Chapter 7
I thought I was done having episodes.
The memories came rushing back with startling force, pulling her deeper into a time she had spent years trying to forget.
Kara's consciousness slipped; in that second, she was no longer beside Isaac but pulled into the depths of her mind, back into the past as her younger self.
She’d dropped out of high school, juggling two jobs and a third, unofficial and far more dangerous, to keep herself and Zoe afloat.
The first time George disappeared for months, Kara was barely more than a child herself, left with her sister in her care and no job to support them. She went to King, a small-time dealer and a money man.
King.
He wore leather jackets in July, drove a flashy green Camaro with black racing stripes, and carried himself like he was untouchable.
Or so he thought.
Kara borrowed money faster than she could repay it. Before long, the debt had grown beyond anything she could manage.
That was when King offered her a way out. He wanted her to work for him—make the drops, collect the cash, pay down what she owed, and make a little extra on the side.
What Kara didn’t know was that King wasn’t just lending money. He was recruiting for MWC, Mount West Coast Crew, a well-connected crime syndicate, and Kara had unknowingly caught his attention.
She began working as a courier for Mount West Coast Crew—MWC—delivering packages, collecting cash, and never asking questions.
She was careful and efficient.
Each job came with more cash than the last, until the amounts stopped feeling real.
As she always did, that last night she spent in Pine Ridge. Kara parked two blocks from Ronnie’s Electronics and waited until the street quieted. The store lights were off, the windows dark, the neon sign buzzing faintly as if it hadn’t gotten the memo that the place was closed.
She pulled her hood up and cut through the alley behind the building, tall fencing hemming her in on both sides. A door creaked open just long enough. Names were never exchanged, but there were faces she hadn’t seen before.
The duffel was heavier than usual when it was passed to her—cash packed tight, corners sharp through the canvas. She slung it over her shoulder and walked away without looking back.
The last job. She believed she could finally be free of what weighed her down. A handful of houses down from King's safe house was when it happened.
A sound like a car backfiring—except it didn’t stop. Pop. The one pop became several.
Then the screech of tires tearing away. A dark colored car peeled out with no headlights; there was nothing she could recall later, none of the details stayed.
She stumbled backward in disbelief before sprinting to her car, the duffel strap digging into her shoulder.
A few minutes later, she circled back to confirm what she’d just witnessed—and was met with red and blue lights flashing against the dark.
Two patrol cars. An ambulance. Yellow tape snapping in the wind.
They wheeled a stretcher out. Shapes, sirens, and motion swirled.
It had to be King.
He always stayed at the safe house alone, both to receive the money and to ensure her identity remained hidden. Then she noticed a small body beneath a white sheet on the lawn. A bicycle lay twisted beside it.
She blinked. Once. Twice. She pulled over instinctively, her heart pounding in her chest, stopping far enough back to stay invisible, and watched as the scene reassembled itself like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.
She didn’t need to see his face. She already knew it was. The young boy, whom she often spotted riding his bike back and forth the block. He’d looked no more than twelve years old. Her chest locked in confusion by what had happened.
Deputy Daryl Givens sat on the curb, head in his hands, shoulders slumped in a way that made him look suddenly older.
King was family. Everyone knew that. The irony wasn't lost on her—a cop and a drug dealer, family by blood.
What Kara didn’t know then but found out later was that King had been Daryl’s first homicide case. She especially didn't know how it felt to be the son of the Sheriff, who had expectations of him, making sure the truth never saw the light of day.
The duffel bag full of cash sat untouched in the passenger seat, suddenly imposing. Kara drove away before anyone could notice her.
That following day was supposed to be the start of her new life. The night ended with sirens instead. Kara kept driving and didn’t look back.
She had meant to see Zoe. Hug her. Cry with her. To beg her to leave with her. Kara didn’t have time to hesitate. The risk was far too high. Out of fear, Kara drove to Hardy Bridge and threw her phone out of the window, into the river below.
She called Zoe on a payphone as soon as she crossed the state line, pulling into the first rest stop. She left a message on the voicemail. She hung up, and though there were no tears, her eyes stung anyway.
Two thousand miles later, after spending too many nights in parking lots and highway motels. Kara drove into New York City with a duffel bag of bills and a heart full of righteous anger. She didn’t know anyone, have a place to stay, or have any idea of a plan.
What she did have was freedom—and that tasted better than fear ever had.
Kara felt what her old self felt, how the skyline brought tears of relief. She’d never seen so many bright lights and towering skyscrapers.
It was like the city stood there waiting, arms wide open.
She took on whatever work she could find—waitressing, filing paperwork in dusty law offices, running documents between buildings in the freezing rain.
Some nights she slept in a shared room with three other girls in the Bronx, some nights in the backseat of her old Camry.
But she didn’t care.
Kara was building something. It wasn’t until she talked her way into a legal assistant position at a boutique firm that she felt her gears start to catch.
She worked twice as hard as everyone else.
Took night classes. Read case law like it was a holy text.
A partner once told her she had the kind of mind that didn’t let go of a puzzle until it cracked.
She’d thanked him—but she knew the truth.
It wasn’t about puzzles. It was about being the best.
Years passed like minutes. Kara suddenly had a corner office, a reputation for being sharp and unrelenting, and a fiancé who adored her.
On paper, she had everything. In reality, she still had dreams of gunshots, of Kevin’s wide, curious eyes, of a car seemingly dipped in blood speeding away into the night.
The question burned in her chest.
If I hadn’t frozen. If I’d moved. Could I have saved him?
And now here she was—back in the hallway of the house she once prayed to escape. The scent of mildew, old paper, and wood polish hung in the air. Her fingers brushed against the wall near the kitchen—there used to be a crack there from when George slammed a chair in a rage.
Someone had tried to plaster it over and failed. She stared at it for a moment, her breath catching.
Scars- they were still visible if you knew where to look.
Wait. Why was I here?
Isaac called her name from the other room, but his voice felt far away.
Her mind had drifted back again, but to late nights in New York, hunched over legal briefs, fueled by caffeine and anxiety.
All of it had been an attempt to rewrite her story.
To give herself a version of life that wasn’t poisoned by what happened here.
But no amount of success could edit the truth.
Kara pulled herself back into the moment, forcing her shoulders to square. She hadn’t come all this way—literally and metaphorically—to lose herself now.
“Be right there,” she said, voice even.
“Is everything okay?” he asked as she stepped into view.
She wondered how much of the truth she could tell him.
“I need to find Elias.”
Isaac’s brow furrowed. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
She had no idea what he meant. The question barely registered.
Kara shook her head. “Let’s go find him.”
She half-expected more questions. Instead, he only asked where they might find him, and she wondered if he hadn’t noticed how she’d been drifting in and out. Maybe she wasn’t used to this kind of blind loyalty, or his lack of concern, but she wasn’t going to push it away either.
He met her eyes with a steady look as he zipped up. “Wherever we’re going, you’re not going alone,” he said simply, like it was fact.
Kara felt a shift in the way his presence softened the sharp edges of her thoughts. They didn’t speak much on the way out, their footsteps falling into rhythm on the stone path leading toward the car. A chill moved through the early evening air, curling under her sleeves.
She caught her reflection in the side mirror—drawn eyes, dark circles beneath them. When he started the car and rested his hand lightly over hers on the center console.