You Can't Catch Me

by Catherine McKenzie

“What?”

  “I’m not leaving you behind, not this time, even if I have to take you out of here kicking and screaming.”

  Kiki smiled at me for the first time that day. “I’d kick and scream if you left me here.”

  Many, many beers later with Covington, I do something I’m going to end up regretting.

  I go see Liam.

  I do not give him a heads-up. No text. No call. I settle up my tab and tell Covington I have to head out. I do this because with each beer I drink, my anger with Liam for taking me back to the LOT grows. I know this isn’t rational. I asked him to go with me to see Jessie, which brought us near Schroon, and the rest, well, the rest was predictable. But, still. He didn’t have to stir all that up again. He knows how hard I’ve worked to put it behind me. To lead a seminormal life.

  Yeah, Liam. You hear me? That was not okay.

  I need to tell him. Not in a text, not over the phone, but in person.

  So that’s what I’m doing. I’m on the subway heading in his direction, keenly aware that I’m one of those drunk people on the subway, weaving slightly, maybe even muttering aloud to herself.

  But who cares? Who cares, Preppy Boy with the large headphones that I can still hear music through who’s staring at me? I have something to say and I will not be denied.

  So long as I don’t pass out before I get there.

  I wait outside Liam’s apartment building until someone leaves. I don’t want to ring his bell and be denied entry. Not that he’s ever done that before, but I have a feeling tonight might be different. Maybe because I feel different. For once, there’s nothing about Liam that’s intimidating me. Alcohol is a wonderful thing.

  I walk up the three flights of stairs to the top floor. The entrance to Liam’s apartment is a heavy metal sliding door on a track that’s almost too much for me to open. One of his many security precautions. Plus, it won’t be unlocked. It’s never unlocked. And no key to find lying around somewhere. Nope. So, I have to knock. I have to knock.

  I am knocking.

  As I’m knocking, I hear a sound. A laugh. A woman’s laughter. Oh my God. Liam has a woman in there. What am I doing? I should get the hell out of here.

  I turn to leave but it’s too late. The heavy door slides open and Liam’s standing there. He’s wearing his usual dark jeans and a gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A blast of cold air hits me in the face; Liam likes to keep his apartment frigid.

  “Jess? What’s going on?”

  “It’s nothing. You have . . . company.”

  “What? Oh no, that’s just Diane.”

  He steps back, and I see “just Diane” standing by the kitchen counter. She doesn’t look too pleased at the interruption or the way that Liam referred to her. She’s a tall, thin brunette wearing slacks and a cashmere sweater, and the way she’s holding herself is so assured that it reminds me of Jessica Two. I need to get the fuck out of here.

  “Hi,” I say lamely, waving hello at this woman. She’s about thirty-five, maybe even forty. Closer to Liam’s age.

  “Hi,” she says. Her voice is cultured and smart. Adult. Oh, stop it, Jess. If you keep going, you’re going to fall in love with her.

  “What’s going on?” Liam asks again.

  “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think . . . Could we have a minute alone?”

  “That’s my cue to go,” Diane says.

  “You don’t have to,” I say.

  Please go, please go, please go. There’s a wineglass on the kitchen counter and evidence of dinner. No candles, though. Not that I think that Liam would ever prepare a candlelit dinner for someone, but it still looks intimate.

  “It’s all right. I’ve got an early meeting in the morning.”

  She picks up this beautiful white linen blazer that’s hanging on the back of one of Liam’s bar chairs. Then she grabs a kind of attaché case, which also makes me feel better, like the lack of candles. And also the fact that it’s Sunday. People don’t have dates on Sundays, right?

  Liam watches her gather her things without saying anything. I can’t tell if he’s pissed, but he probably is. I would be if I were interrupted by a drunk guy while I was having dinner with this nice lady or her male equivalent.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” she asks Liam.

  “Sure,” he says.

