by Anna Cruise
The door to the safe room opens and Ron walks in. He looks visibly shaken. Sweat beads his forehead and there are pit stains on his Storm Trooper shirt. I feel a little sorry for him and wonder if he has confrontation issues, or a long-standing issue with the police, or if he really was that worried that we’d fuck something up in the safe room.
“Is he gone?” Claire asks.
Ron nods weakly.
Claire frowns. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” he says.
It’s my turn to frown. “What? Why?”
“Because,” he says, dropping to the couch. His gaze drifts over all of us. “I checked the police reports after he left. Pulled them up on the computer before I came up here.”
A tingle runs down my spine and the hairs on my neck rise up a little as we wait for him to elaborate.
“There hasn’t been a single burglary reported in this neighborhood.”
twenty-nine
My blood runs cold. “What?”
Ron takes a deep breath. “I checked the reports. There’s nothing. Nada. The last time anything was reported in this neighborhood was four months ago, and it was a faulty fire hydrant. Someone called the police because they didn’t know who else to call.”
“What did I tell you?” Lydia’s voice is triumphant. “Tell me again how I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. Tell me again that I’m paranoid.”
I can’t. Because I think she might be right.
“We need to change plans,” Lydia announces. She bends down and grabs the stuff scattered on the floor. Claire’s purse, our shoes, the pieces of our phones.
“Change plans how?” Claire asks. She is as white as a sheet. “We’re not going anymore?”
“No, we are. We have to. But it’s going to be too dangerous for us to stay together.”
“What?” Panic laces Claire’s voice.
“We have to go separate. We can't travel together.”
Claire’s eyes widen. “I’m not leaving you!”
“It’s just temporary,” Lydia says. She touches her sister’s arm. “We need to lay low for a little bit. And that will be easier for us to do separate than together. They'll be looking for us as a group, and we'll be harder to track down if we aren't doing things as a group of three.” She turns her attention to Ron. “Have you made the reservations yet?”
“Yeah,” he says. He wipes at his brow. “But I can change them. Easy enough to do.”
“Okay,” Lydia says.
She is calm, in control, and I’m reeling. This is really happening. I can’t refute what Ron told us, and I can’t put together an equation that equals what I want it to. I don’t know what the cops know, I don’t know exactly what is on the drive, but I know one thing.
Gino isn’t the only one after us.
And leaving feels like the only option.
The safest option.
“Give me my phone.”
Lydia frowns. “No.”
“No?” My tone is incredulous. “You’re telling me we’re leaving the fucking country tomorrow. You expect me to just pack up and go? I have people in my life, people who need to know what’s happening.”
She purses her lips. “First off, you can’t pack anything. We go like this. Secondly, you can’t tell anyone anything. Don’t you get it? The more people we involve, the more dangerous things become. Not just for us, but for them. Anyone you contact, you put at risk.” She shakes her head. “How do you still not understand this?”
I hate that she’s making sense. I hate that she’s the one in control of her emotions, being the voice of reason, when I feel like I’m about to lose my shit.
“So we just leave? Disappear?”
“Pretty much.” She drops our shoes to the floor but holds on to our phones and Lydia’s purse. She looks at Ron. “Where are we at with our buyer?”
“I’m waiting for him to respond. I requested tonight. So we’ll see.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding. “The sooner, the better. What time are the flights?”
“I have to re-do them,” he reminds her.
“I know, I know,” she says. “But what are they right now?”
“I scheduled them two days out. Just in case we can’t meet with the buyer until tomorrow.”
She processes this. “So we’ll go meet him. Do the exchange and then head back here. You guys need to be ready to go.”
“What?” Claire is shaking her head. “You’re not going alone.”
“I won’t be. Ron is going with me.”
“No.” Claire practically shouts the word. “We stick together.”
“You can’t come—”
“You’re telling me we’re splitting up at the airport, right?” She’s crying now, choking on her words. “That we’re going to three different foreign countries, all of us alone. And I’m supposed to be okay with that—”
“You have to be okay with it. Because there’s no other option.”
Claire continues as if she hasn’t heard Lydia. “I’m not letting you go alone. We’re in this together. We stay together until we can’t be anymore.”
I watch the exchange. Lydia makes no move to reassure her sister. Her lips are pressed together, her features expressing her disapproval, but there is something about her posture, some aura about her, that tells me she is struggling with her response.
“Fine,” she snaps. “We go together.”
Her response takes Claire by surprise. She blinks a couple of times, then nods. “Okay. Thank you.”
Lydia says nothing. She stares off into space, seemingly lost in thought. She glances at Ron. “Think you can get us a few laptops?”
He looks puzzled. “Uh, sure.”
“A burner phone for each of us, too.”
“I have bags full of them. The computers, not so much.”
“What do we need laptops for?” Claire asks.
“So we can communicate.” Lydia is all business now. “We need a secure way to communicate once we’re gone. We’ll make new email accounts.”
“Won’t those be traceable?” I ask.
She ignores my question. “Not with PGP.”
