Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
Mei: Don’t believe in aliens, huh?? If you saw the guy I just helped find vacuum sealed baked beans, I am positive you’d be eating your words. But not the beans. Never the beans. His name was Zertog (no last name). Believe.
I back the Aston Martin into a stall and reluctantly step out. The smell of new leather and cologne that costs way more than my motorcycle makes me wish for just one day in the life of someone who has money to burn on valet parking.
After locking the car, I run back to the valet stand, swiping sweat from my forehead. Vegas in late September doesn’t offer anything remotely resembling a cool breeze. I want to laugh at the thought of all my hoodies stuffed in my bag back at our place. I haven’t taken them out since we got here two months ago, and I probably won’t any time soon.
I reach the valet desk, dangling the Aston Martin keys in front of Patrick. “Thought about stealing her,” I admit as I tag the keys.
“Dude—you should. The owner is a total loser. He has a few of them. He could count it as his one and only charitable donation.”
I smile and hang the key. “You know what I could do with the money I could get from that car? I definitely wouldn’t be working here.” I make a note in the logbook and laugh, imagining myself walking into The University of Anywhere’s admissions office and paying my tuition in full. And then I think about the money I walked away from at Stanford. I pick up the logbook and shove it into its slot in the kiosk.
The Palazzo notepad we use to leave notes for the next shift slips out, and I lean down to pick it up, glancing at the last note someone scrawled across the top sheet. I freeze, and blood drains from my face.
I tear it from the pad and read the sentence over and over again. I hold it up so Patrick can read it, my knuckles white from clenching the paper so tightly. “Did you write this?” My voice barely squeezes through my throat.
He yanks it from my grip and scans the message. Shakes his head. “Nah man.” He hands it back to me. “I’d never call you Mr. Miller.” He pats my chest and heads for a car pulling up to our stand.
My heart beats so hard, I curl my toes to keep from puking.
TO THE ESTEEMED MR. MILLER,
YOU AND MEI LI SHOULD HAVE FOUND A BETTER HIDING PLACE. I’LL COUNT TO 3…
I rip my phone from my pocket and dial Mei’s number, staring at the hotel’s entrance, my eyes flicking to every movement, searching for Nick’s face behind every column, every palm tree. After three rings, my pulse throbs, threatening to pick me up off the ground. Panicked, I stuff the note in my pocket and dart toward the parking garage and my motorcycle.
If Nick found me here, he probably found Mei first.
I dial her number again, the phone burning against my ear, matching the hot fear pounding through my veins. I beg God to please keep Nick away from Mei, and when she finally answers, a wave of relief crashes over me, leaving behind cold sweat.
“I’m guessing you called me at work to hear me tell you again how hot you are and how much you wish we were home right now?” The smile in her voice cuts through the thick fear inside me and I stop, my legs rubbery. I take a shaky breath as adrenaline recedes. Nick hasn’t found her. Yet.
“Yeah,” I say, straining to keep my voice steady as I ransack my mind for how much to tell her. The last thing I want to do is freak her out. I swallow hard and jerk into motion. “What time do you get off today?” I turn the corner, easing into a jog when my motorcycle’s within view.
“In exactly one hour and…forty-three minutes. So, basically, not soon enough.”
I hurry toward my bike, but my knees lock and I skid to a stop, almost dropping my phone. Another note waits on the seat. My mouth goes dry, Mei’s voice on the other end’s a blur of sound as I whirl around. My eyes sweep every dark corner, every pillar, every car.
“Marcus? Are you okay?”
My focus snaps to the note again and I step close enough to read it.
TIME’S UP.
I back away, my heart beating into my throat while I weigh my options. “Yeah. Yes,” I choke, turning around. I start running back toward the valet stand. “It’s just … any chance you could get off earlier?” Her silence gives me time to collect enough pieces of a likely story.
“Umm…I doubt it, but I could ask.”
“Do it and call me back.”
“Is something wrong? Why do you?—?”
“Nothing’s wrong!” I blurt, clutching the phone to my ear, my eyes landing on the black Rover parked closest to the exit. I lower my voice. “Everything’s fine. Just ask if you can get off in thirty minutes. Let me know, and I’ll swing by and pick you up. It’s a surprise,” I add. “No more questions.” I close my eyes, mentally apologizing for the lie. It’s a surprise, just not the good kind.
“Okay…I’ll ask. Call you in a second.”
I end the call and shove my hand inside my pocket. I yank out the motorcycle key and stare at it. If we take it, Nick will track us down. He already did. He’s probably somewhere in this parking garage, waiting for me to get on the bike and lead him right to Mei. If I leave it, the bike will eventually be impounded. And that’s that. Motorcycle gone. And if I call the cops to track down Nick, and they find out about Mei, she’s gone, too.
My hands shake so bad, I drop the key twice before stuffing it and the note in my pocket and taking off toward the kiosk. I snatch the Rover key, sprint back to the garage, and click the remote engine start. I jump into the driver’s seat and slam the car into reverse, taking the corner out of the garage at fifty miles per hour. My phone rings.
“What did they say?” I ask, working to keep my voice light, steady.
“I can leave in forty-five.”
I glance at the clock. “Be there at 3:40.” I end the call and clench my jaw, accelerating up the ramp and onto a backstreet to avoid The Strip and afternoon traffic.
My mind reels, and I ask for the thousandth time why Nick keeps this up. What does he want from Mei or us or any of this? We have nothing to give him. He can’t have Mei. This goes beyond obsession.
I blast the air conditioner and radio, taking long, deep breaths to clear my head, but it’s not enough. I park the car in front of our building and jump out of it, run up the stairs, and jam my key into the lock. But I don’t have to turn it because the door swings open, and I jerk to a stop.
