Page 56 of Heart of a Killer

“Come on. Help me with the body.”

“Why?” Brie questions me with her arms over her chest. “He’s dead. Why not just leave him here?”

“Because if someone else comes by, they will report it to the police, which will cause them to look for the man’s car, cutting into our time to get away.”

She shrugs and grabs the man’s feet. “Fine. But you can have the sloppy end.”

“You know dead bodies shit after they die, right?” I retort.

Her face twists and her lips turn down in disgust, making me chuckle as I grab underneath the man’s shoulders. Skylar waits by the car while we carry John Doe into the woods to give us more time for our getaway.

“Do you think Skylar will be okay?” Brie asks, biting on her lower lip.

I shrug. “Here is far enough.”

We drop the body in the middle of a cluster of thorn bushes, so animals are less likely to drag the body back to the road. This will give us plenty of time for me to do what needs to be done.

When we get back to the car, Skylar is pulling the car off to the side. I knew she was smart.

“Hey, I found something useful while the both of you were gone,” Skylar announces, hopping out of the driver’s seat and running back to the trunk.

Walking to the back of the silver Pontiac Grand Prix, Brie and I wait for Skylar’s discovery. She pulls out an oil blanket and two motor shop work shirts.

Brie squeals, bouncing up and down beside me. “Oh, hell yes, little trailer trash! Give me one of the shirts. You can keep the thick oil blanket since I’ll be, like, double-layered up.”

Skylar hands Brie a shirt, and she throws it on. It acts as a dress on her, going past her thighs. Then she turns with the other shirt, handing it out to me, and her eyes are round and doe-eyed. My insides twist into knots.

Please, don’t let me be wrong about her.

I throw on the shirt before climbing into the driver’s seat. The wheel is covered in oil, telling me the guy must’ve been a mechanic. The driver’s work badge is in the cup holder, and I grab it, curious.

“Gregory Salamini.”

“Ugh, what an awful fucking name,” Brie says from the back seat.

Skylar giggles, adjusting her seat belt in the passenger seat. “Yeah, old Greg. Not very cute.”

I throw the work ID into the glove box. Gregory won’t be needing that anymore.

Peeling away from the curb, I accelerate the car. Pressing the pedal to the metal as if I’m running from the cops. I’m running, just not from the feds—not yet—which is some relief, but my anxiety is high, and getting out of here is my number one priority. The evergreens line both sides of the road, making it seem like we’re racing through a tunnel.

Our breaths come out in puffs of white clouds around us. I wasn’t thinking of the cold when we got in the car. My only thought was getting us the fuck out of there without getting caught. Cranking up the heat, I turn the vents toward the girls to get them warm. The cold has started to bother me again. I forgot about it because of the adrenaline running through my veins and keeping me numb to the temperature.

Skylar settles into the passenger seat with the thick oil blanket wrapped around her and quickly falls asleep. She’s probably overwhelmed by everything she’s seen over the last few hours. On the other hand, Brie is sifting through the center console and pulling out old CD cases.

“Oh, yes! Motherfuckingyes!”

“What?”

“This shit has cigarettes,” she moans.

Smoke fills the car, and Brie comes between the front seats and hands me a lit cigarette. With aclick,the lighter sparks as she lights another for herself. I draw in a lungful of nicotine. The Marlboro Light’s bitterness hits my tongue, and my nose scrunches up. I hate this brand, but it will do what I need it to. My foot comes off the pedal slightly as my jittering nerves slow down. We don’t need to get caught now after everything we’ve done.

Once the sign for I-30 comes into view, I know I’m in familiar territory and on the right track to getting us back to Texas and back to my house, where we’ll be safe.

That’s the one good thing about having that fake ID on me that day. No one ever found my place of memories; that’s more like a graveyard now.

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