Pain shot down her shin and around her ankle. As she tried to push herself off the deck, the slider from the family room opened. She froze, and then heard footsteps coming out onto the far side of the porch.
Julia only had time to scurry along the damp boards toward one of the large planters by the stairs to the yard. Ignoring the splinters that cut into her hands, she balled up in the shadow of the large stone pot, holding her breath.
The footsteps approached, slowly. As her entire body shook, Julia opened one eye. She saw Bakhash’s silhouette darker across the deep blue of the night sky. He stood no more than ten feet away. Although she could not see him clearly, his head seemed to turn, slowly. He paused when he faced the torn edge of the gutter. And Julia knew she had failed.
Oddly, in that moment when she knew her escape would not succeed, the shaking stopped. She let out a breath and, in a strange way, felt ready to face Bakhash again. She would stand up to him, tell him that she knew his game. She would never cooperate, not now. And she would find a way to help Michael.
Julia shifted her weight to her hands, ready to push herself up. Just as she made to rise up, Bakhash turned. Quickly, he walked across the deck and back into the house, leaving Julia squatting in the darkness. A soft, nervous laugh escaped her as she rose up and slipped off the deck into the backyard.
Adrenaline from the close call pumped through her body, giving her strength and speed. She moved more quickly, ducking behind a shrub and rushing in a crouch to the side door of the garage. It was open already and her mother stood in the shadows.
Breathing heavily, Julia brushed past her and slid into the backseat beside Thomas. He looked at her, his eyes wide, and she put a finger to her lips. Her mother got into the driver’s seat. Taking a deep breath, she opened the garage door and started the engine.
The tension crackled through the car as they backed down the driveway. Julia could feel the fear surrounding her boys. She reached out and touched Evan’s and Thomas’s arms. They each flinched but otherwise remained still.
The car rolled down their street toward the front of the neighborhood. Her mother’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“I can see the police cars,” she said.
Julia realized that without Bakhash’s plan, him clearing out the police, hers would never have worked. That irony tasted beguilingly sweet.
“Just keep moving.”
Everyone held their breath. Julia, ducked down in the backseat, couldn’t see out the windows, but she could feel her mother taking the turn onto Route 52. The engine struggled as her foot pressed the pedal to the floor. With a jerk, her mother’s car accelerated. Unable to take it any longer, Julia popped up and turned her body, looking out the rear window. The entrance to her neighborhood grew smaller and smaller as her mother sped away. And no one followed them. Not at first.
16
At her mother’s house, they all got out of the car. Julia dropped to a knee and hugged the boys.
“I love you both,” she whispered.
She knelt before them, one soft face on each side of hers. Tears were shared between them and Thomas shook slightly.
“Will Dad be okay?” Evan asked.
Julia didn’t answer right away. She wanted to say, Of course! But she didn’t. For she knew that wasn’t true. Although that might make it easier to drive away and leave her sons behind, she knew better now. So she closed her eyes and spoke from the heart.
“I don’t know.” She felt them tense and it broke her heart. “I don’t know.”
Her mother laid a hand on Evan’s shoulder. The older boy let go, standing straight, his hands in his pockets. He tried to be strong, to be the man of the family. But he was twelve, and scared out of his mind. Thomas, on the other hand, clung to his mother.
“Let me come with you,” he cried.
“I can’t, sweetie. I need to do this. Grandma will take care of you. You can watch all the television you want. And sleep in the family room.” His head shook. She could barely get the words out as she continued. “I’ll be back soon. Okay? Sweetie. Okay.”
In the end, she had to pry herself away. Thomas sobbed. Worse, Evan turned his back and walked to his grandmother’s front door. Julia moved toward her mom’s car. She backed into it and put a hand up.
“Take care of them,” she said, through tears.
“Be careful,” her mom whispered, and Thomas’s cries grew louder.
Julia had to force herself to get in the car. Once behind the wheel, she looked away. She had to. So she left without looking back. At the first light, she stopped. Her hands shaking, Julia pulled out her phone. She thought about trying to call Michael, but Bakhash’s words returned. He’d stolen a car. And more. Though she trusted little that the agent had said, Julia knew something was wrong with Michael. And she also knew she could not make any mistakes. They would figure out she had left soon enough. She had to act quickly, and clearly. So, fighting back more tears, she texted her husband instead.
DON’T COME HOME. POLICE. IM COMING FOR YOU
Staring at it, Julia had no idea if he would ever see her words or not. Maybe, she thought with a frightening numbness, it was already too late. But she had to try. So Julia put Hamilton Township, New Jersey, into her GPS app and drove like their lives depended on it.
PART
THREE
1
I stared at the name. Julia. My eyes pressed together, tightly enough for a tear to squeeze out and run down my cheek. I tried, as hard as I could, to picture a face, to paint it on the blank canvas of my memories. A splash of color appeared, maybe a strong jawline or wide, beautiful eyes. Just as quickly, the image faded like some distant mirage. Julia, I thought over and over again. The tires of the car ran across a rumble strip, and my eyes shot open. Swerving, I moved back onto the road.