“What is PGP?”
“A type of encryption,” Lydia says. “Stands for ‘pretty good privacy.’ Basically keeps your communication hidden from hackers.”
“How?”
She gives me a look. “You really want me to explain? Because I have the feeling that you’ll call me insane. Again.”
Ron clears his throat. “It creates a private key – a code, if you will – for you to encrypt and send emails. It can mask your message, mask what you say online,” he explains. “Think of it as a cloak. Sort of like the one Harry Potter wears.”
“It will make us invisible?”
“Not invisible. People might be able to see you, might be able to see your transmissions. But it will just be gibberish.”
He’s already lost me.
“Trust us,” Lydia says. “We know what we’re doing.”
I almost laugh. She’s the last person I trust. But I’m too off-balance, too freaked out, to even crack a smile. None of this is funny, not even remotely so.
“We’ll need to get the computers,” Ron says. He scratches his head. “And not that I don’t want to help, but, uh, that’s going to cost you.”
“An extra grand?” Lydia offers.
He nods. “Yeah, that'll do it.”
She’s by the door now. “Okay. Let’s figure out the logistics. Deal comes first. Once we have a time, we can take care of everything else.”
“I’ll see if we have contact,” Ron tells her.
“You guys need to be ready.” Lydia is talking to me and Claire. “There’s another bottle of dye upstairs. Use it,” she says to Claire. Her eyes drift to me. “Take a razor or something to yours. Anything to make you look less like you.”
I don’t say anything. Because there’s nothing left to say.
I’m not me anymore. I’m not the
Nash Williamson I was forty-eight hours ago.
If I believe Lydia, I’m a wanted man. A fugitive.
And in less than forty-eight hours, I’ll be on the run.
Maybe for forever.
thirty
“Here.”
Ron is standing in front of me, his hand outstretched. He’s holding a plate with a sandwich on it, ham and cheese by the looks of it.
We’re back in the living room. It’s past six o’clock and Lydia is upstairs, showering again. I’m not sure why. Claire sits next to me. A similar plate is parked in front of her. She makes no move to eat.
I take it from him. “Thanks.”
But I’m in no mood to eat. My mind is numb.
“Pretty hard to process, huh?” he says, sinking into the chair across from me.
I nod.
“I can’t imagine having to just up and walk away from everything.” He lets out a deep sigh. “My friends, my family. I mean, not that I’m flush with either, but still. To just disappear? To not tell them what’s going on, that I’m okay? To leave them wondering about what happened to me? All those unanswered questions.” He sighs again.
I steal a glance at Claire. Her hands are clasped together, her knuckles white. I don’t know what she’s thinking about, but I can take a guess. Her parents.
“We get it,” I say. My tone is clipped but I can’t help it. We don’t need him adding to the mess of emotions we’re feeling.
“I’m just…” His voice trails off. He tries again. “I’m sorry, man. I wish there was something I could do.”
I shift on the couch, leaning forward. “Maybe there is.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Oh? What?”
“Those burner phones.” I adopt the gentlest, sincerest expression I can muster.
His brow furrows more. “Yeah. What about them?”
“Maybe you can give us one now.” I pause. “So we can make some calls.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”
“We wouldn’t tell them where we’re going. What’s happening,” I say quickly. “Just so we can talk to them one last time before we go. I…my mom is in Guam. I haven’t seen her in six months. She needs to hear my voice one last time, you know?”
He’s still shaking his head. “I don’t know.”
I keep going. “And my buddy Chase. He has my cat. He and I have a gig in a couple of days. Lights for a party. I need to touch base with him, give him a false lead or something. Just so he knows he’s on his own for it.”
“I still don’t think—”
Claire interrupts him. “This isn’t Nash’s decision. This whole mess is our fault. If he wants to call a few people before we totally ruin his life, I think we should let him.”
Ron considers this.
“Besides,” Claire adds. “We’re going our separate ways. So if they find him because of it, then oh well. He’s putting himself at risk. Not us.”
“Okay.” Ron stands up. “If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure,” Claire says. “Get it for him.”
I wait until Ron leaves.
“Thank you.”
She closes her eyes. “Don’t thank me.”
I know where she’s going with this. She doesn’t want to be thanked because she thinks this is all her fault. And I don’t want to hear it, so I say nothing.
Ron returns a few minutes later and tosses me a phone. It’s a simple flip phone and I fumble with it for a minute. It’s been ages since I’ve seen one, let alone used it.
“It’s clean,” Ron tells me. “But I’d still limit each call to a few minutes, at most. Just in case.”
I stare at the phone in my hands. I gave him plausible scenarios, realistic things I could say, but now that I have the opportunity, I don’t know what to do. How do I say goodbye to the people in my life without saying the words? How do I tell them not to worry about me? How do I tell them I’m scared and confused, and that I love them?
Claire stands. “Come on,” she says to Ron.
He gives her a look.
“So he can make his calls,” she says.
His expression clears. “Oh. Sure.”
