“Come to the Colorado gate. It’s twenty-seven. Come here and we’ll regroup.”
“Okay.” I don’t want to leave Derek/Dash in case he’s on to me. I don’t want him to run. I have to assume I’ve wasted almost seven years trying to get him. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” My head isn’t clear, and my heart is conflicted, but my thirst for revenge has become the only emotion I am capable of feeling.
He didn’t kill my father.
He didn’t save me.
I saved myself.
Fuck him. Guess I am back to not trusting him again. The back-and-forth is making me dizzy.
Before I go, I scrub my hands thoroughly to wash off the trash-bin filth. When I’ve dried my hands twice, I leave, constantly scanning the hall for him. In the seats for the gate to Austria I see him. His head cocks to the side, he lifts an eyebrow, and stands, walking toward me. He stops ten feet from me. “Plain Jane find her way home?”
The sentence makes me tremble. “What did you do to me?”
“I couldn’t kill you, Sam. I know I should have. I know I should have killed you and been done with it, but I couldn’t. And you wouldn’t listen, would you? You never do.”
“Oh God, you did this to me twice, didn’t you? This is the second time you’ve screwed with my brain. I’ve remembered already once, haven’t I? What was it that time?”
“We were in California, and there was something like the Ronald problem.” He shrugs, and I hate him. It’s less than I love him, but it’s enough to keep me from walking to him.
“You killed Ronald?” The answer is so obvious now. I suspect I always knew that. He smiles wide, making my hate grow. “You killed Ronald? Why are you doing this?” It’s the only question I have.
“Jane, I need you to understand that for me this isn’t over.” His sickening smile sells me on the severity of his disease, past the fog in my head and the way I make myself see him. For the first time I really and truly see the man behind the curtain. He nods. “It won’t ever be. You can run and you can hide, and I will chase you because we are meant to be. We are each other’s light.”
I follow his advice, turning and running as fast as I can. I don’t know what else to do.
12. WHAT WHIP MARKS?
When I get to the gate for Colorado I pause. I recognize Antoine and Rory at once, but the woman they’re sitting by isn’t my aunt. She looks similar, but she is definitely not my aunt. I frown, bringing Rory to me with just the look. He smiles cautiously. “Hey!”
I look at the woman. “That’s not my aunt.”
He glances at her. “I know that.”
“Where’s my aunt?”
“In custody. She thinks you’re in danger, and she’s freaking out.” He looks past me. “Where’s Dash?”
I point behind me with my thumb. “Back there. He’s freaking out too. Mostly just freaking me out.” I look up into Rory’s dark-blue eyes and nod. “I need some answers from you—now. No holding back.”
“What do ya remember?”
“Not much.” I shake my head, not sure how to tell him what I do remember. But the crowded and noisy airport suddenly seems like the perfect place to blurt out something so horrid. If I’m lucky the words will get lost in the noise and crowds of this hectic place. I need to say it aloud to rid myself of the burden of being the only one who knows, and he suddenly seems like the right person to tell. Taking a large breath, I prepare myself for the sentence as I say it. “I think I might have kil—murdered my father and hidden it like it was an accident.”
He glances at me in a funny way, clearly disbelieving my statement. “We were in Germany when your dad died. I know, because I was with ya when you got the call.”
“I remember torturing him. I burned him and cut him and made him scream.”
“Well, not to sound like you’re insane and remembering shit that never happened, but if the cuckoo shoe fits, ya might have to wear it.” He lifts a cynical eyebrow, and the disbelief thickens in his tone. “You couldn’t be in the same room as your dad, no matter what. I also know this for a fact because I was with you once when he showed up at Pat’s house. You started shaking and lost all the color in your face. Pat screamed at him and called the cops. He was calling ya a liar and screaming crazy things. I didn’t even know who he was until afterward, but during his two-minute stay at the front door, you became a different person.”
I know we dated or something, so I ask a question he might know the answer to. “Did I have nightmares? Did I do horrible things at night? Wake with blood on me and such?”