  She hesitates. Is she waiting for a kiss? A handshake? Whatever it is, she decides she isn’t getting it. “Night, Liam.” She stops in front of me and holds out her hand. “We didn’t meet.”

  “I’m Jess.”

  We shake briefly, and though I’m hoping she has one of those lame handshakes, she doesn’t. It’s dry and firm and professional because this lady is perfect, and I am drunk.

  “Nice to meet you, Jess.”

  She actually sounds like she means it.

  “You too,” I say.

  She walks past me, and Liam follows her out. He walks her to the stairs, but I don’t turn around to see if he kisses her goodbye. He says something, but I can’t hear what.

  He comes back into the apartment and closes the door behind him. It slides into place on its track with a heavy click. The walls of the apartment are still builder’s white and unadorned, but this place feels like home to me. It was my home. But that was a long time ago.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.”

  He walks past me to the kitchen counter—a large slab of dark concrete—and picks up his half-full glass of red wine. The bottle it comes from is his favorite, I notice. This was a date. I broke up a date.

  “What’s going on?” he asks. His face is clean shaven even though it’s late. Definitely a date. My God.

  “I shouldn’t have come,” I say.

  “But you did.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So?”

  I turn my palms out to face him. There’s nothing in my hands. Should there be? I’m too drunk to have this conversation, but I need to do it anyway.

  “I wanted to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure now.”

  “Not sure you want to tell me or not sure what it was?”

  “Both. Either.”

  He shakes his head and takes another sip of his wine. Was I mad at this man? Is that why I came? I don’t feel mad now. Not even a little bit.

  “You were on a date,” I say. “She was a date.”

  “She’s a colleague. We were discussing a case.”

  “You don’t have to lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  I’ve made him mad now. He hates being accused of being untruthful. “It looks like a date.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “It feels like it is.”

  “Why?”

  “Covington said—”

  “What did he say?”

  “Why do you use that tone of voice when I talk about Covington?”

  “What tone?”

  “That one. That one right there.”

  He finishes his glass of wine and reaches for the bottle. “You want?”

  “Sure.”

  He moves to the cupboard and takes out a glass, then fills it. Our fingers brush as he hands it to me.

  “Covington thinks it’s jealousy,” I say, because fuck it.

  Liam’s looking at me with an expression on his face that I don’t recognize. He might also be a bit drunk, but it feels like something else.

  I take a gulp of wine for courage. “Is he right?”

  “Is something going on between you and Covington?”

  “I’d never do that to Daisy.”

  “So, no?”

  “No. But why do you care?”

  He drinks some more of his wine and shakes his head at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Don’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Play with me.”

  “I’m not.”
>
  “Sure, Jess, if you say so.” He puts his glass down on the counter.

  “Liam . . .”

  “What?”

  “Come on, you know . . . You must know.”

  I take a step toward him. The room’s cold, but the air between us feels warm. Inviting.

  “I know?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  He gives me that look again. “What did you come to tell me?” he asks, but gentler this time, the words low and slow, like a caress.

  “This,” I say, reaching for his hand.

  He watches me take it. He looks surprised, but he doesn’t pull away, and this is enough for me. I take another step toward him and now we’re almost in an embrace.

  I tip my head up. He’s looking down at me, his face slack.

  “There’s no music,” I say.

  “Why would there be music?”

  “Because we’re dancing, aren’t we?”

  “Is that what we’re doing?”

  “Why not?”

  He takes my glass from me and puts it next to his, then slips his free hand around my waist. He tilts me slightly and we start to sway. I haven’t taken my eyes off him. I think we’re supposed to kiss now, but I don’t know how to make that happen. I can’t believe what’s already happened, I—

  “What’s going on up here, kid?” Liam asks, resting his forehead against mine. His breath smells like wine, spicy and delicious.

  “I’m not a kid.”

  “No, you’re not. I’m not sure I know how to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “You know,” he says. He brings his chin down so his lips are an inch from mine. “Is this what you wanted to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  He closes the gap.

