by Harlan Coben
So what to do?
Hope that I hadn't been spotted.
Of course, hope wasn't a plan or even an option. It was wishing. It was fanciful thinking. It was leaving my fate in the hands of, well, fate.
The footsteps were only a yard or two away now. I braced myself, unsure what to do, leaving it to that reptilian part of my brain, when I heard a whisper.
"Don't say a word. I know you're behind the tree."
It was Cookie.
"I'm going to walk past you," she said, her voice low. "When I do, get right behind me and walk. Get as close to my back as possible."
"What?"
"Just do it." Her tone left no room for discussion. "Right up close."
Cookie walked past my tree, nearly knocking into it, and kept going. I didn't hesitate. I fell in line right behind her and followed. I could see flashlights in the distance, both on my left and on my right.
"That wasn't an act, was it?" Cookie said.
I didn't know what she meant.
"You loved Natalie, didn't you?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"I'm going to walk you as far as I can. We will hit a path. Take it to the right. Stay low and out of sight. The path will lead to the clearing where the white chapel is. You'll know how to get away from there. I will try to keep them occupied. Get as far away as you can. Don't go home. They'll find you there."
"Who will find me?"
I tried to move in sync with her, matching footstep for footstep like an annoying kid copying another.
"You need to stop, Jake."
"Who will find me?"
"This is bigger than you can imagine. You have no idea what you're up against. None at all."
"Tell me."
"If you don't stop, you'll kill us all." Cookie veered left. I kept with her. "The path is up ahead. I will turn left, you head down to the right. Understand?"
"Where's Natalie? Is she alive?"
"In ten seconds, we will be on the path."
"Tell me."
"You're not listening to me. You've got to leave this alone."
"Then tell me where Natalie is."
In the distance I could hear Stocky yell out something, but I couldn't make out the words. Cookie slowed her step.
"Please," I said.
Her voice was distant, hollow. "I don't know where Natalie is. I don't know if she's dead or alive. Neither does Jed. Neither do any of us."
We hit a path made of crumbled stone. She began to turn to the left. "One last thing, Jake."
"What?"
"If you come back, I won't be the one saving your life." Cookie showed me the gun in her hand. "I'll be the one who ends it."
Chapter 22
I recognized the path.
There was a small pond to the right. Natalie and I had gone swimming there late one night. We got out, panting, lying naked in each other's arm, skin against skin. "I never had this," she said slowly. "I mean, I've had this, but . . . never this."
I understood. I hadn't either.
I passed the old park bench where Natalie and I used to sit after having coffee and scones at Cookie's. Up ahead, I could see the faint outline of the chapel. I barely glanced at it, didn't need those memories slowing me down right now. I took the path down into town. My car was less than half a mile away. I wondered whether the cops had located it yet. I didn't see how. I wouldn't be able to drive it very long--there was probably an APB on it too--but I didn't see any other way of getting out of town. I'd have to risk it.
The street remained so dark that I was only able to find my car via memory. I practically walked right into it. When I opened the door, the car's interior light burst through the night. I quickly slipped inside and closed the door. Now what? I was, I guessed, a guy on the run. I remembered seeing on some TV show where the fugitive switched license plates with another car. Maybe that would help. Maybe I could find a parked car and do that. Right, sure, except, of course, I didn't have a screwdriver. How could I do it without a screwdriver? I searched my pocket and pulled out a dime. Would that work as a screwdriver?
It would take too long.
I did have a destination in mind. I drove south, careful not to drive too fast or too slowly, constantly hitting the gas and brake, as though the proper speed would somehow make me invisible. The roads were dark. That would probably help. I had to keep in mind that an APB wasn't all-powerful. I probably had some time on my hands if I could keep off main roads.
My iPhone was, of course, gone. I felt naked and impotent without it. Funny how attached we get to those devices. I continued south.
Now what?
I had only sixty dollars on me. That wouldn't get me far. If I used a credit card, the cops would see it and pick me up right away. Well, not right away. They'd have to see the charge come in and then dispatch a squad car or whatever. I don't know how long that took but I doubt it would be instantaneous. Cops are good. They aren't omnipotent.