They leave the living room and I’m just about to punch in Chase’s number, one of only two I have memorized, when they’re back. This time, Lydia is with them.
She tosses Claire’s purse on a polished side table. “I told you, we’ll be right back.”
Claire’s hands are on her hips. “You’re not going without me.”
“We are buying computers.” Lydia rolls her eyes. “I already told you. Deal is tomorrow. Right, Ron?”
He nods vigorously.
“So we’re going to go get the laptops now. Get it out of the way so we’re ready to go.”
“So let him do it,” Claire says, jerking her head in Ron’s direction. “You stay here.”
“No. I have to buy them.”
“Give him the money.”
“It’s a credit card, Claire.” Lydia flashes it at her sister. “With a woman’s name on it. You think that won’t raise suspicions if he buys two grand worth of computers on a woman’s credit card? We’re not talking about a tank of gas here.”
“Won’t they trace it back to you?” Claire asks. “And what if someone recognizes you? You said we’re not safe!”
Lydia does a pirouette. “Seriously? You think someone is going to mistake me for the Lydia of a few hours ago?”
She’s right. I take in the shorn, dark hair and do a double take when I focus on her eyes. They’re blue now. Contacts.
“And the card isn’t linked to my name,” she continues. “So calm down. We’ll be back in an hour.”
Claire reaches for her purse. “I’m coming with you.”
“You need to get ready.” Lydia’s voice is firm but gentle. “Both of you. So that we’re good to go.”
Ron is playing with a bag, some kind of man purse with compartments and straps, and I wonder if he’s planning on bringing it with him to the store. “We should get moving,” he says.
Lydia nods. “Stay here,” she tells Claire. “Do your hair. Both of you. We’ll be back before you know it.” She forces a smile. “Christ, I have to pee.” She shoots an apologetic look at Ron. “Give me a minute, okay?”
He nods but is clearly agitated and my radar goes off. “I’ll go, too,” he says. He drops his bag on the chair.
Claire paces the room. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
I stand up. I do, too, even though I can’t pinpoint why. Maybe because she’s venturing out. Because we don’t know who or what is lurking outside the gates. Maybe because this is the beginning of the end for us.
I glance at the side table. Claire’s purse is open. My eyes zero in on what I’m looking for.
It takes me less than thirty seconds to slip Claire’s battery back into her phone. She’s stopped pacing and is staring out the window. I cross the room and, after powering the phone on, slip it into one of the side pockets of Ron’s bags.
“Come on,” I tell her.
She spins around. Her eyes are bright with tears, her face a map of worry.
“Let’s go disguise ourselves.”
thirty-one
There is a small mountain of blond hair in the bathroom sink. The clippers are in my hand, the motor still buzzing. My fingers are numb; I’m not sure if this is from the vibrations or from the mounting pile of hair in the sink in front of me.
I glance at my reflection. My left side is mostly done, shaved within an inch of my head. It’s choppy, a little uneven, and I think I look like a classic fugitive, someone who does a piss poor job to try to hide their identity. If anything, I’m pretty sure my shitty hack job will be reason enough for airport authorities to stop me.
I brought the burner phone into the bathroom and it’s on the countertop. Waiting for me.
Claire and I both headed upstairs as soon as Lydia and Ron left. I didn’t have to drag Claire up the stairs, but she di
dn’t exactly go willingly, either.
“Let’s just get it over with,” I told her.
“What if something goes wrong?” she asked.
“We’ll deal with that when it happens. If it happens,” I corrected.
She dropped it. She went into the same bathroom Lydia used for her transformation and I parked myself in the bathroom attached to the master suite, mostly because it was the only one I knew I could find.
I turn off the clippers and stare at the phone. I need to make the calls.
I do the easier one first.
“Chase.”
“Dude.” Chase doesn’t even bother to say hello. “What phone are you calling from?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“How’s Sherlock?” I ask instead.
“Rotten. And expensive. I spent forty bucks at the store for food, a litter box and litter. You owe me, man.”
Guilt pierces me. “Sorry. I’ll pay you back.” The guilt grows stronger. How am I going to pay him back?
“So what’s going on? Why were the cops at your house? Does it have something to do with Joey’s death? That chick they’re looking for?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. I remind myself that the less he knows, the better.
“How do you not know? It was your house!”
“I’m not home,” I tell him. “I haven’t been home for a couple of days.”
There is silence. Then, “Where are you?”
“Joshua Tree.”
“What?”
He doesn’t believe me. He shouldn’t. The last place I’d go is the desert. Alone. But I have to sell it to him.
“Sara and I broke up.”
He snorts. “Again?” He knows our history.
“No, this time it’s for good.” I sigh. It’s not a fake one, but it’s not about Sara. But he doesn’t know that. “So, I just needed to get away for a few days. Process it all.”
“Process Sara?” His voice is full of disbelief. “Weren’t you the one breaking up with her half the time?”
He’s not making this easy. “Chase. Listen to me. I’m upset over Sara. I’m in Joshua Tree. That’s what you know.”