Page 40 of Shadows in Bloom

“Hey, Barton, you can’t tell anyone you saw me, okay? My ex, he’s dangerous. Please… just when you drop me off, forget you ever saw me.”

“Got it, mate. Don’t you worry, I can take care of myself,” he assures me.

As the sun shines over the horizon, Barton pulls into a 24-hour motel. He hands me a paper bag with a pair of track pants, a t-shirt, and a pair of old, ratty sneakers. “This should do until you get something new.” He averts his gaze, but I don’t miss his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

I reach out and place my hand over his forearm. “I’ll be fine,” I say, keeping my tone upbeat. “He won’t find me all the way out here.”

Barton nods, then hands me a wad of cash and a piece of paper that’s folded in half. “Don’t say no, just take it. Take it and start out somewhere new.”

I take the money, and before I can overthink it, I leap forward and wrap my arms around the man, hugging him. He pats my back, then steps away with a wave of his hand. “Go on then, off you go.”

With a smile and a wave, I walk toward the motel, confident that this time, I really have found freedom.

In the motel room, I open the piece of paper and read the messy scrawl.

Justice,

I had a son your age.

Please, do whatever it takes to survive.

I fall asleep thinking about my next stop and contemplating a future without Salem. The thought should have me overjoyed, but apprehension clings to every fibre of my being. I loathe that Salem has been the only constant in my life, but it’s time to let go. Nothing good will ever come from the irrational, toxic obsession he has with me.

Later the same evening, after a hot shower and a steaming mug of coffee, I turn on the small television for some background noise as I try to figure out what I’m going to do next.

A news report cuts into an ad break.

BREAKING NEWS

Truck driver found dead after fiery crash. A fiery crash on the Northern Highway has claimed the life of a truck driver early this morning. Motorists are urged to come forward if they were travelling along the highway between 4am and 9am.

Frantic, I swipe the cash from the bedside table and shove it into my pocket. Picking up the phone receiver, I dial the only number I know by heart, and the only person I trust with my life.

“Who is this?” Miles’ voice comes over the phone and I sigh in relief.

“It’s me, I need your help, can you pick me up?” I rush out.

“Sure, where are you?”

I give him the name of the motel and sit on the floor with my back to the door as I wait for him to arrive.

The knock at my motel door has me releasing a shriek. I slap my hand hard over my mouth. Standing, I peek through the peephole to see Miles standing on the other side of the door. I pull it open and quickly usher him inside.

“What’s going on? You look like… Fuck, Justice, what happened?” he asks reaching out to inspect my arm.

“He found me,” I admit, averting my gaze.

Miles helps me into his car, and a few minutes later, we’re heading towards his house. “You need to report him,” Miles says. “This is bullshit. He’s been stalking you for fucking years, Justice.”

Miles is the only one who knows who Salem really is. Or, as far as we can tell, the only one alive, other than me, who can identify Salem as the boy we went to school with. The boy who set fire to a storage room at school that killed three kids and our teacher.

For years, I—along with everyone else—thought Salem was dead.

CHAPTER 8

JUSTICE

13 years old

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