Page 20 of Cruel Hearts

I add it to the cash I took from Quinn.

The old pay-as-you-go phone I used before Zane gave me a fancy iPhone is still sitting on the kitchen counter where I left it the night Ash generously allowed me five seconds to say goodbye to a life I had built from scraps.

The phone is dead, of course, and I won’t waste time to charge it. I don’t feel safe not having a way to communicate with anyone, but I can’t spare the money to buy another one. Quinn’s will have to do until it dies.

Sinking onto the couch where Zane waited for me, I force myself to think. The only thing I can come up with is a crappy plan to say goodbye to Maryanne and Quinn and disappear. I can hide in a little rural town in Ohio or something until Quinnheals. As long as I’m gone and not a threat, maybe Ash will let us be.

Maybe.

I think about the long list of things I discovered the Blacks are doing and my skin crawls. Never mind giving the flash drive to Zane, I should have mailed it to the police. Only, the Blacks have local and federal law enforcement in their pocket, and like they did when Ash beat and raped that girl, they would let Clayton and Ash walk.

I struggle, exhausted and sore, to my feet. It’s a shaky plan at best, but it’s all I’ve got. I’ll explain to Maryanne where I’ve been for the past five years and tell her a proper goodbye, visit Quinn and see how she’s doing, and then get the hell out of this godforsaken city. After she’s discharged, she’ll find me and we’ll think of something better together. Maybe I’m a bitch for leaving, but I already got her shot. Disappearing gives her the best chance to live.

I wrack my brain trying to think of what else I could do or where I could go once I’m on that bus. Unfortunately, I can’t do much without ID. My driver’s license was in the purse I left behind at Zane’s party, and God knows where that is now. Ash kept my birth certificate and social security card knowing I would be trapped without them. I should have left them here, but I didn’t know Zane would buy this building and that all of my things would remain intact. Maybe Luis knows who Quinn uses and I could ask them to forge me a new driver’s license. It would be a good start.

I transfer my cash to Quinn’s wallet and shove that, Quinn’s gun, and her phone into a purse bigger than the white one she gave me but smaller than her messenger bag. The white flats are okay, and I leave them on though they don’t match the black dress. When I look at them, they’ll remind me of Quinn and all she did for me because she loves me.

The key I used to get in the night Ash took me away is still under the mat, and as I lock the door, I say a final goodbye to this place.

No matter what happens to me now, I’ll never be back.

I’m too scared to take the train, and I ride the bus to Maryanne’s. I zigzag back and forth across the city in case someone is watching me.

The last thing I want is to lead anyone to Maryanne’s door.

Two miles from her street, I get off. I hate walking so far in this heat, but I cut through backyards and little parks hoping to lose anyone attempting to follow me. I stop at a convenience store and buy a bottle of water. I guzzle the whole thing and keep going.

I take such a random route I walk for two hours before letting myself reach her little house. I made some of my best memories in this house. I wonder how Jilly turned out. The day I met her, I thought I had the world at my feet. I had Zane, a budding friendship with Zarah.

I had it all.

I hope Jilly has more than me now.

Knocking on her back door, I stare longingly at the barbecue grill. The backyard, patio, and grill represent so many happy times.

The house feels empty, but Maryanne’s minivan is parked in the drive. When I saw it, I melted in relief. This is too long of a trek to make again and I wouldn’t have risked it.

I open the door and noise from the TV playing in the living room drifts across the kitchen. Tentatively, I step into the stifling house, and an odd odor meets my nose, like she hasn’t taken out the garbage. That isn’t like her or the girls who stay here. Chores were part of my responsibilities, and no matter how often I complained, she never let me out of doing them.

I step into the living room and see where the smell is coming from. I run back into the kitchen and throw up in the sink, all bile except for the bit of coffee I drank with Quinn earlier this morning.

I rinse my mouth out and drop to the floor, pressing a musty dishtowel to my lips to muffle my screams. Maryanne’s here, but she’s dead, slumped in her favorite chair, a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead.

Lying on the cream and blue tiles, I sob. My stupidity killed the one woman who was the closest thing I had to a mother. Maryanne’s dead because of me. I cry until there are no tears left and then force myself into the living room. I turn off the blaring TV, and mumbling a prayer, I close her eyes. Her death was not peaceful, but she bravely looked her killer in the eyes. Did they ask about me?

Did she tell them to go to hell?

I can’t spend any more time here, and torn between survival and looking for something, anything, that could help me, or self-preservation and leaving as quickly as I can, I go. What I want, Maryanne can’t give me anymore.

I circle around to the convenience store and dial nine-one-one at a pay phone that miraculously still works despite the graffiti and damage to the stall. I report there’s been a murder, rattle off Maryanne’s address, and hang up before the dispatch tries to question me. I left my fingerprints all over her house, but I used to live there and maybe it won’t matter.

Leaning against the store’s brick wall, I give myself the luxury of more tears, and they trickle down my face. Grief and guilt eat at me, and I aimlessly wander the streets until twilight. I buy a cup of coffee at a little café, and the barista serves me, her mouth twisting in concern. I stumble down several more blocks and find a bench in a run-down park. I didn’t want anyone following me, and I repeatedly zigzagged across the streets andavenues. Now I have no idea where I am. I’m exhausted, and my heart hurts. Zane screwed me hard, and I’m still cramping. He looks more man than boy now. His eyes were so full of hate when before they’d been filled with confusion and pain, and maybe a little bit of love. For me.

I remember his body over mine, his strong chest, his chiseled muscles, the bitter angles of his face, and the dark slashes of his eyebrows over his flat, expressionless gaze. Zane’s cock had been too much for my fragile body. It was clear he didn’t believe I haven’t been with anyone, and he treated me like the whore he thinks I am.

My body tingles thinking of it. His cum is still inside of me, and I press a hand to my belly. He’s inside me. Since the night I met him, he always has been.

He looked good, my Zane.

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