Chapter 17
Moe
––––––––
Sunlight crept across the bedroom floor in thin, warm stripes, catching on the edges of Jillian's laptop on the desk.
The storm from the night before had blown itself out, leaving the air washed clean and the pavement outside steaming as it dried.
Moe stood behind her, one hand braced on the back of the chair she sat in, the other resting loosely at his side.
His body remained heavy and satisfied in a way he hadn't experienced in years.
But away from Everstill, his mind was anything but calm.
Jillian tapped something on the keyboard, her brows drawn together in concentration. Moe watched the screen like it was some kind of magic trick he wasn't sure he trusted. The glow of it reflected off her face, softening the shadows under her eyes, making her look younger, almost peaceful.
He didn't understand any of it.
Back when he'd lived here, before Everstill had swallowed him whole, computers were things rich people had. He'd heard people talk about them, but he'd never touched one. Never had the opportunity.
And now Jillian had one sitting in front of her like it was nothing. A thin, silver thing that folded in half and lit up with a touch. She'd told him it was basically the same as her phone, and that made even less sense. How could something so small do the same thing as something so big?
Apparently, the computer was no longer something that stored data. It connected to the world. Anything she wanted to find out was on there. She just needed to know what to look for.
"There has to be something," she murmured, scrolling through a page full of text. "Some mention of Everstill. Some clue. Anything."
Moe shifted his weight, the floorboard creaking under his heel. "You really think someone wrote about Everstill? Put it on that...internet thing?"
She glanced back at him, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. "People put everything on the internet."
He didn't say it out loud, but the idea unsettled him. A world where anyone could find answers to anything just by typing? A world where secrets didn't stay buried? It carried the same danger as Everstill.
Jillian kept scrolling, her fingers moving fast. Moe watched her hands, the way they danced over the keys with confidence. She belonged in this world. She understood it. He didn't. He wasn't sure he ever would.
"What if we can't find anything?" he asked quietly.
She paused, her shoulders tensing. "Then we look another way."
He nodded, though the knot in his stomach tightened.
He didn't know Finn's last name. Didn't know Kallie's.
Didn't know where they were staying now or who they knew.
All he had was the memory of following Finn here, then the mad scramble to stay one step ahead of the cops until he spotted Jillian, and he made the choice to kidnap her to get back to Everstill.
"They have to be around," he said, more to himself than to her. "Finn came through. I followed him. He couldn't have gone far. He had no car."
"Unless Kallie had a car here." Jillian glanced over her shoulder at him. "We don't know what kind of life she led. Just like I walk to work, but I could drive. My mom's car is in the garage."
Jillian closed the laptop gently, turning in her chair to face him. The blanket slipped from her shoulder, and he reached out automatically, pulling it back up before she could shiver.
Her eyes softened. "We'll find him."
He wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe they could track down a man with no last name in a world he barely understood. Wanted to believe he hadn't dragged her into something she couldn't escape.
But when she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his, the knot in his chest loosened a little.
The morning light softened her hair, and the blanket she'd wrapped around herself kept slipping off one shoulder. He reached out without thinking and pulled it back up. She gave him a small smile before turning back to the screen.
"Can you..." He hesitated, unsure how to ask. "Can you look me up? On that thing?"
She blinked, surprised. "Sure."
He nodded once. "If I'm wanted here, I need to know how bad it is. What kind of time am I looking at if I'm caught?"
Jillian swallowed, then typed his name into the search bar. "I don't even know your last name."
"Clemens." He spelled the name he hadn't thought of in a long time and leaned over her shoulder, trying to make sense of the words as they appeared, but the screen was too bright, too crowded, too full of things he didn't understand.
Her voice was steady at first as she read aloud. "Moe Clemens, wanted in connection with the murder of Timothy Reed in—"
Then she stopped.
Her breath hitched.
She scrolled back up, eyes widening. "Moe...this date..."
He frowned. "What about it?"
She counted silently on her fingers, her lips moving. Then she looked up at him, pale. "This says the crime you're wanted for happened twenty-nine years ago."
The room tilted. Moe stepped back. "That can't be right."
"Didn't you say you ended up going to Everstill instead of prison?"
"Yeah."
She stared at him, searching his face. "How old are you?"
"Thirty-four."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Moe, the article says you were thirty-four when the crime happened...how is that possible?"
She turned back to the laptop, typing faster now, her fingers trembling. She clicked another link, then another, her breath growing uneven. Finally, she turned the screen toward him.
"That's what it says. Here's your birth date. You were thirty-four when you committed the crime. That was twenty-nine years ago, so you must've lived in Everstill all that time." Her voice rose. "Time stops here but not in Everstill."
He straightened, trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying.
"That makes you sixty-three," she said.
Moe's heart slammed against his ribs. He stumbled back another step, running both hands through his hair. The world shifted.
Sixty-three. Jesus Christ.
He'd never kept track of the days in Everstill. The sky never changed except for when storms arrived. The season never changed. He hadn't worried about the differences. He hadn't even thought of them.
But there was something about returning that brought a flood of emotions to him. He was conscious of time slipping away.
He looked down at his hands, turned them over, and clenched them into fists. How the fuck could he be sixty-three years old?
"How—?" His voice broke. He tried again. "How could I not know?"
"Everstill did it. You were a different man there. You didn't worry or talk like you do now." Jillian stood slowly, the blanket falling from her shoulders. She crossed the room to him. "Moe," she whispered, "it's okay."
"It's not." His voice was raw.
"But you're not alone. I'm here with you."
"It's—" He shook his head, unable to finish. "I lost everything. Twenty-nine years I lost. I didn't even know."
She reached him then, sliding her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his chest. He froze for a moment, then his hands came up, gripping her back like she was the only solid thing left in the world.
"The only people who have to know," she murmured, "are us. It doesn't change anything."
He closed his eyes, breathing her in, trying to steady himself. He hated to admit that he needed her. Her warmth, her scent, the way she held him, kept him from losing his mind.
She pulled back enough to look up at him. "Whatever Everstill did to you, it stopped your aging. You didn't lose those years. Just like I didn't lose time with my mom, it was like I wasn't even there. You didn't feel them, either. But you're still you."
He swallowed hard, his throat tight. "But this world thinks I'm sixty-three."
"Then it's wrong," she said simply.
How the fuck was he an old man now? He didn't feel that old.
"You thought the police were after you for the crime you committed all those years ago, but that would've been impossible.
Even if they were looking for Moe Clemens, they would be looking for someone who looks like he's in his sixties, which you do not.
" She ran her hands down the sides of his face, straightening his beard.
All you have to do is go by a different name, change your hair, maybe trim your beard, and you wouldn't even look like the man you were all those years ago. You can be free."
As much as he wanted to believe her. He was more concerned about what Everstill had done to him. He'd lost twenty-nine years.