Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

This is it. The end of everything.

Red and blue flashing lights glance off the side-view mirror. The siren sounds far away, even though I know it's close. I want to throw up, and I think my heart might explode out of my chest like a bad horror movie. I feel trapped, and it's hard to breathe.

"Daddy, what is it?" Diana demands from the back seat.

State troopers are pulling over Paul.

"Nothing, just stay in your seatbelt," Paul answers in frustration. To himself, he says, "What the hell is this? I wasn't speeding."

The admission does not make me feel better. If he'd been speeding, at least there would have been a reason for him to get pulled over.

"Don't stop." I reach for his arm as he starts slowing the vehicle. "Just keep driving."

Paul frowns and glances at me. My grip tightens. He shakes his arm to knock off my hand. It's a rare crack in his usual calm. "It's just a ticket."

But it's not just a ticket. I frantically search for the words that will convince him to step on the gas and make a run for it. My mind draws a blank. I regret not explaining the danger sooner.

Shit.

Shit. Shit.

"You didn't do anything." I wish for him to understand.

He pulls the car over. "I assume you're not serious. You should know I'm not in a joking mood right now."

Short of grabbing the steering wheel and slamming my foot on the gas pedal, there's nothing I can do.

Please, please, please be a ticket.

Paul puts the car into park and turns off the engine. The interstate is next to a field and a line of trees. The bumpy ground will be hard to run on, but I could try to make it.

Without the troopers seeing me?

I can't leave Paul and Diana behind.

What do I do?

Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck!

I focus on my breathing. I'm afraid to move as if doing so will somehow ripple the universe and worsen my fate. I need to look normal and beyond suspicion.

Okay. Normal.

This is so far from freaking normal.

We'd stopped at a discount store and picked up supplies. I wish we had taken the time to change into the new clothes. Paul had insisted it wouldn't matter since we'd be stuck in the car all day, but it feels like it matters now.

I tug on the hem of my shorts to cover more of my legs. It doesn't help.

The cruiser's reflection pulls into the side mirror's frame. Each disorienting flash of light momentarily overpowers my senses and feels like a sharp, stinging slap across the face. I recoil even as I try not to. As a steady stream of traffic flows past, I yearn for a sudden, dramatic event—screeching tires, a sudden swerve, anything to divert attention away from our current predicament.

The sound of a car door slams. It's wrong to wish for an accident, yet here I am, praying for someone else's misfortune so we can escape the approaching officer.

"Tamara?" Paul's hand is outstretched, and he's leaning toward me. He grips his wallet against the steering wheel. "Registration? In the glove box? I want to get this over with."

He says it like he's been speaking, but I didn't hear a word. It takes me a moment to react. I open the glove box and pull out the white envelope inside.

Paul takes it from me. "Thanks."

I finally dare to look behind us. Diana is craning her neck to stare out the back window. I follow her lead and watch the trooper.

The woman stands with her hand resting on her holstered gun as she carefully approaches the front of her cruiser. The stance is unnecessarily aggressive. Her head is tilted as she stares at the back of the SUV. I think of the symbol I erased.

"What's she doing?" Diana asks.

"Quiet, honey," Paul answers.

A second cruiser pulls behind the first.

Crap. She called for backup. Cops don't normally need backup for a simple speeding ticket, do they?

The second trooper joins the first. The woman says something to him and gestures at the car.

This isn't good.

Act normal.

I need to act normal.

I shift my weight and stare forward, unease running through me like an electrical current. My leg bounces nervously, creating a rapid staccato against the seat. Each beat of my heart feels as if the organ is slamming into the walls of my chest. I struggle to regulate my breathing, desperate to conceal the rising panic, but the sound is deafening.

Paul's hand presses against my knee to stop the repetitive movement. "Hey, what's going on? Are you?—?"

A knock on his window interrupts him. His hand leaves my leg, and I make myself sit still. I look at his feet. I could reach the gas pedal if I swung my leg over the center console.

Paul rolls down the window. "Afternoon, officer. What seems to be the problem?"

He sounds so calm.

"License and registration." The female trooper leans to look inside the car. Her poker-faced, judgmental affect doesn't change. She eyes Diana and then us like we've got the kid on a brick of heroin.

Paul hands the items to her.

I catch movement in the side mirror. The male officer walks around to my side of the car, snooping in the back windows.

"Is something wrong, Trooper Jennings?" Paul asks when the woman studies his license longer than seems necessary. I glance over but can't read her name badge.

"Where are you heading?" Jennings asks.

"We're going to Kansas City to visit my parents." Paul taps his fingers on the side of his leg. He's irritated, but his voice doesn't show it.

"This your wife?" She nods at me.

"No, this is—" Paul begins.

"A family friend," I insert.

"License, family friend," Jennings demands.

I reach for my backpack. The male trooper suddenly appears by my window, startling me. I jolt in surprise. His mirrored sunglasses are lifted, and I don't like the suspicious way he's staring at me.

"What's your name?" Jennings leans into the window and looks at Diana.

"Plop," Diana says. She sounds defiant.

"Diana," Paul answers for her. "My daughter."

I'm careful opening the bag and taking out my wallet. I keep my head down and move slowly. When I was younger, one of Anthony's school friends sold me a magically enchanted fake ID. I've had it since my misspent teenage years sneaking into clubs. The enchantment part is that the license ages with me, never expires, and whoever looks at it believes it to be real.