Do I love this woman?
The thought came out of nowhere. I didn’t ask for it. But once it came, it wouldn’t leave. I pulled the car off the road and into a neighborhood. Driving slowly, I passed among the homes, small ranches, some dark, others with warm light glowing through bay windows. I saw the blue flashes of televisions playing in darkened bedrooms. I imagined families sleeping soundly, together, safe from the night. Finally, I had to pull over, the tires running up onto the rounded curb. I didn’t move, but I gripped the wheel as tightly as I could, like if I let go I might simply float away.
I had lost my anchor. I had lost myself. But as I stared at the name again, maybe I found it. She knew who I was. She knew me. She knew how I was supposed to feel, how I was supposed to act, what I was supposed to care about. She sat in a home, somewhere, maybe like the ones around me, waiting, looking. Suddenly, it all came easily. I knew who I was. Not through my memories, but through hers.
Out of the blue, a five-digit number appeared in my head. It was like a neon billboard sprang out of nowhere. But when I saw it, I knew what it was immediately. The passcode to my phone. I could text back if I unlocked the phone. I could call! My heart thumped against my chest as I quickly entered it. I hovered over the last digit, all my hopes resting on its accuracy. Closing my eyes, I hit it.
Did the phone vibrate? I thought it had. It must have worked, I thought. But when I opened my eyes, it remained locked. Frantic, I decided that I’d entered the last number incorrectly when I closed my eyes. I tried again. It didn’t work. My fingers just kept pressing the numbers as they appeared in my head. Locked, locked, locked. I growled, my teeth clicking together. I needed it to work.
iPhone is disabled
The message appeared in red on the screen. It stopped me. My fingers froze over the screen. I stared at it, realizing I could no longer see the texts.
“No . . . no, no, no.”
Then I saw the second part of the message: Try again in 1 minute. I held my breath, letting that sink in, letting it calm me down. I had to calm down.
As I sa
t there, that number wouldn’t leave my head: 91101. I just kept seeing it in my head. It screamed out to me, no matter how much I tried to clear it away. I glanced at the case sitting on the passenger seat. That’s it! The thought was so clear. The number was a combination for the case. But when I looked closer, I realized it didn’t even have a lock.
I put the phone on my lap and rubbed at my eyes. Obviously, it was not the passcode or a combination. My head was swimming. I felt dizzy as hell. So I opened the door and got out. The humid air hit me like a mugging, but I stepped away from the car and looked up at the stars.
What’s happening to me?
My hand went to my temple again. I could feel the clump of hair and dried blood. I had a head injury. Suddenly, as the number had done a moment before, an understanding of that fact just seemed to bloom within my skull. I had a head injury. That’s what happened.
I stood in the night and smiled. It made sense. Everything made sense. But the longer I tried to convince myself of that, the further it slipped away. Nothing made sense. I couldn’t remember anything. And what I could remember—the apartment building, the buses—felt like they had happened to someone else. Maybe they never happened at all. Maybe none of this did. Maybe I was in a car accident and I was just waking up.
My head lifted and I screamed up at the sky. It came out a horrible sound, feral and ragged at the same time. A light went on in a house at the corner. I froze, staring at it, feeling the need to run. Slowly, I backed toward the car. That’s when I heard the phone vibrate.
Spinning, I dove into the front seat. The phone sat on the floor. I scooped it up. The warning was gone and in its place a new text appeared.
DON’T COME HOME. POLICE. IM COMING FOR YOU
It was her. It was from her. I stared at it. In my mind, those letters spread out into the night like a towline. I started the engine and a dog barked. Then I drove away, following that imaginary line. And where it led, I had no idea. But I knew, somehow, that I would follow it to the end of the earth.
2
In the last hour, authorities in New York City seized a truck parked two blocks from the Lincoln Tunnel entrance. According to sources, it is the same vehicle seen in footage from a traffic camera on the New Jersey Turnpike in the area where the brush fire was started. This same source told us that, considering how the coordinated strike maximized casualties, the attack was clearly planned in advance.”
Julia gripped the wheel. The radio tortured her, piercing every aspect of her life. At the same time, she had to listen. She had to know what was happening. They were ahead of her, she knew that. They would find him, whether he came home or not. That’s how these things worked.
“In the search for the primary suspect, Michael Swann, police have narrowed their efforts to a stretch of Route 322 in New Jersey from Atlantic City to Glassboro. Residents in that area are asked to stay at home and off the road. If anyone sees anything suspicious, please call 9-1-1 immediately.”
“Shit,” she hissed.
Ahead of her, traffic came to a stop. It was after 9:00 P.M. now, but on that stretch of Route 322 heading toward Interstate 95, there was always traffic. She knew that. She’d sat in it a thousand times.
Julia slowed. As she neared the car in front of her, something snapped. All the pressure, all her fears, they exploded out of her. And her foot pressed down on the gas pedal. Her car accelerated as she drifted onto the shoulder. Horns blared. People inched out to try to block her. To avoid one particularly angry and aggressive driver, she hit a curb, hard. On the recoil her head hit the side window. Yet she kept going. Kept pushing past the stopped vehicles.
