Page 84 of Shattered
“Can you cover for me?” I asked. I nodded behind me, as if Dahlia could be anywhere. “I need to go. It’s important.”
It wasn’t just important; it was life or death.
Iris raised a brow. “For sure,” she said. “Go.”
“Thank you.”
I ran to the exit, seeing the flash of the blue suit leaving the building. I went through the Greenhouse to the back exit, hopping into a pair of shorts as I ran, still clinging the towel to my chest, then burst to the parking lot and found my car. I grabbed a sweatshirt off of the backseat and threw it on, then pulled out of the parking spot and found a black car turning onto the main road. His car. Rourke’s car.
The shadow of his head. A flash of his face in the side mirror. He hadn’t gotten far yet. Was he waiting for me to follow him?
My hands were still faintly wet, marking the steering wheel in blue patches. I hated myself at that moment. I was following a serial killer, a man who had tricked me in more ways than I could truly understand. He had lied to me, made me think that I actually meant something to him, that I was seeing the real him behind those walls. How had I not seen it? How could I still be so stupid as to be following him now,hopingthat there was some kind of explanation? Some reason that would make it okay.
We drove for a while, both of us following the rules of the road, not drawing attention to ourselves. Each time Rourke switched lanes, I did too. Once, he even switched back and forth to see if I would follow. He knew I was trailing him; maybe it was his signal to tell me that he knew. WhenIvy Ledge Bridge Exitpassed on a green and white sign to the side of us, he kept driving, going past it. I dialed his number, but it went straight to voicemail.
He got off at the next unmarked off-ramp.
Where was he going? Maybe he had something else to do. Something that didn’t have to do with death.
Life, death, rebirth. It was in the roots of his soul, every single damn part of it. If I wasn’t smart about it, he would take my life too. Even if that meant simply remolding my existence into a life that suited his interests, he would do that. He could shape my life to be served in jail, for a crimehecommitted.
He could still mold me like that.
And I had always known that this was a possibility.
Thick trees decorated one side of the road, and on the other side, rundown houses sat looking out, wrapped in broken fences. Flashes of trash against the bumpy asphalt. I told myself, reminded myself,scoldedmyself into believing that Rourke didn’t simply kill. It was never simply murder. It was protection too. Soldiers protected our freedoms. Law enforcement protected our rights. Why was Rourke any different?
Why was I holding onto this hope that he wasn’t as bad as I knew he was? There was a hint of goodness inside of him that I was holding onto. That there had to be an explanation for this. A reason to keep lying to me.
We came upon a dark road. The houses were replaced by the ominous woods on both sides. A bridge for a forgotten, dead-end road crossed over us, lighting the passageway underneath. Just past it, he parked his car and turned off the lights. I killed my engine too, parking not far behind him.
I held my breath, waiting to see what we did next.
