by Judy Clemens
Bailey chewed on her lip, then took the photo, smoothing it out with her finger. “So, this is it? We help you take out the bad guys, and you leave us?”
Casey reached over and wrapped a hand around Bailey’s wrist. “You’ve been a great friend. I just…I can’t be that kind of friend for you right now.”
Bailey turned and looked at her, her face wrinkled with distress. “But why? What are you running from?”
Casey glanced at the back seat. The music box was quiet now, and Death waited in silence.
“I don’t know, Bailey. Sometimes it feels like I’m running from everything.” She smiled sadly. “Someday, when I’ve outrun it, I’ll get in touch.”
“You promise?”
Casey gave the girl’s wrist a squeeze. “I promise.”
Bailey looked at her some more, as if deciding something. “Well, okay, then.” She undid her seatbelt and got out of the car.
Casey got out, too, easing the backpack over her shoulder. “Bailey, what—”
Bailey opened the trunk and heaved out an old black duffel bag. “Here. Open it when you’re on the road. Or on the train. It should hold you over for a while.”
“Oh, Bailey, you’ve done so much.”
“Stop, or you’ll make me cry.”
Casey grabbed her and hugged her hard. Bailey hugged her in return, and Casey’s breath caught at the pain. But it was worth it.
Finally, they let go of each other and Casey stepped back. She picked up the bag, turned around, and walked toward the train.
Neither she nor Death looked back.
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