Page 247 of Quinlan

What have I done?

Oh, God. What have Idone?

While I’ve been out here, fucking and living and being so goddamn happy, my parents have been withering.

Yes, I’m not going to be there every second of every day for them. Yes, I’ll hire professional help to stay with them around the clock.

In the future.

Right now, all by themselves out there, they might as well have no one.

It’s my fault. I’ve spent hours searching for the perfect facility, the perfect professionals. I should’ve just settled on something good enough. But I’ve found so many.

They can’t die. I can’t bury them so soon.

I won’t.

The world is a blur. I’m mildly aware of dropping the letter to the floor. My feet are moving, small steps that feel like I’m running. A button appears out of nowhere. I mash it, and it takes no time for the elevator doors to slide open.

Right, I’m getting out of here. That’s why I hurl myself into the cart. I refuse to cry, blinking back tears on my ride down. I need to be focused. I have to—

“Ms. Palmer.” The other doorman at the front desk sounds polite but firm. I’m sure I look haunted enough that he knows I am she and not some other tenant.

I don’t pretend to be someone else, either. Don’t linger to explain to him that every second I spend here could be the second my parents take their lives.

“Stop, please, Ms. Palmer!”

What I do is break into the fastest run of my life as I cross the lobby.

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away. They dry without my help. I’m outside now, the cold gust of wind whipping at my face.

“Wait, please.” The shout at my back does nothing to slow me.

A taxi pulls up to the curb at the corner of the street. An available taxi, according to the green sign.

Hope.

Money to pay for the ride. I don’t have it. I’ll take care of it.

Once I get there.

I’m almost there. No one on the street eyes the taxi until this one man does. He’s in a suit, striding toward my ride. My. Ride.

His gait is long, confident. He outstretches an arm to stop me from getting there first, I think.

No. Fuck that. I’m not waiting.

Hell, they might already be dead by the time you get this.

Back there in the building, I thought I ran fast. The fastest I’ve ever run.

Wrong.

This is it. My lungs have a hard time catching up with my feet, and you know what? Fuck my lungs. I’ll rest when the car starts driving.

If they die, it’ll be on your conscience, as it should.

Rex wouldn’t lie to me about that. I refuse to believe he’d be that cruel.

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