Chapter 26

Chapter

Twenty-Six

Darkness surrounds the tinted windows, obscuring the passing landscape and forcing my attention to remain inside the vehicle. I barely remember getting on the bus, but here I am, trapped between the window and an elderly gentleman who keeps clearing his throat as he tries to sleep. At least the seats are cushioned, and my travel buddy isn't one for awkward small talk.

The hours spent sitting in the bus station before that were a blur. The later the time, the stranger the clientele inside the station became. I spent most of it on a bench constructed of thick, plastic-coated wires with a tile wall back, clutching my backpack in my lap and watching for signs of the supernatural.

I'm pretty sure there were plenty hanging out. Travel depots make for a great place to find victims. People are traveling, isolated, and often alone. They don't know the area and are distracted. I guess that's why human muggers like to hunt in the same locations. I suppose getting dragged into an alley to be robbed and murdered is just as bad as being dragged into that same alley to be a late-night snack to a vampire. The end turns out the same.

The boy who spent too much time by the vending machines loading up on sugar had a certain goblin twitch. I stared for so long that I saw his human glamour malfunctioning to reveal the gnarled creature hiding beneath the cloaking magic. He was harmless enough, as he basically begged for change to feed his sugar addiction.

A soul eater lingered outside the restrooms, "accidentally" (feel the air quotes) bumping into people as they went in and out. I caught her eyes lighting up as she fed on tiny slurps of her victim's energies.

The man behind the counter moved like a zombie, but to be fair, I think he probably just resented his job.

The digital ticket on my phone says San Francisco, California. I keep checking to make sure. I've turned the volume down to ignore any messages. I don't want to talk to anyone. I have nothing to say.

I bought the ticket online and used my fake name. Still, it was paid for with my actual credit card, so I feel trackable. What else could I do? The damned thing was nearly five hundred bucks.

I should have flown. An airplane wouldn't take two days.

I'd also be trapped in the sky if something threatening followed me onboard.

I watched the other passengers load, and none of them stuck out as dangerous. But I'm paranoid and can't help but think that every time a murderer is arrested, a neighbor is talking about how shocked they are that they have been living next to a killer. What if this entire bus was filled with supernaturals in disguise, and I don't see it? If I were a supernatural wanting to hurt people, I'd take the night bus.

I'm torn. Logic can't make up its mind. On the one hand, I want to be hidden and safe. On the other, I want the vampires to chase me and leave Paul and Diana alone.

"Should I just give up and let them have me? Then it will all be over."

My travel companion glances at me, and I realize I've started talking to myself out loud. I give a slight shake of my head to indicate the words weren't for him and purposefully turn my attention to the dark landscape. I can't see much, even when streetlights illuminate the interstate.

"It will be light out when we get to Denver," the man tells me. "Won't the mountains be pretty? Hard to be sad when you see God's creation."

"Sure," I mutter.

He closes his eyes, presumably to go back to sleep.

Tension has found a permanent home in my stomach, and I haven't been able to eat. Yes, the bus will make stops, but I'm not sure I want to leave my seat at night. When the sugar goblin was trolling for loose change, I managed to stuff a few candy bars and a bottle of water into my backpack, just in case. I'm running low on cash, and soon, I won't be able to afford much else.

Unless I use my cards, which seems dangerous. Isn't that how they track criminals?

Does it matter since I used my card for the bus?

Maybe I should drain one of my accounts at an ATM. Then I'd have cash. I could disappear, and Mary Bennett could get a job. I could start over in witness protection for one.

That won't work. Conrad and several of Anthony's friends know the name on my fake ID, and it's possible the vampires already know about it, too.

Well, crap. I can't use that name for too long. Not for the first time since this hellish adventure started, I think about how I would make a lousy criminal.

I see something blur past the dark window. My heart jumps a little in my chest, and I press my forehead against the glass. Knots tighten in my stomach. All I see is the side of the road passing by at sixty miles an hour.

"Calm down," I whisper to the glimpses of my reflection I catch in the glass.

I'm exhausted, but I feel Paul when I close my eyes. The rumble of the vehicle and the constant sound of tires on the road remind me of him, and it's almost disappointing to open my eyes and see he's not next to me driving. I even miss the thump of Diana's feet hitting the back of my chair in boredom as she whines about waffles.

Instead, someone behind me is snoring.

I reach for my phone to check if he's texted, desperate to feel the tiniest connection. Instinctively, I know that Paul would be concerned. It would be in his nature to check on me. The fact that he hasn't means he is making a rational decision not to.

