Page 1 of The Two Last Moments

Prologue

Plenty of things piss me off in this world. Hiking isn’t number one, but it’s up there. Why spend hours walking to a destination only to turn around and wind up where you started?

Night has fallen, and the temps have dropped to chilly, but I’m still sweating under my backpack. My feet ache in my thrift store Nikes. I’ve gone plenty of miles today. Mostly by bus, but my sneakers have done their fair share. At least my current journey is leading me someplace important. And after I get where I’m going, everything will change. That knowledge terrifies and elates me all at once.

I’ve tried to run before. But this time, there’s no going back.

I check the directions on my phone again to make sure I haven’t missed a turn, though I’ve had my route memorized for days now. First, the walk from Travis’s house to the bus and into town. Then the longer trip to the main terminal in West Oaks. Now the final couple of miles. No dollars to waste on ride shares.

What will they say when I get there? When I explain where I came from and why I’m here? What if they hate me?

“Stop it, Lark,” I whisper to myself. For once in my life, I’m choosing to be brave. Because it’s easier to step out of line to help someone else, rather than just yourself.

I pass by rows of cozy looking homes. Flowers blooming, toys scattered on porches. A BMW pulls into a driveway, and the woman in the driver’s seat eyes me with suspicion from inside. I walk past with a disarming smile, but I’m not sure she buys it.

Just a skinny, sweaty girl in her twenties hoofing it through your neighborhood. Don’t mind my scraggly hair, messy eyeliner, or the tattoos. Please don’t call the cops.

In my life, I’ve learned you can’t trust many people, and a uniform is no guarantee. Not everyone is who they claim to be. Most folks are out for themselves, but the few who really care are priceless. They’re worth sacrificing for.

That’s why I’m doing this, even if it’s the scariest choice I’ve ever made.

As I get deeper into the neighborhood, the green lawns stretch further back, and the houses get larger and fancier. I feel even more out of place. But I’m getting close to the right address.

The chiming of my phone makes me cringe. A text. I shouldn’t look, but I can’t help myself.

We know what you’re doing,it says.

Chills roll through me. “Screw you,” I reply out loud. “I’m already gone, and you can’t stop me.”

About half a mile later, there it is, with the numbers of the address decorating the mailbox. The property is even prettier than it looked on Google, full of shady trees. I can see pale stone and the edge of a white porch.

I’ve been imagining a willow growing in the backyard. If there is one, I bet it’s beautiful, all swaying branches and tiny flowers. A little slice of heaven, probably too pure for the likes of me. But a girl can hope.

I’m trying to earn it. To make up for all the times I wasn’t strong enough before. I’m so close that it seems like I could reach out, and I’d be there. I’ll tell them the truth, and maybe they won’t turn me away. They’ll believe me.

Please.

My phone rings, and I flinch, the moment broken.

It’s him.Again. I don’t answer, but he leaves a voicemail. Against my better judgment, I listen.

“Lark, you’d better turn around right fucking now or you know what’ll happen.”

I doubt he’s bluffing, but I no longer care.

It feels so good when I start to cross the street toward my destination. Such a simple act of defiance, but it means everything.

Then I hear an engine accelerate. My head turns sharply to follow the sound. Dread floods my body like poison. Headlights fill my vision.

He’s already found me.

1

Istep through the doorway holding a tray. “Madame, your dinner is served.”

“Oh, really? Didn’t know this place offered fine dining.”

“For you, we’re making it happen.”

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