Thirty-Seven
I reach the mechanic shop with my lungs on fire and sweat dripping down my chest and back, but I can confidently say it beats any time I’ve made in P.E.
class over my lifetime. I slam my way through the door but can’t even utter a word to a startled Cheryl.
For a moment, I let the fan air slap me in the face as I put my hands on my knees and try to breathe again.
“You want a water, hon?” Cheryl asks as she collects herself much quicker than I do. She’s wearing a yellow sundress, her hair put up in a messy bun. The witch memorabilia remains pristine behind her. Time has clearly passed since I was last here, but it’s like no time has passed at all.
My stomach pinches as I connect everything I’ve learned since my last time here. Is Cheryl one of the people who has been secretly relieved for this string of girls to get murdered? Has she wished for it her whole handful of decades growing up here?
What would she say if she knew the “witch” only got two girls that October night, not three as the news reported?
“Yes, please,” I wheeze out.
She hands me a sealed plastic bottle from a fridge, so I’ll take my chances.
As soon as I’ve chugged enough water to be able to speak properly, I pull out Beck’s crumpled-up repair form and slam it onto the table. “Any chance this car is done? My friend and I need to leave now.”
Cheryl stares at me a long while, mouth muscles twitching. For a moment, I’m convinced she’s going to tell me to get out. But then she steps out from behind the counter and says “Let me check” in the normal customer service voice she used last time Beck and I were here.
Cheryl strolls into the mechanic side of the shop. Her every step makes my muscles tense further. I pace the small waiting area, nothing else to do to burn off the adrenaline.
My walkie-talkie goes off.
“Hey, Emma, is everything okay? Please confirm with me. Over.”
The knot in my stomach twists like a knife.
I stare at Cheryl. She approaches Gerry as he inspects a car that isn’t Beck’s, but Gerry doesn’t look up at her. Is she waiting for a polite time to ask about the goddamn car?
My throat grows thick again and water won’t help this time.
“Emma?” Natalie asks again. “Emma, come in.”
Gerry still won’t look at Cheryl.
“Emma?” Natalie’s voice is laced with panic.
Gerry turns to Cheryl. He nods at her. My heart soars.
Then Gerry turns back to the car.
“Emma, if you don’t answer, I’m gonna have to—”
Come find you. Kill you myself.
Fuck.
I pick up the walkie-talkie. “Everything’s okay,” I say, breathless. “Sorry. I meant to tell you that Beck and I got back fine. We’re just about to leave town.”
I approach the glass door and slam my fist into it. Gerry, Cheryl, and I all startle at the sound. When Gerry turns to me with a scowl on his face, I tap my wrist like I’m wearing a watch. I can only hope the sheer panic I’m feeling is registering on my face.
Gerry throws his hands up and disappears deeper into the shop. Cheryl returns to me.
“Gerry’s getting your car now,” Cheryl says, that hmmph in her voice I usually get from disappointed boomers at the Mystic Museum. Despite the stakes of this moment, embarrassment still hits me.
But I can ignore the sting of heat in my cheeks when my whole body’s melting down anyway. “Thanks,” I say through gritted teeth.
I switch the walkie-talkie to my other hand as my palm slicks with sweat. A minute passes. I take a seat and look through my signal-less phone so I don’t have to make eye contact with Cheryl.
“The printer’s jammed,” Cheryl says. “I’ll be right back with your slip.”
Cheryl disappears into the back. I eye the front door, willing Gerry to step through it with Beck’s keys. Screw the paperwork.
Please let Beck be handling Paisley okay. We’re so close.
I flip through the photos I took of Evan’s cabin and Paisley’s phone.
Has Natalie figured out what happened to Evan yet?
Why would she be contacting me so panicked about my well-being if so?
She must be smart enough to connect the dots.
It’s also barely been five minutes, but my stomach goes cold as I realize I don’t remember if I gave Natalie a location, if I told her I was at the mechanic shop or motel.
What if I did? What if Natalie’s on her way to Beck and Paisley now?
What if—?
The front door opens.
But it’s not Gerry. It’s Natalie. She’s out of uniform and in a linen shirt and pants. She’s here, trying to find me, on her day off. She’s desperate to find me—and now she has me.
My legs go weak at the sight.
Meanwhile tension falls away from her shoulders as she sees me. “Oh, thank god. Emma, I was so worried about you and Beck.”
She practically runs toward me, only stopping when we’re a foot apart. Close enough to stab me, strangle me, whatever she likes. Black spots coat my vision.
“We’re fine,” I say. “We just need to get back home.”
Does she know we haven’t packed up the campsite? Can she see right through my lies?
She clenches her fist at her side. “Okay, but before then, I need to talk to you.” She pushes her body even closer to me, her voice low. “I found Evan.”
My breaths come in rapidly, but my throat burns like no particle of oxygen is reaching my lungs.
She knows.
She’s boxed me into this seat and she knows.
I reach into my bag, fingers wrapping around the pocketknife.
“What happened?” I ask.
We both know I’m lying.
She grabs my wrist. The one holding the knife.
“We need to go back to the station,” she says. “We need to talk alone.”
She’s going to kill me.
I look to the walkie-talkie as my eyes burn. Can I at least warn Beck and Paisley?
The door opens.
“Hey, Medina, let go of the kid! I’m trying to get her out of here.”
Gerry.
Oh, fuck, Gerry. My lifetime hero Gerry.
Natalie’s grip goes slack. I slide out from under her and run over to Gerry like he’s my dad and I’m a little kid again.
He holds out Beck’s car keys.
I snatch them, uttering a barely audible, “Thankyousomuch!”
And as soon as I’m facing the door, it’s like every muscle in my body’s on two hundred percent.
I sprint out into the parking lot like nothing else matters in the world.
I slam into Beck’s car, the metal on the door so hot it burns.
But I don’t care. I yank the door handle open and jump inside.
It smells like artificial new car smell.
I gag at the scent and scan the controls for what I need to get this thing started.
But of course, I’m too short for whatever setting Gerry’s put the seat on.
I’m forced to watch as Natalie runs out of the shop, too, her eyes wild.
“Emma!” she shouts.
My foot’s finally close enough to reach the pedal. I slam on the brakes and put the car in drive. Thank god, Gerry parked it facing out.
“Emma.”
Natalie moves toward me, trying to get me to stop.
I smash my foot into the accelerator.
Natalie jumps out of the way seconds before the car would’ve clipped her.
It’s such a short walk to the motel. An even shorter drive if Natalie brought her vehicle. Beck, Paisley, and I won’t have much time, but we have this precious head start. We’re going to fucking survive.
I grab the walkie-talkie and click to Beck’s and my channel. “Hey, I’m on my way. Be in the parking lot now. Natalie’s found me.”
For a moment, I’m met with no voices. Only shuffling.
Then Beck speaks.
“Emma, I need you to get back here,” Beck says, her voice utterly shaking. Beck has faced down countless scary stories, finding her sister’s fingernails, and fighting off a killer with a knife. Nothing made her sound like this.
“It’s not Natalie,” Beck says.
The road starts to lose its sharpness.
I’ve been in a situation like this before, somewhere in my dreams. I’m searching for something. I’m running from someone. Danger’s around the corner, but I’m stuck. I know I need my muscles to work, my brain to work, but they won’t.
“It’s not Natalie,” Beck repeats. “Fuck, Emma, she did it. Paisley’s the—”
The feed cuts off, leaving me in complete, hopeless silence.