My thumbs hover over the keypad, and I compose a message in my head.

Dear Paul, I wanted to again thank you?—

What the hell? This isn't a letter to grandma.

Hey, what's up? I just wanted to?—

What? Act like a psycho and pretend things aren't fucked as I text in the middle of the night? Apologize for nearly getting you and your daughter killed by bloodsucking monsters?

I move my thumbs. Pretending to type, I hover them over the keypad while I mouth those words he said, leaving the hotel room. "I feel like we could have been something."

I can almost hear his voice in my head.

I exit the messages. Tears burn my eyes but don't fall. It's for the best.

I detect what sounds like something pinging across the roof and look up, ears trained for more. After several minutes, I tell myself it was probably a pebble kicked up by a passing semi-truck's back tire.

I travel in this self-made purgatory, afraid to sleep. The bus stops a few hours in. I don't get out. The bus moves and then stops again soon after that. I can't help but think for five hundred dollars, we should get fewer interruptions. It's not lost on me that Lady Astrid would have tipped five hundred dollars not to be inconvenienced by traffic driving two blocks.

Topeka, Junction City, these places mean nothing to me beyond the anxiety caused by the motionless bus. By the time we roll into Salina, Kansas, at three in the morning, my back is aching, and I need to stretch my legs.

My calf muscles are stiff as I hobble off the bus into the parking lot between a hotel and a gas station. I hope the cool breeze will help me clear the cobwebs forming in my brain. I need to stay awake, at least through the night. Only a few of the passengers get off with me.

I carry my backpack, not trusting my co-travelers. The parking lot is bright, and there aren't many cars. I see the hotel and wish I could walk inside to find Paul and Diana waiting for me. They're probably sleeping like a nice, normal family.

I start to picture myself in some ranch-style home, sitting at a polished wood table with his family, playing those new games he told Diana about. The fantasy lasts all of two seconds before I stop myself. That's not how you get over someone.

Survival mode. That's the only mindset I can allow myself right now.

Even though we're technically in a town, gas stations in the middle of the night feel isolated by design. My senses are heightened, and I can't shake the feeling of dread that has become my constant companion. Beyond the darkness, I imagine prairies stretching out for miles. I hate to admit that my image of the Midwest automatically reverts to the olden days when people crossed the countryside by covered wagon. Seeing the clerk behind the counter wearing a prairie dress, made famous during the pandemic, does not help this impression. I know it's not a realistic description, but that feeling of emptiness and aloneness adds to my anxiety.

I don't belong out here.

I don't know what I'm doing.

Each step feels like a chore as I make a beeline for the front door. Every nerve in my body tingles in warning, and every tense muscle yells at me to run, but I have nowhere to go. Thankfully, the lights are on in the parking lot and shining through the convenience store window.

I focus on reaching the door handle and pulling my way inside. The bored cashier forces a smile and mumbles a mandatory greeting, but she's not paying attention to me as she scrolls on her phone. That's good. I like it when people ignore me.

I think of my limited amount of cash and pause to look at the chips on an end cap. I'm tempted to shove some into my bag since the cashier isn't paying attention to us. But in the end, I can't do it. I feel too guilty and clearly still suck at being a criminal. I skip the shelves. Breakfast will have to be the vending machine candy.

Seeing the restroom sign, I head toward the back of the store and push my way inside. There are several stalls, and I automatically head to one at the back of the line. It feels safer, somehow.

As I reach for the door, the color reminds me of the banquet hall, and I get a flash of feeling dizzy as I had the night of the party before passing out. I start to breathe heavily, unable to control it. My stomach churns as it did then, only this time, it's not booze and pot; it's stress and fear.

Every part of me wants to hide on the toilet. The only thing stopping me is the idea that the bus will leave without me. The brusque driver had announced as much at each stop.

I hear flushing and then footsteps leaving as someone exits a stall. Only the quiet buzzing of fluorescent lights remains. I take a deep breath, then another. I need to calm myself before walking back to the bus.

It's three in the morning. That means what? Three hours left until dawn.

"I can make it," I whisper. "Just three hours. That's nothing."

The pep talk does little to ease my apprehension. I know I'm lying. It takes one second for a vampire or some other supernatural creature to mesmerize someone. They could do a lot in three hours.

"It's okay," I tell myself as I hike the bag on my shoulders to carry it on my back. "Get a grip, Tamara. No one knows where you are."

I keep telling myself I'm fine.

