Chapter 21 Aurora #2
What do I do? Now that I’m out, where do I go?
Instinct makes me take off on foot, running for the exit, shoving the gun under my sweatshirt while I do.
I’m a murderer. Just like my father, I’ve taken a life.
Two lives. I had to do it, but is that what Dad used to tell himself?
He had a way of rationalizing his choices, too.
There’s no time to think about that now. I can worry about it later, when I’m safe.
Only, where is safety? Shit. I didn’t stop to count the money I stole, but there were plenty of big bills in there. How much, though? How long will it last? How do I get more money? Why didn’t I think about that?
It’s too late now. Once I’m out of the garage, I slow my pace to a brisk walk, still hustling down the sidewalk with my hands shoved deep into my pockets.
One fist is clenched around the money—I can’t just take it out now and count it.
I haven’t spent much time outside in the world and pretty much no time at all by myself, but even I know that much.
I can’t flash cash around if I expect to keep it.
So what do I do? I stop at the first corner, overwhelmed by the sounds of passing traffic, honking horns, people’s voices as they walk past in both directions.
They’re talking to each other, they’re talking on their phones, they’re listening to music.
None of them know they just walked past a double murderer who is still carrying the gun she used in one of her crimes.
I have to think. I have to calm myself down.
I keep walking, always expecting to be spotted.
By Liam, by somebody from his team. My heart stops and my stomach plummets when I see a police car parked up ahead, and I have to force myself to keep walking instead of running in the opposite direction.
I have to act normally. They don’t know what I did. Nobody knows yet.
I don’t have any ID. I only have the money I’m carrying in my pocket.
How far can I get with that? What happens when I run out of it?
The panic starts seeping back in and poisoning my brain until I force myself to shake it off.
I can think about all of that later, once I’m hidden someplace safe. The first step is finding that place.
I stop at the next Starbucks and head straight for the bathroom.
I need privacy to count my money. Once I’m behind a locked door, I pull the cash from my pocket and unfold it.
There’s over six hundred dollars here, including a lot of small bills.
Should I get a cab? But I wouldn’t know where to tell them to take me, and that would probably eat up too much money.
What else? The bus? Several of them passed me while I was walking, though I don’t know how much it will cost to ride.
I guess I can always find out once I’m on.
There are plenty of dollar bills, so I should be able to pay.
I don’t think they give change. I don’t know a lot, but I know that much.
Peeling a handful of singles away, I tuck the bulk of my stolen money in the pocket of my yoga pants and fold the rest before tucking it into the sweatshirt. I make sure the gun is secure, the safety on before wedging it down the back of both pairs of pants. It shouldn’t fall out.
I can do this. I have to do it. I can’t go back. He’ll kill me for this.
That’s what gives me the courage to leave the bathroom and go back outside, where there are a few people waiting under a metal shelter at the corner.
I join them, standing as still as I can, even though I’m all jittery and anxious inside.
They don’t know what I did. Nobody knows. I’m just like one of them.
Maybe one of them is a murderer, too. Maybe I need to not think about things like that.
I’m shaking so hard my teeth chatter by the time the bus pulls up.
It is a stroke of good luck when the man in front of me unfolds three-dollar bills and feeds them into the machine next to the driver.
I do the same thing and try not to cheer or look too relieved as I find an untaken seat.
I did it. I’m actually sitting on the bus with strangers.
A tiny bit of the tightness in my chest loosens when we start moving. I’m free. At last.
Now what? Now, I figure out what happens next.
I guess I just have to find someplace cheap to stay, right?
But where? I don’t even have a phone to look things up.
I could find a library and hope they have computers to use, but I don’t know where to start looking for the nearest branch.
I might as well be an alien who just landed on a new planet.
I’m that clueless. Helpless. This is how Dad raised me to be.
But I’ve gotten this far. Hope warms my chest, even if it doesn’t do anything to calm my frantically racing heart. I can figure this out. I can figure anything out.
The bus stops and starts. People get on and off. The number of passengers thins out by the time we leave the impossible density of the city and head to a more suburban area. Well, maybe not quite suburban. Industrial? We pass a strip mall, a gas station, a motel.
A motel!
I get up and pull the cord to signal the driver to stop, the way I saw so many other people do. The bus keeps rolling until we reach the next stop, meaning I have to walk a little ways back toward the bright, neon-lit sign. Vacancy. I head straight for it and hope. All I can do is hope.
It’s pretty grim-looking, really, not that I can afford to be picky right now.
The concrete around it is cracked and broken, littered with glittering bits of glass and cigarette butts.
They tell a story, along with the condition of the few cars parked in front of rooms—one of them has a door that doesn’t match the rest of the car’s color.
Another has a trash bag where one of the windows should be.
This is probably the kind of place where people mind their own business, and that’s all that matters now.
Well, it would be nice if the room was clean, but I’m not asking for much more than that.
There’s a sign reading Office with an arrow pointing to the door of a glass-walled room closest to the road.
Pulling in a deep breath that smells like diesel fumes and cigarettes, I push open the swinging door and step inside.
The girl behind the desk looks me up and down. We could be the same age, or close to it. She looks bored and barely stifles a yawn as I approach the desk. The soles of my shoes stick to the floor once or twice along the way. “You need a room?” she asks.
“I do. How much?”
“How many nights?”
Hell, I have no idea. My bladder feels really heavy all of a sudden. “I’m not sure. I just need a room.”
“Well, it’s fifty-five bucks a night.”
I can handle that for a few days, I guess. I’ll have to figure out a way to get food, but there’s a vending machine in here with chips and other snacks. If worse comes to worst, I could survive.
“I need to see some ID,” she adds, finally sitting up straight now that we’re doing business.
Oh, my god. It’s like everything is against me. “I…”
She arches an eyebrow behind a pair of red-rimmed glasses. “Yeah?”
“I kind of left in a hurry.” That’s the truth, anyway. “I didn’t bring it with me. But I do have cash,” I add before she can tell me to get lost.
“Then it’s ninety-five a night.”
Son of a bitch. I guess there’s nothing I can do. Even one night, just one night of sitting back and thinking things over where nobody knows who I am. “Okay. That’s fine.” I pull out five twenties and hand them over and get a five-dollar bill and a room key in return.
“Don’t want any trouble around here,” she warns, though even then, she sounds kind of bored. Like it’s what she has to say, but she doesn’t actually care.
“I won’t be any trouble.” I hope not, anyway. I hope I don’t have to stay here for long, even if I don’t have the first clue where to go next.
I’ll worry about it later. For now, I take my key, printed with the number five, and head down to the room. I hold my breath while I’m unlocking the door, hoping for the best.
It’s actually not terrible. A little dingy. The carpet is worn flat, the dresser is chipped, with one of the drawers sitting crooked. The faded floral wallpaper is hanging loose at two of the ceiling corners. But the bathroom is clean, and there are no bugs or anything. Things could be a lot worse.
And for the first time in all my life, I’m free. On the run? Yes. A murderer? Sure. But I’m on my own. Nobody’s telling me what to do. Nobody is locking me away. I’m on my own, and though I’m ecstatic about that, fear and loneliness are creeping up on me like fast-spreading mold.
I’m free, but also more alone than ever.