Page 41 of Undertow

He should be here.

The motel room mocks me with its silence as I pace the worn, stained carpet.

Waiting.

Still waiting.

It’s hours after our scheduled meeting time, and the McArthur organization would know I left by now. I have to get to the airport if I have any chance of catching that flight to Alaska. He should be here!

But he’s not, which is why I still am, scuffing more holes into this ugly-ass floor.

After what happened with Kristen in Chicago, I knew I had to get out at any cost. I can’t do this anymore. I thought I was stronger, but maybe they’ve been right about me all along. Maybe filing someone down doesn’t transform them into something else; it only reduces them to a fraction of themselves.

After twenty-three years of being filed, I’m a thumbnail of a human.

Yes I had to get out, but I couldn’t fail, so I’ve been lying in wait. The stakes were too high. I had to be patient. I’ve spentweeks planning this, and now that I’ve made the move, there’s no going back. McArthur will kill me when he finds out I ran.

Well, he’llwantto kill me, but he won’t be able to get to me once we land in Alaska and I meet up with my contacts. Gramps always dreamt of a remote life in the wilderness, and I’m happy to give him his dream in the twilight of his life.

But he was supposed to be waiting here when I arrived.

My phone buzzes with a message, and I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s my real one, which means it’s probably him. I planted the McArthur one in a cab the second I bolted. Let them chase some random car for a while. We’ll be long gone by then.

I unlock the phone to check the message, and my heart stops.

My hands shake.

My breaths come short and stilted.

Blood pounds through the crushing silence as I stare at the unexpected name. The very last collection of letters I want to see right now. Ever.

Staring back at me is a photo of Gramps looking unhappy in his care home room. Multiple silhouettes on the wall make it clear he’s not alone. Below the photo is a simple message:

You’re making a poor decision. Go back.

Go back?! I can’t go back. They will rip me apart. Worse, probably. Everything I’ve endured up until now will seem like a vacation compared to what it will be like if I go back. Now that they know I will run,canrun, forget the punishment, the living will be worse.

No.

NO!

How could this happen?! I was so careful!

“Fuck!” I cry, slamming my phone on the mattress.

My entire body is trembling as I drop to the bed and press the heels of my palms into my eyelids.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

You have to.

I can’t!

Furious tears burn behind my eyes. Angry. Frustrated.

Scared.

I swat them away, my body going hot and cold in rapid alternations of shock.

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