The room looks like a tornado plowed through it and lifted everything before dropping it somewhere else. Our clothes are strewn all over. The couch and chair are upside down, the nightstand toppled and torn apart. Our mansion fund in the pickle jar, shattered. What little money was in there, gone. My heart beats rapid fire and shorts out, restarts, and I’m standing against the wall, my eyes sweeping the corners of the room. Not a lot of places for someone to hide, but there’s the bathroom. The only thing I care about in this place is Mei, and she’s safe at work. For now. I close my eyes. I can’t do this. But I could get him out of the picture completely. I’m twice his size. It would be self-defense. I’ve wanted to kill him more than once, and now…I could have the chance. He could be hiding in the bathroom. It’s too much of a coincidence with the note for this to not be him.
Swallowing, I edge toward the bathroom, glancing around the room as I go. I ease open the door, my heart pumping in my throat, but he’s not here. He’s come and gone. But why? Maybe he’s outside waiting for us.
I bend down and throw open the cabinet door. Tampon box is still there, untouched. I grab it and rifle through it, the diamonds cold on my fingertips at the bottom of the box with our passports. Whirling out of the bathroom, I yank our bags from the closet and shove the tampon box inside before sprinting around the room, gathering all our clothes. Buddha. Magic 8. Shoes, notes, books, chargers. I can’t leave any personal touches for someone to find. I shove anything that says we were here in our bags and don’t look back.
I stand against the Rover where I’ve parked along the curb at Mei’s work, watching the sliding doors for her to come out and for signs of Nick. Everything was in fast motion until now, and it’s slowed to a crawl. My thoughts are catching up to me. Like how much I never wanted to stay in Vegas, but how much I don’t wanna leave it now because that means we’re moving farther from Stanford. How much I wanna kill Nick. How much I question all our decisions up to this point. But they all make me mad and achy, so I shove them aside and use the few minutes I have before she comes out to practice being calm and rehearse the story I’m gonna tell her.
When Mei sails out the door, clutching her bag over her shoulder, I open the passenger side door, then close it behind her and run around the front of the Rover and jump in the driver’s seat.
“Marcus,” she says through a smile-frown. “You’re going to get fired if you keep ‘borrowing’ people’s cars.”
I glance over my shoulder and pull away from the curb to screech out of the parking lot and into traffic. I grip the steering wheel. Check my mirror for signs of any car following us. I slam to a stop at a red light.
“What’s going on?” Mei’s voice is no longer filled with her smile.
“I…” If I just show her the note, it’ll explain everything, but her reaction will haunt me more than walking away from my bike or starting over again. “Motorcycle wouldn’t start.” My voice shakes as realization claws its way out from under the avalanche of adrenaline. When the light turns green, I punch the gas pedal, ready to outrun any cop that dares pull me over right now.
“Marcus, what’s wrong?”
The needle on the speedometer lays flat, and I glance into the rearview mirror, switching lanes to enter the freeway. Mei grips the door handle like she can squeeze answers from it.
I crank the radio’s volume, letting the beat numb my mind; I want it to suffocate the anger awakening under the anesthesia of panic, and I grip the wheel tighter, my eyes boring into the car ahead of us like I can move it with my mind.
Mei cranks down the volume on the radio. “Are you going to tell me what’s really going on? There’s something you’re not telling me, and it’s not a surprise.”
Oh, it was a surprise for one of us already, and it’ll be one for her, too.
I veer toward the off ramp and exit to downtown Vegas. “I will. Just…when we get there.” I search the signs, swear, and jerk the wheel, making a U-turn. I screech to a stop at the curb in front of the Greyhound station.
“When we get where?” she presses.
I bail out of the car, slamming the door, and grab our bags before Mei has gotten out of the passenger seat. But I can’t wait—can’t stand still—and open her door, holding out my hand to her. “We gotta go.”
“You’re scaring me.”
That makes two of us.
“I’ll explain everything, but please get out of the car.”
“Tell me now. I’m not getting out of this car until?—”
I turn and walk through the sliding doors toward the ticket counter. She’s gonna fight me on this, and I don’t blame her, but I can’t do it right now.
The Rover door slams outside, and I flinch but keep walking as Mei’s footsteps slap against the tile floor behind me.
The notes in my pocket hiss at me, and I want nothing more than to rip them out and shred them, leave my reasons for us leaving Vegas like a trail that will blow out the door and across the melting asphalt. I can’t watch Mei fall apart again—see the fear that dilates her eyes and sinks so deep inside her that it pulls her with it. Gotta buy some time to make up a story about why we’re getting on the first bus out of Vegas because the real reason, I will keep to myself. Forever.
“Marcus, talk to me,” she bursts, grabbing my elbow as we cross the endless expanse of dingy white tile.
I shake my head, put my hand over hers on my arm. “We need to get on the bus. Then I’ll tell you.” My words are too sharp, but the whirlwind of the last hour subsides, leaving the debris of reality scattered around me until I’m wading through resentment and anger and fear.
She runs around me and stands in front of me. “Are we leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“Like…on a trip?” Her eyes are all over my face. “Or for good?”
“For good.” I close my eyes and swear. “Mei, I promise I’ll tell you, but we have to get on the bus and we’re running out of time. I’m sorry, I just…”
I step around her to the ticket counter, pulling out today’s tips from my wallet, and slide the crumpled bills under the Plexiglas window to the cashier. “Two tickets to as far eastbound as we can go with this.” Next time I’m running, it better be west and end in Stanford.
The operator gives us tickets and tells us which terminal and time for departure. We’re going to Indiana. I hand the tickets to Mei and pull out my phone to text Patrick.
Big favor. Can you pick up the Rover at the Greyhound Station? Key’s under the front left tire. Great working with you. Thanks for your help.