  Chapter 22

  Afterglow

  Two months later, I’m camped out in Grand Teton National Park in Jackson, Wyoming.

  I’m here because this is where the fifth Jessica Williams lives, the one Liam helped me find. The one I need for the next phase of the plan.

  I asked him to help me locate her the morning after I woke up in his bed.

  That was a strange wake-up. Although my eyes were closed, it felt as if the room were flooded with that white light you see in TV shows where the person is dead or dreaming. Only I wasn’t dead, and it wasn’t a dream. At least, I didn’t think I was. I’d dreamed about waking up in Liam’s arms so many times that waking up to the reality of it felt disorienting. It’s possible I even pinched myself to make sure.

  “What are you doing?” Liam asked, lifting up the covers to look at me. I’d drawn myself down under them because it felt safer to be hidden by his black duvet than it did to have the morning sunshine on my face.

  I opened my eyes. There was Liam, inches from my face, with his hair askew and tired eyes. Were they tired because he was regretting what had happened? Or had I worn him out? We’d taken our time with it, with each other, but I didn’t feel tired. I felt like I could run a marathon. Like I had superpowers.

  “Jess?”

  “I was pinching myself.”

  Liam brushed his thumb against my arm. “I see that.”

  I lowered my hand. I could feel the bruise I’d given myself starting to form. But there was also the warmth from Liam’s hand, and an answering response in my body.

  “It hurt,” I said.

  “Don’t do that again, then.” His voice was gravelly in the morning. I liked it.

  “I won’t,” I said as I tucked my head down.

  “What?”

  “There was something I wanted to do again.”

  He smiled slowly. “That right?”

  This time I was the one who kissed him. It was even better sober.

  It was midmorning when I told him the details of the plan for drawing Jessica Two out and asked him to help. He was reluctant at first, but I knew he’d agree eventually. When he did, I rewarded him.

  It took him a while to find a good candidate, though. Another July 10, 1990, baby whose life we could co-opt, though I didn’t put it that way. Instead, I promised him that we wouldn’t do anything to harm this innocent person we were using as bait and that I’d get her consent to participate once, if, he located her.

  I didn’t mind the wait. When I wasn’t refining the plan, or messaging with JJ and Jessie, I kept myself occupied with Liam. I’d never been in a real relationship before, if that’s what this was. Not one of those immediately settled, we see each other at the end of the day without discussion unless there’s a reason not to kinds of things. It was amazing. No fuss, no muss, no anxiety of whether he’d call or return my text. He always did. He was always there when I needed him or even when I just wanted to hear his voice.

  It was different in other ways too. We’d known each other so long that we didn’t have to get to know one another. Not like with a stranger. But then again, we didn’t know each other this way, romantically, intimately, even though I lived with him that first year after I left the Land of Todd. That was twelve years ago, though. Then, I stuck to the outskirts of the apartment, the places I didn’t think Liam cared about. The guest room. The crappy chair in the corner of the living room. I took the second shower to make sure he had enough warm water.

  This time I was front and center. It was surprising how easily I fit into his life again. Could I have had this all along, I wondered, if I’d had the courage to speak up? No. I’d tried, and he’d pushed me away. He was right to do that. I was far too young then, and how could he tell whether I wanted him for real or simply out of gratitude? But something had shifted over time, and I wasn’t sure how I’d missed it. What else was I missing?

  I tried not to torture myself too much, or pepper Liam with questions. He didn’t want to analyze; he wanted to be. Mostly, I was happy to do this, even though I kept telling myself it wasn’t going to last, that I’d fuck it up somehow, that I should end it while we could still be friends. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to live in this contented place as long as I could.

  So I did.

  And then Liam found Jessica Five.