Julia only slowed when she reached a traffic light. It was red, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she inched out, forcing others to her will. She could hear shouts of anger at that point, but she would not stop, coming within inches of other cars. And when the way opened up ahead of her, she took it, hitting sixty miles per hour as she neared the interstate.
On the straightaway just before the exit ramp, she pulled her phone out. A strange laugh escaped Julia then. As she texted Michael’s phone while speeding down the highway, she could only think of the wrath she would have endured if her boys were in the car. At twelve and eight, they were the morality police, and texting and driving had become almost as awful as smoking cigarettes.
Get off 322. Drive northeast away
Oh, they’d be so mad, she thought, and her laughter transformed into uncontrollable sobs. Julia could barely see through the tears as she passed the I-95 exit and headed toward the bridge over the Delaware River.
“Michael,” she whispered.
And she drove.
3
The phone vibrated on my lap. I read the text. I still couldn’t focus. I still didn’t understand. I didn’t know if I was on Route 322 anymore or not. But as I looked up, I saw a sign for Route 54 East. Swerving, I banked onto the ramp and merged onto another highway.
That’s when I looked at the dash of the car and remembered the radio. Fumbling, I turned it on and listened to the reports. I heard them say where I was, where they thought I was. In a way, it was more than I knew myself. But my nerves fired and my hands shook. I was being chased. I needed to run. But I still had no idea where.
Then I saw the first helicopter. It was off in the distance, to my left. It looked to be following above the road I had just exited.
“God,” I said.
My teeth actually chattered. I couldn’t stop them. I felt like my body was on fire beneath the skin, like I might explode out. My neck craned as I watched the helicopter getting closer behind me.
Another exit appeared ahead of me. I took it onto another road with a number. Five hundred and something. I barely saw it. I just knew it merged onto a smaller road. Less conspicuous. I was the only car in sight. I tried to breathe. I tried to stay calm. But I was being hunted. And I couldn’t remember exactly why.
4
Julia crossed the bridge. High over the Delaware River, she heard the report on the radio. The police had identified the car he drove. She had to warn him.
Get rid of car
As she drove, she kept looking from her phone to the road and back again. She read her texts to him. All in a line, one atop the other. No response at all. She waited to see the three dots that meant he was responding to her. But there was nothing. He was there. He was reading her texts. She had to believe that.
For the hundredth time since she had left her mother’s house, Julia thought about calling him. Each time, though, she heard Bakhash in her head. And she pictured Michael, alone, injured, somehow caught up in all of this. Her finger would hover over his name in her contacts. She would hold her breath. Then a more insidious thought would spring to life. Vaguely, with no specifics, she thought of Michael losing all hope. Learning she was putting herself in danger. Deciding that he needed to do something drastic to protect her and protect the kids. So she stopped herself.
Her heart rose in her chest and her fingers moved like lightning as, instead, she poured herself out one note at a time.
5
Get rid of car
I heard the report before the text vibrated my phone. I read it, but was already looking for a place to stop. Outside, the landscape had changed. The mature oaks and maples surrounding suburban towns had become a long, tall line of straight-trunked pines. I reached an intersection and took a right onto a road with Pleasant in the name. I passed creeks and a pond on my right. But my eyes remained on those trees.
Then I saw the small outbuilding, maybe a pump station. I pulled onto the gravel drive and killed the car’s headlights. Carefully, I rolled around and came to a stop behind the squat redbrick building.
The phone on my lap vibrated over and over again. I picked it up and read.
I love you
No matter what. Itll be ok
Well figure it out
I sat in t
he dark car and closed my eyes. It was like she sat next to me, speaking softly, lovingly in my ear. Funny, through all of this, through the fog that still clings to me, I can never forget that moment. I felt alive. It felt real. Her words entered me, in a way became me.
I know you
“I don’t,” I whispered in reply.
Think about the boys they need you I need u
That feeling was like nothing I could understand. I felt like a child, an infant who discovers he can smile for the first time. Everything seemed brighter. Clearer. Before, I had run aimlessly, without purpose, but now I had one. I had to reach her. I had to find her, be with her . . . and the boys . . . my boys.
I looked up from the phone, out the window at the line of sentinel trees. My eyes burned. I felt like I no longer needed to breathe. I had to be with her. To be with . . . My head snapped down. I looked at the screen, at the name above each text . . .
“Julia,” I read.
I had to be with Julia.
THE REAL MICHAEL SWANN
Julia almost closed her eyes. If she had, maybe she would have careened off the highway. Maybe that would have been better. For her, at least, not the kids. For it was the thought of them that caused her to falter. Even with her eyes open, she saw it.
* * *
—
The scream came from Thomas as he was brought forth into this world by the hands of relative strangers. Evan was at home with her mother. Julia felt the pull, the need to reach out and snatch away her newborn son. He needed her. He was calling out for her. But she was in a bed, numb from her midriff down as it felt like her doctor and a resident were placing organs back into her abdomen.
The Real Michael Swann Page 22