I see more flashing lights. This time, they are behind us. Still far away. But I know they will catch up. My foot presses the gas pedal all the way down to the floor and my truck barely speeds up.
“The police are in his pocket,” I say.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her turn and look at me. Her head tilts.
“What are you talking about?”
“The only way to deal with them is to go through him first. Ever since he worked at the Department of Public Safety. You know that.”
“So what?”
We both hear the sirens. She spins around in her seat, looking out the back window.
“What the fuck?”
I say nothing. She turns on me.
“Why are the police chasing us? Jesus, you’re—”
“I messed up,” I say. “That’s what Drew thinks.”
“Shitshitshit,” she says. “God damn.”
I focus on driving as she rattles beside me.
“We should just pull over. We’ll say it’s all a misunderstanding. It’ll be cool. Drew will—”
“He’ll do what’s best for him. And for the campaign. You, of all people, can picture the story. His brother and his press secretary ditching a car, speeding down the highway together. Maybe we don’t go to jail. But you can kiss your job good-bye.”
She spits out a laugh. “That’s going to happen no matter what.”
I turn and look at her. “Not if we finish what we started. Not if we make him happy.”
The word cuts through her like a razor blade. Her eyes widen first, but then the muscles of her face loosen.
“Yeah,” she says. “You’re right.”
My truck can’t outrun the police. There’s no way. But I need to stay ahead of them, just long enough. The exit I need is only a few miles up ahead. I can see the large green sign. I drift into the right lane, looking out the rearview mirror. The cruiser behind me stays in the left.
I dare a glance at Lauren. She is staring straight ahead, her jaw set. I think she understands. I hope she’ll listen to my logic for just a little longer. But I’m not so sure.
I merge onto Route 141. The cop is still in the left lane. Passing the exit without noticing us. My chest loosens as I realize I have a little more time.
“Look, it’s cool. We’ll go back to the cabin and grab your bag. Then I’ll drive to the trailer. I can call Drew. Let him know that we’ll be there. He’ll be fine. He’s just—”
“Fuck you!” she screams. I hear the return of her panic. “Let me out.”
Her sudden aggression surprises me. In it, I see through the veneer, down to her pain. And her fear. She’s just figuring it out. She’s learned a small truth about my brother’s nature. My family’s. I feel for her, truly, but she’s not going anywhere. I can’t let her go to the police. She thinks she can play the game but she doesn’t even know the rules or the stakes.
She keeps talking but I zone out, her words fading behind the thoughts racing through my head. I honestly did not think my brother would escalate so fast. This was his plan, and by getting the police involved at this point, he’s basically given up on it. Maybe he thinks I won’t tell Lauren what he wanted me to do to her. And why. Maybe, even if this turns south and she somehow goes back to him, he thinks it won’t matter if I did. That he can fix it with her, like he does with everyone else.
“I won’t tell them it was you,” she says, the words tripping over each other to escape her lips. “And I’m done with Drew, if you’re worried about that. I won’t go anywhere near him.”
“You think so,” I say, half listening and half planning my next move. It’s just a matter of changing the order around. Maybe having the police on my back isn’t an awful thing at this point. It had to happen eventually. I had already accounted for that.
“I promise. I—”
“Shut up.”
I interrupt her but don’t scream. In fact, I’m not even mad. Just a little annoyed. And it’s hard to have someone talking so much when I’m trying to think. But I have it covered. I know what to do.
She’s crying again. Maybe I was harsher than I thought. I don’t know. But I approach the intersection with Faulkland Road. To reach the cabin, I would continue north. But I decide to take the left instead. Toward more familiar ground.
I can feel her tense up beside me.
“Why’d you turn? Jesus, where are you going?!”
Then, suddenly, Lauren grabs the door handle. Before I can react, she’s pulled the latch. As we race down the road, her door swings open. She twists her body, trying to jump. Her seat belt catches, pinning her, at least for a second.
“Let me out!”
With one hand gripping the wheel, I reach out for her, grabbing her by the shoulder of her jacket. The nylon fabric slips between my fingers. So I dig, clawing at her, trying to get a grip.
The seat belt hits my arm as it unclasps and swings home. Her weight shifts, moving close to the door, which swings shut but doesn’t latch. She hits it with her shoulder and it opens again. She teeters on the edge. And my grip slips.
I feel strangely calm. My instinct is to stop her from jumping out of a moving car. At this velocity, she’d get pretty messed up if she did. At the same time, I think about how I could let her go. I could just watch her tumble to the pavement. Watch the impact tear away her expensive jacket. Peel back her skin. Pulverize the bones of her forearm as she tries to brace against the impact.
I definitely have plans for Lauren. She has a part to play. But as I realize now, no strategy is foolproof. There will always be counters. There will always be a need for adjustments. If I let Lauren go, if I let her fall to the street, I would have to adjust. That’s all.
But, again, I think of her. What would she think if she sat in the car with us? If I let this happen, how would she look at me? A part of me wishes I could let Lauren fall and not care about it. Drew could. If he sat where I did, he’d probably push her and laugh his ass off. He certainly wouldn’t give a care about what she thought. In fact, that very idea makes me laugh out loud.
Lauren is almost out of the car. My laughter just seems to make her try harder. I see the entrance to a residential neighborhood to my right. There is a car waiting to pull out after I pass. It’s near the center of the road, which doesn’t give me a lot of space to make the turn at this speed. But I think about that old ride at the church carnival when I was a kid. The one called the Scat. We stood against the wall and centrifugal force pressed us to it as the ride spun in a circle. And, still holding on to her, I flip my hand on the wheel and turn it as hard as I can. The car lurches to the right. Lauren’s body, wanting to continue forward, is thrown back into the car as I am pressed against my closed door.
I feel the car tilting, like it might go up on two wheels. Instead, the back tires slip. The car fishtails, just a little. But it is enough for the back end to slam into the stopped car at the intersection. The impact whips my head to the side and I hit the window. It cracks. Lauren, unbuckled, seems to tumble, most of her weight striking my side. Her thigh, though, slams into the dash. And I think her head hits the steering wheel. It happens so fast, I can’t be sure. But when the truck stops moving, I hear her groan. And I see blood dripping out of her open mouth.
“Shit,” I say.
I can feel her shaking beside me. The truck’s engine has stalled. With a quick look out the window, I see the driver of the car I hit crawling out the passenger door, stumbling out onto the grass.
I turn the key, and it won’t start. Lauren moves. Blood, her blood, leaves a stain on my pants. She groans, or says something I don’t understand. I turn the key again. The engine rumbles. When I get the truck moving, I hear the side panel scrape against the back tires. But we move. I drive a few yards into the neighborhood and make a three-point turn. When I am facing the other car, I see the woman sitting on the ground. Her face is bloody and she looks like she might be in shock.
I think I hear Lauren say, “Help her.” But that’s probably in my head. I doubt she’s thinking about anyone but herself. Then, as I reach the intersection, I hear the sirens. Those are not just in my head. Those are real.
She hears it, too. Lauren’s head whips around and she looks out the back window.
“They’re coming,” she says.