No choice really. I had to take a calculated risk. Interstate 91, the main highway in this area, was just up ahead. I took it to the first rest area and parked near the back in the least-lit spot I could find. I actually cinched up my collar, as if that would disguise me, and headed inside. When I walked past the small rest-stop convenience store, something snagged my gaze.
They sold pens and markers. Not a lot of them, but maybe . . .
I thought about it for a second, maybe two, and then I headed into the shop. When I checked the small selection of writing utensils, the disappointment hit me harder than I expected.
"Can I help you?"
The girl behind the counter couldn't have been more than twenty. She had blond hair with streaks of pink in it. Yep, pink.
"I like your hair," I said, ever the charmer.
"The pink?" She pointed at the streaks. "It's for breast cancer awareness. Say, are you okay?"
"Sure, why?"
"You got a big bump on your head. I think it's bleeding."
"Oh, that. Right. I'm fine."
"We sell a first aid kit, if you think that'll help."
"Yeah, maybe." I turned back to the pens and markers. "I'm looking for a red marker, but I don't see any here."
"We don't carry any. Just black."
"Oh."
She studied my face. "I got one here though." She reached into a drawer and picked out a red Sharpie marker. "We use it for inventory, to cross out stuff."
I tried not to show how anxious I was. "Is there any way I can purchase it from you?"
"I don't think we're supposed to do that."
"Please," I said. "It is really important."
She thought about it. "Tell you what. You buy the first aid kit and promise to take care of that bump, and I'll throw in the pen."
I made the deal and hurried into the men's room. The clock had to be ticking. A police car would eventually drive by major rest stops and check cars, right? Or wrong? I didn't have a clue. I tried to keep my breathing even and smooth. I checked my face in the mirror. Ugh. There was swelling on my forehead, and an open gash above my eye. I cleaned it out as much as I could, but a big bandage would make me stick out like a sore thumb.
The ATM was next to the vending machines, but that would have to wait a few more minutes.
I rushed out to my car. My car license plate read "704 LI6." The lettering in Massachusetts is red. Using the marker I turned the 0 into an 8, the L into an E, the I into a T, the 6 into an 8. I took a step back. It would never stand up to close inspection, but from any sort of distance, the plate did read "784 ET8."
I would have smiled at my ingenuity, but there was no time. I headed back toward the ATM and debated how to approach the machine. I knew that all ATMs had cameras--who didn't?--but even if I avoided being seen, the authorities would know it was my credit card.
Speed seemed more important here. If they had a picture of me, they had a picture of me.
I have two credit cards. I took out the max on both and hurried back to my car. I got off the
highway at the next exit and started taking side roads. When I reached Greenfield, I parked the car on a side street in the center of town. I considered taking the nearest bus, but that would be too obvious. I found a taxi and took it to Springfield. Naturally I paid cash. I took the Peter Pan bus from there to New York City. Throughout all of this travel, my eyes kept shifting all over the place, waiting for--I don't know--a cop or a bad guy to spot and nab me.
Paranoid much?
Once in Manhattan I hired another taxi to take me out to Ramsey, New Jersey, where I knew Julie Pottham, Natalie's sister, lived.
When we reached Ramsey, the driver said, "Okay, bud, where to?"
It was four in the morning--clearly too late (or, depending on your point of view, too early) to visit Natalie's sister. Plus I needed rest. My head hurt. My nerves were shot. I could feel my body quake from exhaustion.
"Let's find a motel."
"There's a Sheraton up this way."
They'd require identification and probably a credit card. "No. Something . . . cheaper."
We found one of those no-tell motels designed for truckers, adulterers, and us fugitives. It was aptly named the Fair Motel. I liked that honesty: We aren't great, we aren't even good, we're "fair." A sign above the awning announced "Hourly Rates" (just like a Ritz-Carlton), "Color TV" (mocking those competitors who still use black-and-white), and my favorite part: "Now Featuring Towels!"
This place wouldn't require ID or credit card or even a pulse.
The woman behind the desk was in her seventies. She looked at me with seen-it-all eyes. Her name tag read MABEL. Her hair had the consistency of hay. I asked for a room in the back.
