Slow Burn(57)

    And Stacey.

    If it weren’t for me, Stacey would still be—

    “Move it, doll.” Griffin’s voice was strained. “We’ve got to be in and out of here in no time.”

    I threw the door open and hurtled inside.

    “Pack food, pack clothes,” said Griffin from behind me. “And do it in ten minutes.”

    “Leigh?” said another voice.

    I turned on the light. “Who’s there?” I yanked my gun out, flipping off the safety.

    Clint was in front of me. At the sight of the gun, he raised his hands. “Jesus, Leigh.”

    I lowered the gun. “For fuck’s sake, Clint, what is your problem? Get the hell out of here.”

    “You got a gun, Leigh,” he said. “You got a gun.”

    “No shit,” I said.

    Griffin glared at Clint. “I didn’t think you were still friends with this guy.”

    “I’m not.” I strode into the apartment, flinging open one of cabinets and knocking out a jar of peanut butter and some applesauce. That was good road food, right?

    “Leigh,” said Clint, “we’re still friends. Of course we’re still friends.”

    I turned to face him. “Get out.”

    “You’re different now, aren’t you?” he said.

    “Get out.”

    “I thought maybe you might have some blow. I’m out. I know I bother you for this all the time, but—”

    “I haven’t seen you in over a month, Clint.”

    “Really?”

    “And you show up now trying to be friendly, when I haven’t seen you in weeks?”

    “Well, it’s not exactly—”

    “We were never friends. You used me for drugs,” I said. “Now get the hell out of my apartment before you get yourself killed.”

    “I’d listen to her,” said Griffin, opening the door wide.

    Clint put his head down, and he slunk out the door. Once he was outside, he yelled, “Well fuck you very much.”

    “Ignore him,” said Griffin. “Now we’ve only got eight minutes to pack.”

    “Shit,” I muttered.

I dashed back to my bedroom, got a bag from the closet and began tossing clothes in it. I didn’t look at what they were or if they matched. I just shoved stuff in, zipped up the bag, and came out into the living room, where Griffin was zipping up the same pack he’d had when I first brought him to Thomas.

    “You were always prepared to leave, weren’t you?” I said to him.

    “That’s life these days, doll,” he said. “We’ve got to go.”

     I looked around at my apartment. All my stuff was here. Not just my clothes, but my movies and my music and my computer. And other things, like the cool plates I’d found at a thrift store, or the nifty pillows I’d bought for my couch. But I’d rather not have that stuff and be alive than keep it and be dead. I nodded. “I’m ready to go too.”

    He crossed the room to me, folding me in his arms. “It won’t be like this always. I promise you. I’m going to figure something out, so you can stay in one place and still be safe. I promise.”

    I pulled away. “You can’t promise that.”

    He wouldn’t let me get away. He held me tight. “I will do whatever I can to keep you safe. Whatever I can.”

* * *

    We had to steal a car. I didn’t want to, but Griffin said it was necessary. He said that we couldn’t take a chance that the Op Wraith guys had seen my car. He stole one that was parked on the street and off we went. I didn’t feel great about stealing the car, but then I didn’t feel great about anything.

    Griffin drove east on Route 50. It was early morning, and the sun was climbing high into the sky. It was going to be a warm spring day. But I still felt cold. Like my insides had turned to ice. I felt like everything was ruined.

    He told me to try to sleep.

    I scrunched down in the passenger seat and closed my eyes, but whenever I did, all I could see was Stacey’s eyes staring wide at the ceiling, and the red mess that was her throat.