I turn the stall lock and hear it release.

I'm fine. I got this.

As I swing open the door, the lights flicker overhead.

I freeze, not seeing anyone in the room with me. I lean over to look for feet. No one else is here. The only noise is my loud breathing. I inch toward the sinks. The lights flicker and then pop, leaving me in darkness.

Oh, fuck.

The restroom is pitch black, and the only sound is now the buzzing in my ears accompanying the drumbeat of my frantic heart. I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and I start to shake. I hold my breath, waiting for the lights to come back on, praying that they will, begging the universe for help. I think about digging for my phone, but it's shoved in my bag, and it feels like it would make too much noise to try to find it.

A cold chill runs along my spine. It takes all my willpower to lift my hand into the black, and I sweep it back and forth as I inch toward where the door should be. I try to be as quiet as a mouse. My knuckles hit the wall, and I jump in fright, even as I rub my hand along the wall to find the door.

As I pull it open, I see all the lights are out except for what looks like a small red dot near the ceiling running on battery backup. Someone holds up a phone, the soft glow acting like a flashlight.

"Take it easy, everyone. It's just a blackout. Looks like it's the whole block." I recognize the cashier's voice. She sounds more annoyed than concerned. "I'm calling my boss. Sorry, your purchases are going to have to wait."

Through the window, I see that the streetlights are also out, but the moonlight and running lights from the parked bus help.

I hear someone fumbling in the aisle.

"Please don't steal. The cameras have night vision," the cashier says before muttering, "They don't pay me enough for this."

I can tell that the woman doesn't even believe what she's saying. I hear more rummaging, and I'm not sure her halfhearted warning worked.

I need to get back on the bus. I should never have gotten off.

I stride for the door, intent on running across the now-dark parking lot. Before I can reach it, the doors blow open on their own. The cashier yelps in fright, and I see the light of her phone dropping to the floor. Large flying creatures burst through the opening, screeching high-pitched sounds that hurt my ears. A woman screams, and I hear crashing as someone knocks over a metal shelf.

Vampires.

They've found me.

The sound of their flapping bat wings is unmistakable.

I don't think. I run toward the door in a panic, pushing past the heavy glass before it swings closed. It knocks me on the back, but the contact only makes my legs move faster. The bus feels too far away, so I head toward an ice machine and duck beside it, away from the door. I hear crashing and screaming inside as I get my bearings.

I want to help those within, but there is nothing I can do.

I huddle in the corner, willing the bus driver to see we need help and move closer. Fuck, why couldn't I have been born with psychic powers?

I hear a light tap behind me and slowly turn around to see a vampire standing in the window, smiling like a predator who just found his prey. He has a handsome face and short blond hair, but then again, all vampires have a sexiness about them. I'm told it's to help them lure their victims. I don't recognize him, but that's not surprising. What I do recognize is the glow of hungry intent in his eyes. He taps his long fingernail against the glass. The steady rhythm is meant to terrify me. It works. To be frankly honest, if I had not already gone to the restroom, I'd be pissing myself.

I push up to run toward the bus. Maybe I can convince the driver to step on the gas and get us out of here. I surge to my feet and stumble a couple of steps but make it no further. A vampire bat flies in front of me seconds before the vampire who attacked me at the motel lands on the parking lot between me and the bus. I don't know how it's possible, but he looks even more enraged than before.

I hear the echoing thought from my old self-defense instructor advising me to run.

What else can I do? I dart towards the edge of the building. I don't know where I'm going as I turn the corner. I hear the flapping of movement behind me and the thump of feet running as they give chase.

Any fleeting moment of hope is soon lost. There is no outrunning a brood of vampires on the hunt. I round the back of the building only to skid to a stop. I'm confronted with three impressively large male vampires and a much shorter female. I slide on the loose gravel, falling on my hands and knees. I feel it cutting my palms.

For all their scary sizes, it's the woman who instantly demands my attention. She's vaguely familiar. Though she wears tight leather, and her straight black hair is severely angled at her chin, I picture her with longer curls and a blue gown. I've seen her in a painting somewhere, possibly in a book.

Recognizing her is not a good thing. That means she's probably old and very powerful.

I lift my hands in a useless attempt to stop her from coming forward. At the gesture, I hear a collective inhale as the vampires get a whiff of my blood. I feel a drip running down my palm to my wrist, and I wipe it against my shirt as if it will somehow erase the temptation from their nostrils. The small wound stings, but it's nothing compared to what's coming.