"Do you have a reservation?" she asked me.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Yeah, I am," Mabel said. "But the rooms in the back are full. Everyone wants a room in the back. Must be the view of the Dumpster. I got a nice room overlooking a Staples store, if you'd like."
Mabel gave me a key to room 12, which ended up not being as nightmarish as I imagined. The place looked fairly clean. I tried not to think what this room had probably witnessed during its lifetime, but then again, if I stopped and thought about it, I wouldn't like to think about that in a Ritz-Carlton either.
I collapsed into bed with my clothes still on and fell into one of those sleeps where you don't remember falling asleep and have no idea what time it is when you wake up. When morning hit, I reached for my iPhone on the night table but, alas, I remembered that I didn't have it anymore. The police did. Were they going through it? Were they seeing all the places I had searched, all the texts I had sent, all the e-mails I had mailed out? Were they doing the same at my house on campus? If they had gotten a warrant to track me down via my iPhone, wouldn't it stand to reason that they also had enough to search my place? But then again, so what? They wouldn't find anything incriminating. Embarrassing maybe, but who didn't have some Internet searches that were embarrassing?
My head still hurt. A lot. I smelled like a goat. A shower would help but not if I had to change into these same clothes. I stumbled into the bright morning sunlight, shielding my eyes like a vampire or one of those guys who spent too much time in a casino. Mabel was still behind the desk.
"Wow, what time do you get off?" I asked.
"Are you hitting on me?"
"Uh, no."
"Because you might want to clean up a little before you make your big move. I got standards."
"Do you have any aspirin or Tylenol?"
Mabel frowned, reached into her purse, and pulled out a small arsenal of painkillers. Tylenol, Advil, Aleve, Bayer. I chose the Tylenol, downed two, and thanked her.
"The Target down the road has a big-n-tall section," Mabel said. "Maybe you want to buy some new clothes."
Great suggestion. I headed over and bought a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, not to mention a few undergarments. I also bought a travel-size toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. My plan was not to stay on the run for very long, but there was still one thing I wanted to do before I surrendered to the authorities.
Talk to Natalie's sister in person.
Last purchase: A disposable cell phone. I called Benedict's cell, home, and office. No answer at any of them. It was probably too early for him. I wondered who else I should try and decided to call Shanta. She answered on the first ring.
"Hello?"
"It's Jake."
"What's this phone number you're calling from?"
"It's a disposable phone," I said.
There was a pause. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"
"Two Vermont cops were looking for me."
"Why?"
I quickly explained.
"Wait," Shanta said, "you ran away from cops?"
"I didn't trust the situation. I thought those people would kill me."
"So surrender now."
"Not quite yet."
"Jake, listen to me. If you're a fugitive, if law enforcement officials are looking for you--"
"I just need to do something first."
"You need to surrender."
"I will, but . . ."
"But what? Are you out of your mind?"
Maybe. "Uh, no."
"Where the hell are you?"
I said nothing.
"Jake? This isn't a game. Where are you?"
"I'll call you back."
I quickly hung up, mad at myself. Calling Shanta had been a mistake. She was a friend, but she also had other responsibilities and agendas here.
Okay, deep breath. Now what?
I called Natalie's sister.
"Hello?"
It was Julie. I hung up. She was home. That was all I needed to know. The phone number for a taxi service had been prominently displayed in my motel room. I guess a lot of people don't like to come to or leave the Fair Motel with their real cars. I called that number and asked for a cab to pick me up at Target. I ducked into the men's room, did as much washing as a sink would allow, and changed into my new duds.
Fifteen minutes later, I rang Julie Pottham's doorbell.
She had one of those screen-glass doors in front of the wooden one, so she could open one, see who it was, but still be locked behind the glass. When Julie saw who was standing on her front stoop, her eyes grew big and her hand fluttered toward her mouth.
"Do you still want to pretend you don't know who I am?" I asked.
"If you don't leave right now, I am going to call the cops."
"Why did you lie to me, Julie?"
"Get off my property."