  He told me about her over the birthday dinner we shared at his place. Turns out, Liam does have candles. I found them at the back of a drawer and lit them, letting the wax drip onto a plate so they’d stand upright. It was another sweltering day after weeks of heat. The trees outside looked like they were dying, but inside his apartment, it was pleasant and cool. I’d decided to try to cook something, a simple pasta sauce over fresh pasta. I’d never had the time to learn how to cook, so I watched a YouTube video—one of JJ’s—and followed the instructions. The kitchen was a disaster, but the smells alone were worth it. I texted her a photo. She sent me a middle-finger emoji in response, which I took to mean Leave me alone until you have something to tell me about the plan. I sent her back a thumbs-up. Then I put my phone away and concentrated on Liam.

  We’d finished eating, and I was trying to summon the will to get up and start washing the dishes when Liam pushed an envelope across the table.

  “What’s this?” I asked, taking it. It felt thick inside.

  “What you asked for. Sorry it took so long to find it.”

  I opened the envelope. There was a sheaf of papers inside, and also a photo—more of a headshot—of a woman about my age. I knew who she must be. Even though I wanted this, I felt the start of dread.

  “Another Jessica Williams?”

  Liam relaxed into his chair. “That’s right.”

  “Ah.”

  “You’re disappointed?”

  “No, it’s . . .”

  “Not what you were expecting for your birthday?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He grinned. “There’s something else for later.”

  “I sure hope so.” I tossed him a napkin. “You have some sauce on your face.”

  “Nice way to thank me for finding something I didn’t even want to find.”

  “Oh, I’ll thank you.”

  And I did.

&n
bsp; So here I am in Jackson, Wyoming, 2,164 miles from New York. Elevation, 6,237 feet. Population, 10,532. It’s the middle of August, and the weather is perfect. Eighty degrees and sunny with that wide-open sky you only get at elevation. Big Sky Country, I think they call it. Or maybe that’s in Montana. Whatever. I’m not here as a tourist, but I see the appeal.

  This is where Jessica Five lives. Thanks to Liam, I know a lot about her. She was born to former ski bums who now own a brewpub. Her parents have a house up the side of Snow King, the town hill, which has amazing views of the Tetons. She lives in a small house that looks like it isn’t insulated properly on one of the flat streets in the valley. She went to college in Colorado and now works as a photographer. Lots of black-and-white landscapes of the Tetons. Those sharp peaks, snow-topped, with flowers in the valleys below dancing merrily in the wind.

  I’ve spent the last week tailing her, so I know a lot more than what was in Liam’s packet, like where she goes for her morning coffee and what her favorite restaurant is. She’s a happy person who starts her day with a run up Snow King. I walked the same switchback path one day, and it felt like my heart might explode. She has a small group of friends that she hangs out with most nights. She takes Fridays off to hike.

  It didn’t take long to complete the plan. JJ proposed setting up a fake photography prize and awarding it to her, after we created some online profiles for her. Before us, she only had a work website. What kind of millennial has no social? The kind who lives in Jackson. After we were done with her, she was on Facebook and Instagram. She even tweeted once in a while. Impersonating her made me nervous. What if she noticed? What if one of her real friends told her about it? What, then? But none of that happened. She carried on, obliviously living her fabulous life.

  It had been a while since I followed someone, working with Liam or even in my early days trying to make a name for myself at FeedNews. It was hard in the city, even harder in a small town. I had to change my wardrobe. My New York uniform of black T-shirts and dark jeans made me stand out in this land of blond, tanned Amazonians. I spent too much money pulling things from the sale rack at Skinny Skis, and now I had hiking pants and shorts and colorful T-shirts in a wicking fabric, and a puffy jacket for the cool nights.

  Surveillance is always an odd, voyeuristic experience, but trailing Five was even more so. She didn’t feel like a stranger, more like a Russian Dolls version of me. Same name, same birthday. I could’ve had this life. Easy money and outdoor healthfulness instead of Todd and discipline. If my parents had only made better choices.