I reach past Paul to hand the card to the trooper. She takes it with a flick of her wrist. I still don't like the way both officers are looking at me. I tell myself that's just how cops look at people, but what if they know who I am?

It's daytime, so they're not vampiric, but they could be enthralled by a vampire.

The trooper at my window moves. I get a brief glimpse of a creepy smile as he stands, taking his face out of view. I stare at his back in the mirror as he walks toward the rear of the car. It's taking everything inside of me to maintain my composure.

"Looks like everything is in order. Here you are, Mr. Cannon." Trooper Jennings hands him his license and registration papers before reaching across toward me. "Ms. Bennet."

Paul gives me a questioning glance, and I pray he doesn't say anything.

"Drive safe now," Jennings says, tapping the open window.

"Wait, why did you pull us over?" Paul asks.

I want to tell him to shut up and let them leave. It doesn't matter as long as they go away.

"Your car fits a description." Jennings doesn't give any further explanation.

A loud, shaky breath escapes me before I can stop it.

Paul rolls up his window and watches the rearview mirror. Diana is turned around in the seat, staring out the back window.

I can't look as I listen to their car doors slam.

Paul holds out his hand and looks at where I clutch the fake ID. "Can I see that?"

"I can explain," I say, gripping it tighter. It's a lie. I can't. At least, not in any way that will make him stop looking at me the way he is now.

He keeps his hand out. I have no choice but to give it to him.

"Mary Bennet?" he reads.

"I…" What can I say?

Paul flips the ID over a few times, studying it. "I thought you said your name is Tamara."

Diana is looking at me now, her expression more confused than anything.

I reach into my backpack and pull out my real driver's license to hand to him. "It is Tamara."

He looks at them side by side before handing them both back.

"Jenny Rhoades told everyone her name is Moonbeam," Diana says. "Randy told her that's a stupid name, and so she dumped a bucket of dirt on his head. And Randy has an imaginary friend who he says is a ghost, and he told Jenny that he is going to have Mr. Scary haunt her and she better watch out. And Jenny cried. And then Mrs. Larsen said they couldn't have a recess for three days, and they had to sit and think about what they've done. Also?—"

"Put your seatbelt back on," Paul tells her as he starts the car. I feel the agitation radiating off him.

"You can be Mary if you want, Tamara." Diana pats my shoulder. "We won't put you in time out."

I'm not sure how I feel about a kid coming to my defense. Paul doesn't appear pleased by it. I hate that I never know how to explain things to him. I want him to understand so badly, but the truth does not make me look good. He'll think I'm crazy. I need proof, but any supernatural proof that finds us would be a bad thing.

Paul waits for the troopers to leave first before pulling into traffic. He won't look at me, and I can't help staring at him.

"Paul…"

"We'll talk at the hotel," he states.

I can hear the frustration in his voice. I can't blame him.

The sky darkens with the threat of a storm. I hadn't noticed it coming before, but I have been preoccupied.

My life is a fucking mess. My hand strays to the door handle as the vehicle picks up speed. Not for the first time, I think about opening the door and jumping out onto the passing interstate. One quick splat and it could all be over. And then nothingness. Silence. Blessed silence. No more churning thoughts. At least, that's my hope. But who knows what the afterlife holds?

I can't do that to Paul and Diana. I can't scar them like that. It's sad, but that's the thought stopping me. I've done enough to them.

Guilt fills me as I think of Conrad. He should have been my first concern. I'm the only family he has left, and he's doing so much to help me.

Then I think of the phone number from the investigator. My birth mother. I haven't tried calling her. She must have known where I was my entire life. Why hasn't she tried to see me?

My father was a formidable man to know. Was she afraid of something? Did she not want me?

Actually, no, I can't deal with those thoughts right now.

The atmosphere inside the car has become unbearable, as if the reality of our impulsive decision to drive cross-country as strangers is crashing down on us. Diana is a kid. She can't be blamed. But Paul and I are adults. We should have known this was irrational.

Paul grips the steering wheel, his hands twisting lightly as if strangling the car. For all his rightful irritation, he isn't threatening me. I'm not scared of him. I'm scared of what he's thinking about me. I'm scared of him leaving.

None of this is logical. I barely know him and can't be this desperate for attention. In the scheme of everything, this is only a tiny moment in our lives.

Everything inside of me is trembling, and I rock in my seat.

I want to scream.

I want to bang my head against the window.

I want to shake something.

I wish I knew the perfect thing to say.

"Please don't dump me on the side of the road." The words are out of my mouth before I can regulate them. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

Paul's hands instantly stop wringing the wheel. He takes a deep breath. "No one is dumping anyone anywhere."

"I'm bored," Diana announces from the back seat. "I don't want to drive anymore."

"Yeah, I think we all need a break from the car." Paul looks at the road with renewed determination.

I want to ask him what he means by that. I don't.

Diana starts talking, but I can't concentrate on the words. Honestly, they're a long drone of noisy sentences, and my brain can't process them. It's like she's trying to diffuse the situation the only way she knows how, by filling the silence with distractions.

The car slows, and I glance up to see we're taking an exit. A raindrop hits the windshield, and I can't help but think it's a warning shot from the universe.