"Please," I beg. "You're making a mistake. I didn't hurt Costin. The fire was not my fault. This is all a misunderstanding, and I promise I will do everything I can to figure out who is responsible. I lost people too in that fire."

The woman taps her fingers against her thigh as she stares at me. She seems unimpressed with my pleading. I suppose for a vampire, having humans beg for their lives is nothing spectacular. I doubt any of their food wishes to die.

"Humans." That single word comes out of her mouth in a rasp.

Usually, vampires have an air of boredom to them. Like the centuries have just added up into a long eternity of nothingness that they're trying to fill. But right now, the way they're looking at me, they're not bored. They have a purpose, which is more terrifying than anything I can envisage. I can only imagine that what they have planned for me is not an easy ending.

"I had no reason to hurt Costin," I state, trying to sound confident and firm. I hear movement behind me and glance back to see we're not alone. I turn my back toward the gas station wall as I try to keep them all in my eyeline. Getting trapped against a wall isn't great, as it cuts off any exit, but it's better than being exposed. "We were…"

I stopped short of claiming we were friends. We weren't friends. Costin was friendly with my parents.

"We were on friendly terms," I manage.

"You're braver than most blood sacks. I can see why my brother liked you," the vampire answers, flicking the back of her nails against her short hair. "Although Costin always did have questionable taste in pets."

"Costin was your brother," I state the realization out loud.

Well, crap. This is not good news.

And he liked me? I'm not sure I buy that.

The woman arches her brow at the comment as if she's surprised I didn't know. How the hell was I supposed to know Costin had a sister? It's not like we chatted at parties. Usually, our interactions were limited to him calling me "little castoff" and looking at me like I was an amuse-bouche he wanted to devour.

"You can call me Elizabeth," Costin's sister says.

In the few seconds I turned my attention fully on Elizabeth, another half dozen vampires congregated behind the gas station. I didn't even hear them land.

"I'm a Devine," I say.

The smirks I get in response are about what I expect from the hollow warning.

"But are you? Really?" Elizabeth laughs.

"I didn't kill Costin," I insist, yet again.

Elizabeth bobbles her head a little and rolls her eyes as she says, "There is no way you could have taken out my brother. So much for old men and their prophecies."

I don't know what she's talking about.

"We talked to Conrad," Elizabeth continues. "He made an intriguing proposition."

I sigh in relief. Oh, thank goodness. Conrad talked to them. This performance art is just to scare me. I take a deep breath and try to relax my tensed muscles.

"So, we're good? This is over?" I can't keep the hopefulness out of my voice.

"Sure, it's over," Elizabeth nods, "as soon as we kill you."

"But…" I lift my hands in front of me like a shield. The tension comes rolling back as I prepare for a fight. I no longer care that they're smeared with blood. "You said Conrad made a deal."

"Oh, you don't…" Elizabeth laughs, prompting the others to do the same. The evil sound surrounds me like a chorus.

I wish somebody was coming to save me, but there's no one. I'm all alone in the world. Who would even care that this is happening?

Uncle Mortimer might. Someone has to carry a supernatural baby, and that won't be Conrad.

I start to think of Paul but quickly push him out of my mind. Rumor has it that vampires can read thoughts, at least some of them. And I don't want them digging out that one.

"Sweetie." Suddenly, Elizabeth is in front of me, cupping my face. Her fingers feel like ice cubes against my skin, and the scent of ash lingers like perfume. When I stare into her eyes, I see a cold emptiness. She doesn't bother to try to mesmerize me into submission. "Conrad did make a deal with us. We kill you. We turn him. And we gain access to the great Devine empire."

Tears spill from my eyes, and I know they're hitting her fingers because she pulls one hand to her mouth to lick them before lightly slapping her wet hand against my cheek.

"Brothers! Am I right?" Elizabeth laughs harder.

"I don't believe you." I don't want it to be true. I don't care what all the evidence says. I don't care how logical Paul was in his reasoning. It's Conrad. It's my brother. Family.

Family has to mean something.

"You do know he tried to sell you to my brother in exchange for turning him." Elizabeth is enjoying herself. "Costin refused, of course. This offer, though? Yeah, I'm going to take it."

Please, anyone, say it isn't so. More tears fall, and I'm shaking. I lift my hand to swat her away from my face, but when the backs of my fingers hit her wrist, it's like slamming against a brick wall. The blow has absolutely no impact on her.

"Gah, you're so…" Elizabeth shakes her head, almost disgusted. "Mortal."