"No. You can call the cops, and they can drag me away, but I will come back. Or I'll follow you to work. Or I'll come back at night. I'm not going away until you answer my questions."
Julie's eyes darted left and then right. Her hair was still mousy brown. She hadn't changed much in the past six years. "Leave my sister alone. She's happily married."
"To whom?"
"What?"
"Todd is dead."
That slowed her down. "What are you talking about?"
"He was murdered."
Her eyes widened. "What? Oh my God, what did you do?"
"What? Me? No. You think . . . ?" This conversation was quickly spinning out of control. "It has nothing to do with me. Todd was found in the home he shared with his wife and two kids."
"Kids? They don't have kids."
I looked at her.
"I mean, she would have told me . . ." Julie's voice drifted off. She looked shell-shocked. I hadn't expected that. I figured that she knew what was going on, was part of it, whatever the hell "it" was.
"Julie," I said slowly, trying to get her refocused, "why did you pretend you didn't know me when I called?"
Her voice was still far away. "Where?" she asked.
"What?"
"Where was Todd murdered?"
"He lived in Palmetto Bluff, South Carolina."
She shook her head. "That makes no sense. You've made a mistake. Or you're lying."
"No," I
said.
"If Todd was dead--murdered, according to you--Natalie would have told me."
I licked my lips, tried to keep the desperation out of my voice. "So you're in touch with her?"
No answer.
"Julie?"
"Natalie worried this might happen."
"What might happen?"
Her eyes finally found focus. They hit mine like a laser. "Natalie thought you'd come to me someday. She even told me what to say if you did."
I swallowed. "What did she say?"
"'Remind him of his promise.'"
Silence.
I took a step closer to her. "I kept that promise," I said. "I kept it for six years. Let me in, Julie."
"No."
"Todd is dead. If there was a promise, I kept it. It's over now."
"I don't believe you."
"Check the Lanford website. You'll see an obituary."
"What?"
"On the computer. Todd Sanderson. Check his obituary. I'll wait."
Without another word, she stepped back and closed the door. I didn't know what that meant. I didn't know if that meant she was going to check the website or if she had had enough. I had nowhere else to go. I stayed there, facing the door, waiting. Ten minutes later Julie was back. She unlocked the screen door and gestured for me to come inside.
I sat on the couch. Julie sat across from me, stunned. Her eyes looked like shattered marbles.
"I don't understand," she said. "It says he's married with kids. I thought . . ."
"You thought what?"
She shook her head sharply. "Why are you so interested in this anyway? Natalie dumped you. I saw you at the wedding. I thought you'd never show up, but Natalie knew you would. Why? Are you some kind of masochist?"
"Natalie knew I'd show?"
"Yes."
I nodded.
"What?" she asked.
"She knew I'd have to see for myself."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't believe it."
"That she could fall in love with another man?"
"Yes."
"But she did," Julie said. "And she made you promise to stay away."
"I knew that promise was wrong. Even as I made it, even as I watched her exchange vows with another man, I never believed that Natalie stopped loving me. I know that sounds delusional. I know that sounds like I'm wearing the thickest pair of rose-tinted glasses in the history of mankind or I'm some sort of egomaniac who can't accept the truth. But I know. I know how I felt when I was with her--and I know how she felt. All that stuff we scoff at about two hearts beating as one, about sun shining on a cloudy day, about a connection that went beyond physical, beyond spiritual--now suddenly I got it. Natalie and I had it all. You can't lie about that. If there is a false note in that kind of love, you hear it. There were too many moments that stole my breath. I lived for her laugh. When I looked into her eyes, I could see forever. When I held her, I knew--once in a lifetime, if you're lucky. We'd found a place rare and special, a place with color and texture, and if you're this lucky, you regret any moment of your life that you're not in this place because it feels like a sad waste. You pity others because they will never know these continuous bursts of passion. Natalie made me feel alive. She made everything around us crackle and surprise. That's how I felt--and I know that Natalie felt the same. We weren't blinded by love. Just the opposite. It made us both clear-eyed and that was why it will never let me go. I should never have made that promise. There was confusion in my head but never my heart. I should have kept listening to my heart."