Page 21 of The Wishing Game

"I don't understand," I whisper slowly, hopelessly.

"I know. But we don't have time, Lulu. If they arrest you, it's game over. You know that."

"I'll put on my shoes and leave."

After I hang up, I put on my shoes and hurry out. But just as I reach the door, the intercom rings, and I see Detective Reynolds on the screen.

Damn.

The front desk must have recognized me and told them which apartment I was in.

Wow, they were fast.

Following Noelle's instructions, I go out the back exit of the apartment block, but as I round the corner, I see more than a few police cars waiting around. And since that's the only route available, there's simply no way for me to walk right by them—not with my cast being such a recognizable feature.

Police cars swarm around the apartment building.

Noelle is right. If they arrest me, it's game over.

The Archibalds will concoct whatever accusations necessary to take me out of the equation so they can inherit all the money. Add in some xenophobia and disdain for immigrants, and it wouldn't take much for them to convince everyone that I was nothing but a gold digger looking to get rich and get a green card—all the while taking advantage of a poor man who suffered from mental illness. I can already see the story they'll spin.

And the worst thing? It's persuasive enough.

Pursing my lips, I take a few steps back to avoid being heard. And as I find a sturdy metal bar at the base of the building, I use all the strength I can muster and hit my left arm against it. The sound echoes, and the first hit doesn't do much except give me a jolt of pain. But it's a life and death situation, and that means I must push through the pain.

I hit again.

And again.

On the third hit, the plaster cracks. Hope soars in my chest. I take a deep breath and will myself to hit harder.

The cracks widen, small fissures spreading all over the cast. Another two attempts and parts of the plaster fall to the ground. I quickly peel all the pieces off my arm, noting the purple color of my skin.

There is pain, but there is also numbness.

I focus on the numbness.

Without the plaster, I should be a little less recognizable, but that doesn't mean I can be reckless. I walk to the corner of the building, waiting until more people flood the street before I lower my gaze to the ground and do my best to get lost among them.

As I put one foot in front of the other, getting farther and farther away from the police cars, my heart beats loudly in my chest as my optimism soars.

I can do this. I can...

"Right there! Stop right there," someone yells.

I turn my head only for a second to see a few policemen point at me, already running toward me. Without even thinking about it, I run.

It doesn't register that running from the police will only make it worse. The only thing I know is that if I get arrested, I'll never be able to get justice for Nikki.

The sea of people parts for me as I run, the police behind me. I may not be too familiar with New York City, but I know that Noelle's place is within walking distance from Times Square. And once I'm there, I'll be able to get lost in the crowd. My plan made, I turn to the right, going down onto 56th street. If I keep straight, I should come across Times Square—I think.

The police are hot on my trail, but it's not just officers running after me. The sound of sirens echoes from behind.

Oh, God. I'm screwed.

Not only do I have short legs, but I'm also still recovering from a car crash, in addition to having a broken arm that's now freshly out of its cast—beforeits time. I'm no match for some officers who undoubtedly run for a living or a bunch of police cars that have priorityeverywhere.

Just as I start to give up hope, I notice one of the billboards on a building shift to a new ad on a sparkly background.

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