"Let's eat her," one of the vampires suggests. "I'm hungry."

"Yeah, such a tasty little treat," someone else adds.

I can't see who's talking. Elizabeth is still in my face, stroking my cheek with her corpse-like fingers. I again try to knock her away, swinging my arm as hard as possible. The vampire is unaffected as her fingers bounce away from my face.

Her lips part, and I hear a soft hiss coming from deep within her throat. Sharp fangs appear like razor blades to capture my full attention. I've never seen a vampire's mouth this close before, and it's more terrifying than I have ever imagined. I feel a ripple of tension filter through the others. Their eyes become fixated on me, and their bodies tense, ready to pounce.

I have no choice but to try. I go into full attack mode as I punch and kick. She stumbles back, and I land several solid blows before Elizabeth backhands me to make me stop.

"No, no, no…" I beg, unable to make any other coherent thought pass my lips. I taste blood in my mouth where my teeth cut my cheek.

Knowing I'm going to die, I feel only one regret. Paul. I regret that I did not have more time with him. I should have told him how much I care. Dare I even think it? We could have been in love. Maybe? I guess now I'll never know.

It all happens within an instant. Elizabeth's fingers slip into my hair and wrench my head to the side. The forcefulness of the movement sends pain down my spine. Her mouth opens as she surges forward to bite. The motion is like a cue to the others, and they all converge on me at once, swarming me like hungry insects. They push me to the ground. I land on the backpack, wobbling like a turtle on its shell, as I feel their hands clawing into me, gripping my body and puncturing my flesh.

An unholy sound unleashes from my throat as I cry out in terror. The scrape of Elizabeth's teeth hit my neck, almost like a tease lingering in the horrific moment. Time becomes suspended. I see quick flashes like a carousel of photographs scrolling past my vision. So many moments are going by so fast that I can't focus on a single one. Only these are not my moments. They're ship battles and fire and bullets shattering stained glass. They're falling and swords and convulsing underwater. The impressions they leave make them feel like they belong to me, but I don't recognize them.

Is this death? Are these Elizabeth's memories invading me?

Death is supposed to be my life flashing before my eyes, not scenes from horrors I know nothing about.

I hear the bus horn as if the world is calling me back.

Why doesn't she bite?

I struggle to push them off, barely wiggling an inch under their tight hold.

A blue light flashes so fast I'd miss it if it didn't bounce off Elizabeth's ear blocking my view. I feel a release of pressure like a pulse is sent out into the universe. The vampires fling away from me in a flurry of pitching limbs and surprised screeches. Some transform into bats and fly away. Others fall to the earth like boulders from the sky, thudding and cracking on the ground.

I don't have time to question it. I scramble to my feet, pushing off the ground while using the gas station's brick wall for support.

Elizabeth is crouched like a predator, ready to pounce. Bloody tears come from her red eyes. At my attention, she hisses and instantly crawls backward with supernatural speed, blurring into the shadows as she leaves her companions behind. The blond vampire lies unmoving as another pulls him by the arm, dragging him away.

And just like that, they're gone, leaving no evidence they were even there.

I can't explain what happened. All I know is I'm free, and I have to run. I dart around the side of the building. I'm wobbly, but that can't matter. I weave a path toward the front of the gas station and then dart across the dark parking lot. The bus's running lights call me like a beacon.

Even as he sees me through the open door, the driver honks a quick warning. I climb inside.

"You almost missed it," the driver says, shutting the door behind me. "Next time, I leave without you."

I try to mumble something, but my heart is beating too hard, and I walk back to my seat. A few cell phone lights shine as people look at their phones. Others are sleeping or at least trying.

They are all blissfully unaware of how close they were to death.

"The girl inside thinks it's vandalism," someone whispers in conversation. "Like when all those groups attacked the power stations up north."

"Did you see those birds flying around inside? I think they were vultures," another passenger says.

I walk by a kid with a suspicious amount of candy bars stuffed into his jacket as he shoves one into his mouth. Guess he didn't get the memo about not stealing. His mother is next to him on her phone and is either apathetic about what her son is up to or doesn't care that she's raising a thief.

The elderly gentleman in the seat next to mine looks up in surprise. "What happened to you? Are you all right?"

I let my backpack slide off my shoulders as he angles his legs to the side to let me pass. My body aches, and my bloody hands sting. I feel far from all right, but I nod. "Yeah. I had an accident when the lights went out. Wrong place, wrong time."

