I get across campus without too much trouble—more scaring myself every time I round a corner or cross an open space than anything else. I head past the sports complex and Telenet Arena.
The arena is a huge dome—think of a jelly-filled doughnut. Deep inside is the jelly, the center court on the ground floor of the arena where they hold the concerts and sporting events. Surrounding center court are three stories’ worth of seating, tier upon tier climbing up. And the outermost layer, the thick doughy layer of the doughnut that surrounds the jelly, is the concourse, a twenty-foot-wide corridor that hosts vendors, exhibits, storage, and restrooms for the arena, and spirals around the outside all the way up to the dome, where the skyboxes and announcer’s box are.
I almost decide to hide in the arena. My uncle took me there once on an inspection tour and I got to see all the tunnels and hidden areas off limits to normal people. It would take days for the police to search it, but my memories of it center on my uncle and I just can’t bring myself to try to find a way in.
Besides, this time of night, there’d be guards and alarms and locked doors. I learned a lot from my uncle and the other firefighters, including how to break into buildings, but not how to do it without leaving a trace.
Instead, I keep going, out into the open countryside that used to be farmland but now is empty meadows gone to seed, sloping up into the forest that covers the mountainside. I skirt the edge of the trees that mark the start of the State Game Lands—I could spend the night on the mountain, but I’m already freezing and besides, I have a better idea. I follow the mountain’s curve about a mile, to where the train tracks leave the valley. I’m way past city limits, in rural unincorporated land, where the only sign of civilization besides the train tracks and distant lights of Route 322 is Wilson’s Salvage Yard.
It’s one of those places that grownups call an “eyesore” and kids find irresistible. Old man Wilson, and his father and grandfather before him, turned acres of useless land into a sprawling junkyard. People haul old cars, appliances, heck, even busted-up mobile homes here and dump them. Wilson salvages the scrap metal, sells it, and leaves the rest to rot.
I came here a few times with my dad before he left us. He liked hunting for spare parts to the old cars he was always fixing up and selling. He and old man Wilson would spend hours prowling the lot for just the right parts, talking about cars, the weather, hunting season, the price of gas. Sometimes I got the feeling Dad came more to check on Mr. Wilson than anything else. He always said what a shame it was that the poor old guy wouldn’t move to town to live with his son, who’d worked with Dad before they both got laid off.
Even though it’s been years since I’ve been here, I feel safe. Plenty of places to hide, shelter from the night wind, and I can get some rest. I’m so exhausted after practically no sleep for going on three days and all the running and fear blasting through my system, that I’m about ready to fall down and never get up again.
I climb the rusted fence and drop down between a stack of old car batteries and a refrigerator missing its door. I make my way up the hill to an old Impala missing its wheels, sitting on the ground next to the fence. Perfect. I can get out of the wind and I’m high enough and far enough from the main entrance that if the cops come looking, I’ll see and hear them before they can spot me.
It’s not until I’m inside the car, starting a fire from stuffing torn from its front seat, that I realize I’m shivering so hard my teeth are clacking together. The fire thankfully warms me, but it does nothing to get at what’s really wrong: how did King find me?
It had to be through the computer. Which meant Miranda might be in danger if he traced her via the files I uploaded to her cloud drive.
I hate to risk it, but I call her to check.
“Are you okay?” she answers.
“I was worried about you. King turned on all the computers in the student union—and he plastered my picture on all the TVs as well. I got out just as the cops were showing up.”
“He controlled the computers and the TVs?” Somehow she doesn’t sound as concerned about this as I am. Instead, she sounds excited.
“Yeah. I was worried he might trace the video upload back to you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“No worries there. I downloaded the video and closed that account while we were still talking. Your evidence is safe.”
“But are you?” I try and fail to keep the worry from my voice.
“You really are Griffin. My protector against evil.”
I smile at the warmth in her voice.
“Are we okay talking on this phone?” I hope so. I feel so alone out here I could really use the company. I could use sleep as well, but look what happened the last time I dared to sleep—my uncle ended up dead. “Can you stay awhile?”
“We should be fine. And of course I’ll stay. As long as you like—or the battery lasts.”
“It had a full charge.” I glance at the screen, 98 percent. “We’re good.”
“I watched the video. You were so brave standing up to King when he called.”
“You mean so stupid. King’s totally on to us. On to me. But I’m sure he thinks I have help.” I pause. “Maybe that’s why he had my uncle killed?” Then it dawns on me. “You saw everything, didn’t you? Me and my uncle?” Shame burns through me, hot and cold at the same time.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. Jesse—Griffin…” Her voice trails off. She’s just as confused about who I was when I beat up my uncle as I am. It was the bravest thing I’ve ever done—and the most vile, the most cowardly.
“They’ll use it as evidence. They’ll never believe I didn’t kill him.” I wrap my arms around my chest, my dad’s old leather jacket creaking in the cold. “I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison. If I thought my uncle was bad—” I can’t finish.
Silence echoes between us as the tiny fire I built dies. I’m cold again but too scared and exhausted to rekindle it.
“We’ll think of something,” she promises. I try to hold on to that—she’s never let me down, not yet. “I feel so bad,” she continues. “This is all my fault.”
“No. It’s not. I knew what I was getting into.” Kinda. “Are my mom and Janey okay?”
“My dad said the police are with your mom in Pittsburgh. She was on TV, asking for you to turn yourself in.”
“She thinks I did it.”
“They don’t know the truth—they’ll never know it until you tell them.”
“What’s the plan?”
“My dad’s worried about how upset everyone is, thinks if we give them time to cool down, it will be safer for you to turn yourself in. But he’ll come pick you up now, bring you back here where you’ll be safe.”
No way. I’m not putting her and her family in danger. “Not tonight. First thing in the morning.”
“Okay. He’ll take you to the police, stay with you, even get you a lawyer. He said you shouldn’t say anything, just tell your lawyer the truth and let him handle it.”
“Right. Some lawyer I can’t pay is going to give a shit about what happens to me.”
“My dad called one from Pittsburgh. Says he’s the best. He said he can be here tomorrow—if you turn yourself in.”
“When and where?”
“My dad will come get you. Just say where.”
I give her directions to the salvage yard. “Will you be with him?”
The silence is so long I’m afraid I’ve lost her. I glance at the cell phone; still plenty of charge and three bars. “Miranda?”
“I never told you how King found me, did I?” she says instead of answering my question. “I was at a sleepover—my best friend since kindergarten. I was born on the third, Nina’s birthday was on the fourth, so we took turns celebrating. That year when we turned thirteen, it was her turn. We decided just the two of us would have a sleepover the night before the big party at her house. Her older sister even snuck some rum from her parents, showed us how to mix it in our Cokes. We had so much fun, singing and dancing to music, her sister giving us makeovers, letting us borrow her clothes. Felt so grownup. Sexy.” She makes the last word sound like a curse.
Silence again. Then, “I never even noticed her sister using her cell phone. Never dreamed she was taking pictures. And I was too drunk to have any idea how stupid we were being.”
“Those were the pictures King found?”
“Yeah. That one night ruined my life.”
Then I realize why she’s telling me this. “You’re still going after him. Alone? No, Miranda, you can’t.”