Now

"Christi," I say, weak with relief that she answered the phone.

I'm on Bob's cell phone, and I was worried she wouldn't answer a number she doesn't recognize. I copied down my most important contacts, then destroyed my phone with one of Bob's hammers, in case they can track me even while it's off. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but better paranoid than sorry.

Though the twins frequently comment on my Insta, I haven't talked to Christi or Chrystel since filming the segment for their show, but they gave me their numbers that night, and I've always remembered their kind words. If things get tough, call us. And I can't imagine things getting tougher than my husband's murder and a sheriff who's ready to lock me up and throw away the key.

Bob is downstairs making sandwiches. I'm still in the room with the boxes, sitting in the folding chair by the window, trying to ignore the clamoring pain in my ankle.

"Julia!" cries Christi with that same vivacious energy that drew me to her so powerfully, like she's turbocharged. "We've been so worried about everything going on with you! How are you? What's the update, girl?"

"Things have been...crazy."

"We know you didn't do it," says Christi. "We've been very vocal with the press. It's ridiculous! Like, we can't even defend ourselves, and now you're being questioned for murder? Look, I have an incredible lawyer, his name is Tom—"

"I need your help," I break in. "If your offer from last year still stands."

"Of course! Anything for you!"

"Does anything include...a car?"

In Bob's barn, everything felt helpless. But now that I've calmed down, I've regrouped. Yes, I'm at more of a disadvantage than ever, but it's not over yet. First, I have to get away from Bob's. Cops are crawling all over my property; I need some distance. Second, I can't use my own car, in case there are alerts on the plates.

"Uh...sure?" she says.

"And a place to go," I continue. "A new phone. A credit card. A breast pump—that's urgent, actually. I'm kind of on the run. Temporarily. Until I can figure this out."

Anything to buy me time to find Josh's actual killer. There are two names top of my mind: Andy and Eden, who are fucking working together after all. I haven't even had time to process that emotionally. It's too devastating.

"I don't mean to sound bossy," says Christi, "but...don't you think running might make you look even more guilty? Why not work with law enforcement?"

"You don't understand how things are here," I say, praying she won't think I'm exaggerating my situation. "Sheriff Mitchell's campaign promise was to run me out of town. Look it up. He hates me, Christi. If he gets me in handcuffs, they're never coming off, and my daughter will be..." I can't finish that sentence.

"What about other suspects?" says Christi. "Aren't they questioning other people?"

"That's what I asked. I even rattled off a whole list of people who might have wanted to harm Josh." I can't help a small, bitter laugh. "He refused to write them down. He's dead set on nailing me for this. It's not even fucking subtle." And then I have to take a deep breath, because thinking of the sheriff in my house refusing to do his job makes my head so hot I can't think.

"Okay, I'm getting the picture." There's a silence, which feels rare from Christi. Then she says, "Let me get my assistant on it. I can get you a car within the hour. Just tell me where to take it."

I breathe out. "Thank you. Thank you, Christi. Okay. There's a motel just off the interstate, about twenty miles from Eauverte. The Stop and Sleep Roadside Inn." I've noticed it a million times. A million times, I've thought, no way in hell.

"I'll get you a room on my card," says Christi. "We'll use a pseudonym. How about... Lily Paddington. I can have a phone and fake ID and stuff for you in the morning."

"That would be perfect. I seriously can't thank you enough," I say. "If you can get a breast pump tonight, too, I would owe you for life."

"Of course. But if that sheriff is really so terrible, why not run farther, Julia? Don't stay at some motel. Drive to California! I'll hide you! Annaleigh, too! We have plenty of space. My closet is the size of the average two-bedroom apartment."

The idea is actually very endearing—me hiding out in Christi's California mansion. But how long could that possibly last? No, my only chance at being permanently reunited with my daughter, at living any kind of a life worth living, is to find Josh's killer.

"That's so kind. But I can't. I have to figure out who did this to Josh."

"Do you have any idea?" Christi says.

"I have one final lead," I say. "I just need more time."

Time to figure out why Andy and Eden would want to kill my husband, the man they made me to complete.

Considering they're both geniuses, even if they did murder Josh, they were probably smart enough to cover their tracks. Finding evidence that clearly convicts either of them—before the law catches up with me—would be a goddamn miracle. But it's the only avenue left.

Suddenly, a memory lights up in my head: the night I came upon Eden in the woods. She was talking on the phone. She claimed she was talking to the sheriff; now I'm convinced it was Andy. What did she say, exactly? Of course I'll call you. Anything new. Sure. Like she was spying on me and reporting back to Andy.

Like Bob, Eden was an unwanted witness to my troubles. Did she call Andy after either of those times? Report back to him how bad things in my marriage had gotten? If Andy is in love with me, could Andy's desire to defend me, or avenge me, have been motivation enough to kill Josh?

Something else Eden said pushes through the murky surface of my memories, like a stubborn weed. Something about the number three... Three strikes and you're out. I don't know what it means, but it feels important.

"Well, you know what they say," Christi is saying cheerily. "Time is money. I'll have a rental car to the motel within the hour. I'll have the driver check in for you, because let's be honest, with that red hair of yours? You're instantly recognizable. She'll wait for you in the parking lot with the room key and the car keys."

"And a breast pump," I remind her.

"Are you really okay to wait until morning for the other stuff?"

"Of course."

"I'll tell my assistant to have the driver wear something you can spot—ooh, cat ears! That's cute. Do you want hair dye, actually? Or maybe a wig. I can have a whole suitcase of stuff outside your door no later than breakfast."

"Yes. Sure. Anything you can think of. You are a gem. You and Chrystel both." I'm weak with gratitude.

"Listen, I'm going to be honest with you. With only three of us Synths, the outcome of Josh's murder is going to affect all of us." She exhales. "I have a bad feeling about you running. But you seem certain, so I'm supporting you. Okay? That's what we do for each other. But now you have to do something for me."

"What?"

Sweet Christi is gone; a tougher Christi takes her place. "Do not fuck this up."

Turns out I like Tough Christi even better.

"I won't," I promise.