Page 174 of The Endowment Effect

Birdie reached for the closest item she could fine, a metal cross that sat on Maisie’s nightstand and held it high before crashing it against the side of Shelby’s skull.

The woman crumpled to the ground as both sisters stared at her deflating body in disbelief.

Birdie panted, still holding the cross. She fell to her knees and brought her fingertips to Shelby’s neck, unsure of what she was doing, but searching for some sign of life.

“Did you kill her?” Maisie asked, still crooning.

“Shut up, Maisie.” Birdie said, moving her fingertips over what she thought was an artery, not sure if she was even doing it right.

She felt nothing.

“Is she dead?” Maisie screamed.

“I said to SHUT UP,” Birdie screamed louder.

Finally, she felt a faint whisper of a pulse and allowed herself to inhale and exhale in relief. “She’s alive.”

Birdie sat back on her heels, made the only decision available to them and took control. Knowing that neither of them would survive the night if they didn’t make their way out of Wayward before Shelby came to.

She reached into the back of her closet and flipped a small suitcase open and onto her bed. One she had bought from the local thrift shop, for when she graduated and had enough money to leave this godforsaken hellhole of a town.

Checking the side pocket, she saw the money still tucked inside. Thankful Shelby hadn’t found it when she came across Maisie’s mysterious notebook. She turned to a dazed Maisie. “Grab some clothes and throw it in the suitcase.”

Maisie stared at an unconscious Shelby and now Birdie was the one yelling orders, “Now, Maisie!”

Her sister finally responded, opening drawers and throwing clothes into the small suitcase, along with Birdie’s, until it was full and they could barely latch the sides shut.

Maisie pulled her backpack from the floor and filled it as well. She lifted the notebook lying next to Shelby’s inert hand as Birdie lifted the suitcase from the bed.

To Birdie’s frustration, the latch came undone, spewing clothes all over the floor. Bending down, she pulled a couple of pieces of clothing out, and tried latching it again.

Placing as much weight as she could onto the luggage, she finally latched it.

She turned just as Maisie threw her backpack over her shoulder, and stood, ready to leave.

As soon as they were in the hall, Birdie found a hair pin she had hidden at the top of the door trim, pushed it into the door lock and turned it until it refused to open when she twisted the knob.

“Downstairs,” she said, nudging Maisie along until they were in the kitchen. She opened the pantry door and found the keys to the ancient 1988 Chevrolet Caprice, hanging on a hook on the side of the pantry wall. Her Jetta was parked in the driveway, waiting for her to come up with the money to rebuild the carburetor. She didn’t dare take Pete’s truck, unwilling to take the risk of being reported for car theft, but she would take the Caprice. Thinking the police less likely to arrest her for driving the family car during what she would dub as a “harmless joy-ride between sisters.”

They hurried outside and jumped in the old Chevy, and Birdie turned the key. Praying sincerely, and from the very depths of her soul, that some divine being would make this damned engine turn.

The engine roared to life and the next thing she knew, they were careening down the road, driving north, and passing the highway sign thanking drivers for visiting the “Beautiful City of Wayward”.

For what seemed hours, Maisie kept looking behind her as Birdie’s eyes toggled back and forth between the stretch of road in front of her, and the rearview mirror. They listened for sirens and watched for rotating red lights. Finally, they relaxed a small degree after a few hours of nothing but your typical late-night traffic.

Birdie asked the question she was half afraid to hear the answer to. “What was in the notebook?”

“You don’t need to know,” Maisie responded, staring out the window.

“I could’ve killed her, Maisie, I think I deserve to know what for.”

Ever secretive, divulging nothing, her sister replied, “I wrote the truth. That’s all you need or deserve to know.”

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