I don’t breathe a sigh of relief until I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my car, the door locked, my shaking hands over my pounding heart.
I’m out. I made it.
And now I need to move. If they haven’t already noticed that I’m gone, they will soon enough, and Santiago will send an army after me. But before I reach over to open the glove box, I take a moment to look down at my stomach. It’s still flat, and I put my hands over it, not really believing that I’m pregnant just yet. Not quite processing the fact.
Which makes it so much more important that I hurry now.
It takes a little wiggling of the handle to open the glove compartment. It always did get stuck. And when I do, and the contents spill out onto the floor of the passenger side, I’m momentarily stunned. Because there along with a sheet of paper upon which I see Abel’s hurried scrawl, the three hundred-dollar bills, and the phone is a small, black pistol.
I look at it. I’ve never seen one in person before, only on TV. I’ve never touched one.
Reaching down now, I pick it up and feel the weight of it, the cool steel hard and deadly in my hands. Does he think I would use this? Would I?
No.
Even if Santiago found me, I wouldn’t. It makes no sense for Abel to have given it to me.
I quickly shove it back into the glove box and close it, then bend to pick up the rest of the things. I fold the bills and set them in the cup holder with the phone on top. I then read the address Abel wrote out. I’m surprised because I know the town. It’s about twenty minutes from my apartment at school.
Strange.
But I set the piece of paper aside and put the key into the ignition, remembering the hiccup the car always makes before the engine turns over. The familiarity makes me smile. Takes me at least momentarily to a different time, a different place. A different life.
God. Has it only been months since the night Abel came to bring me back? Only a few months since my life changed so irrevocably?
I put the car in gear and glance behind me to see people gathering outside as they evacuate the building, and the fire engines with their screeching sirens turn perilously into the parking lot. I try to see if I can find my sister, but there are too many people, and as I glimpse the first of the police cars heading toward the lot, I put my foot on the gas pedal and ease out, trying not to make this appear like a getaway.
And when I’m on the road, and I watch the police cars turn into the lot, their lights and sirens fading as I get farther away, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I did it. I got away.
At least for now.
The weather changes as I drive the long stretch of highway to Lafayette. I consider driving by my old school, the apartment building, but I find I don’t want to. It’s like that life’s not mine. Was it ever?
By the time I get to the small, quiet neighborhood, the sky has darkened with storm clouds. I have to drive up and down a few of the streets until I find Raymond Road. The houses are small but quaint in this middle-income neighborhood of Louisiana. They’re each painted a different vibrant color, reminiscent of The Garden District although so obviously not. I find number 13, which is yellow, and as I pull up into the driveway, I wonder at that number. Thirteen. It’s always been unlucky for me.
But maybe that’s changing.
My stomach growls as I put the car into park and pull up the emergency brake. It’ll roll down the driveway if I don’t. I then grab the money and the phone along with the car keys and the sheet of paper that contains the address and head up to the yellow house with the dark windows.
Although it’s quiet, I can hear the road from here. It makes me think of how still Santiago’s house is. How deadly silent.
It feels so far away now.
Once I get up to the porch, I see the electronic keypad, which is strange. It’s too high-end to fit here. It would be more appropriate for The Manor. I shake off the thought and punch in the code Abel had written under the address, grateful when I hear the sound of the door unlocking and a green light blinks.
I push the door open and step into the dark house. I feel for the light switch and turn it on before I close the door behind me. As soon as I do, I hear the lock re-engage.
Setting the car keys on the table beside the door, I shove the paper with the entry code into my pocket and enter the foreign space. It’s obvious from the stale air and sparse mismatch of furnishings—a couch, a coffee table littered with newspapers and junk, and one chair—no one lives here. No table in the small dining room. The kitchen is the size of my bathroom at Santiago’s house. I open the refrigerator to find a couple of takeout containers of spoiled food. I leave them but grab a bottle of water of which there are plenty stacked, taking up two of the shelves.
I open it and drink half, then remember the candy bars Eva shoved into my pocket and take one out. I rip the wrapper and take a bite as I open the freezer, curious to see if there’s anything inside. I’m surprised to find stacks of frozen dinners and a half-full bottle of vodka.
No one lives here, but someone does use this place. This safe house. I am curious who.
I finish the candy bar and take out one of the dinners, a lasagna dish. Before heating it, I grab the phone out of my pocket and dial Abel. He answers on the first ring.
“Yes?”
“I’m here.”
He exhales. “Good. Okay. Stay put while I figure out what to do with you.”
“Did Evangeline make it out?”
“Of course, she did.” He sounds almost proud.
“Can I talk to her?”
“No, you need to hang up. I’m sure your husband has a search party out by now.”
“I promised I’d call her.”
“I’ll let her know you made it.”
“Whose house is this?” I ask.
He goes quiet for a moment, then snorts. “Dad’s. Don’t touch anything.”
“Dad’s? What?”
“Don’t touch anything, understand? You just go up to bed. Wait for me to call you.”
“But I don’t understand. What do you mean it’s Dad’s?”
I hear the doorbell ring on his end. “I have to go,” Abel says.
“Is it him? Santiago?”
“I can’t see through closed doors, can I? Don’t call me, I’ll call you. You just stay put. Do not go anywhere.”
“I won’t.”
He disconnects the call, and I busy myself opening the frozen dinner. I pop it into the microwave and look out the window onto the big, empty lot of the fenced-in backyard with its brown grass while it cooks. The clouds have darkened, the first drops of rain falling, and my gaze shifts from the garden to my own reflection.
My sister was right. I look bad.
I touch a hand to my stomach, turn sideways even though I know it’ll still be flat. I’m having a baby. Santiago’s baby.
And some part of me knows no matter what he won’t just let me walk away. He will hunt me down. He would do it even if I wasn’t pregnant.
So why is Abel helping me? Why risk it? Why when he must know Santiago will win. He always does.
I blink away from my reflection as the microwave dings. I’m not hungry anymore but I take the lasagna out and force myself to eat it, burning my tongue on the too-hot sauce.
I just need some time to think. To figure this out. Make a plan.
Because I have no doubt Santiago will come for me and I have to be ready for him when he does.