my second morning in the second motel. The first one had lasted exactly one night before my paranoia kicked in and I thought it made sense to relocate. Seventy-five dollars bought you a sagging bed and a reception clerk with wandering eyes; ninety-five dollars bought you this place with its water-stained drop ceiling and a window unit that rattled like a set of loose teeth. But I refused to complain.

The chair that I wedged under the door handle was still where I left it before I went to sleep. Thank God. I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I had slept in my clothes again, something I’d only done when I was drunk and in college because I couldn’t function well enough to remove them. Pushing aside memories of good times and the bad from my college days, I stretched and began what was now my morning routine.

First, I needed to check the window. I walked across the room and tried the latch with two fingers and found that it was still secure. The glass was single-pane and thin enough that I could hear the pre-dawn traffic on the main road, but the latch was solid. I had tested it the previous night by trying to force it from the outside and was pleased to see that it didn’t budge.

Second, the door had to have a look over. I ran my finger along the door frame, confirming the sliver of paper I’d wedged there hadn’t fallen, then checked the chair. It hadn’t shifted overnight. I pressed my ear against it for three full seconds to see if I heard anything suspicious. There was nothing but the hum of the rattling window unit and cars driving down the road.

Absolute and utter perfection.

Third, I needed to eat something. I walked over to the lone table in the room to grab a protein bar from my bag. Unfortunately, it was my last one, which meant I’d need to find more food today. I washed it down with the last of the bottled water I’d brought from the previous motel. My stomach growled in response to me filling it with at least something, but I ignored it.