I collapse into the seat with the backpack dropping by my legs. The gas station's outside lights flicker back on. I reach to touch my amulet. Every inch of me hurts from the scuffle, but I'm alive.

How am I alive? There should have been no escaping that.

I grip the amulet tighter, not caring that it digs into my scraped hands. My grandfather was right. It's enchanted. That's the only explanation that fits.

For a tiny moment, I can feel him there with me, protecting me, and I cling to the memory of him and his kindness. But with those memories come thoughts of Conrad and how he pushed me from the balcony, thinking we could fly.

How had it come to this? I wouldn't rank vampires at the top of the honesty pyramid, but why would Elizabeth lie at that moment? Just to taunt me? She definitely enjoyed doing that. I can still picture the look on her face as she told me of Conrad's deceit.

My mind automatically tries to find reasons not to believe her. But there comes a point when the facts are piling up so high they can't be denied. I know my brother's faults. I've known them for years. I've seen firsthand his obsession with becoming supernatural. I know that he's always wanted to be more than the mundane mortals we were born as. He's never been able to accept otherwise. I know he wants power, immortality, and respect. I just never thought he'd sacrifice me to get it.

The betrayal is almost too much for me to feel. I don't know how to describe it. It burns like hot lava in my chest, ready to explode out of my mouth like a volcano. Or that alien monster that rips open people's chests to be born. No words that I can think of do it justice.

Conrad betrayed me.

My brother wants me dead. And for what? Power over the family estate? Like I would have ever fought him for that. It belongs to both of us. I don't want to be in charge of the great Devine legacy. I don't want that responsibility. I never have. He can have it.

What am I supposed to do with this knowledge? I'm utterly alone. I have no one. I have nothing left.

I rub my scraped hands as if I can erase everything they represent. I want to go back to those moments before my party. I want to erase everything that has happened. Please, universe, don't make me stay here.

"Take this," the gentleman hands me a tissue and a single wet wipe packet from his fanny pack. "You should clean those cuts." He resumes searching his pack. "I should have some antibacterial gel in here, too. My wife always said I was an accident waiting to happen."

"Thank you." I tear open the wet wipe and clean the blood off my trembling hands, mainly because the man expects me to. I keep an eye on the sky as we pull out of the parking lot, but I don't see the vampire bats flying around us. Whatever the amulet did scared them away.

Does that mean I'm safe?

The thought is fleeting. I already know the answer.

Are Paul and Diana safe? That's the more important question right now.

Conrad doesn't know what Paul means to me, and I have never been so glad that I lied about my feelings. As long as I don't make contact with them again, Conrad will have no reason to pursue them.

That only leaves my birth mother. Conrad knows I'm on the way to see Lorelai.

The gentleman beside me tries to hand me a tube of antibacterial gel. I don't take the ointment as I dig into my backpack and pull out my phone. The man continues to insistently hold the ointment for me to take.

I take the tube and hold it in my fist, but I don't use it. Instead, I pull up Lorelai's phone number and begin typing. The woman is a stranger to me, but thankfully, she knows about the supernatural world.

"This is Tamara, your daughter," I write. "We talked the other day on the phone. I am on a bus traveling to San Francisco to see you. I think my brother, Conrad, is killing people by starting fires and sending vampires after them. I think he wants me dead. I don't want to believe it, but I think that's what might be happening. I hope I'm wrong. But just in case, you need to be careful. He knows about you and where you live. I think he might be coming after you next because you're my birth mom. And he already killed his birth mom and possibly the rest of our family? I don't know. I don't have all the answers right now. But you know what this world I live in is like, right? So, be careful. Don't trust anyone. Maybe don't go home? I don't know how protected you are. Just be careful."

I look at the rambling text message. It makes me sound like a psycho. Let's try this again.

"This is Tamara," I amend. "I'm sorry for the suddenness of this message and wish I did not have to send it. If anyone contacts you, please be careful. I believe someone wishes to harm people in my life. It's a long story, but I'm currently on a bus to San Francisco, and I will explain everything when I get there. It arrives at 8:30 tomorrow night. I hope it's nothing, but please be safe."

Send.

This is not exactly how I imagined the first text to my birth mother would go. But there we have it.

My seat buddy watches me, and I realize I still hold the ointment tube. I open it and squirt the gel onto my finger before handing it back to him. He nods in approval.

As I'm rubbing it over my palms, I watch the phone. Lorelai doesn't answer, and I again turn to the window. We're back on the quiet interstate. I see a shadowed reflection staring back at me. I barely recognize myself anymore.