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“Where’s Allen? I don’t want to sleep next to him,” Wade muttered.
“In a holding cell just behind the front desk. The other cells are in the back, down on the first floor.”
“We’ll take you up on that,” Tate said.
“Give me some time to make sure it’s clean enough to bring her down,” Beaudry said, and left again.
“Cameron and I will go to the gym and get our things,” Wade said.
“So sorry…” Nola said.
“It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault,” Tate said.
But she kept remembering the people running, scared out of their minds, and all because of her and the man who wanted her dead. Her thoughts were beginning to muddle, and it was hard to come up with the right words.
“Scared them.”
“We know that, but if anyone is to blame, it’s us for putting you there,” Wade said. “We knew the killer was irrational. Finding out there was a witness to his crimes probably pushed him into taking a chance in a public place. Now wait here. We’ll be back soon.”
“Hey!” Tate said, and pulled the prescriptions out of his pockets. “Find the pharmacist, even if you have to get him out of bed, and get these filled.”
“Will do,” Cameron said.
As the two agents left, Nola reached for the bandages on her arm.
“No,” Tate said. “Just close your eyes and let go.”
“Stay with me?”
“I’m here,” he said.
She clutched his hand and took a deep breath as her grip loosened, then went limp.
He ran a finger down the curve of her cheek, where the abrasions were healing, then leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I am here, baby, and I’ll never leave you again.”
She sighed but didn’t move, and he didn’t care. He would say it again, when the time was right.
* * *
Hershel pulled up to his motor home and got out on the run. The moment he was inside, he locked the door and began to undress. He yanked off the wig and mustache, and tossed them on his bed, pulled the hooded sweatshirt over his head, then stripped and tossed everything in the little washer and started it up. His switchblade was as bloody as his clothes, and he took it to the kitchen, threw it in the sink and covered it with bleach.
He was so pissed he couldn’t think. Even though he’d cut her, it wasn’t life-threatening. His first mistake had been in leaving a live one behind. He wondered where she had been, and which victims she had seen him kill. He knew she was up a tree, but there had been half-submerged trees all up and down the flooded river.
And now, when he’d tried to eliminate her, she’d escaped him once more, and that was not okay. Mistakes had to be corrected. It was how you lived life. When you know better, you do better.
That’s what Oprah always said. When you know better, you do better. Remember, Hershel? Remember how I always liked to watch my afternoon shows?
“Stop talking to me, Louise. Oprah can’t help me, and I need to think.”
You did something bad again, didn’t you? Answer me, Hershel! Did you hurt someone again? Did you commit another murder?
Hershel walked from one end of the motor home to the other, with Louise going on and on in his ear. As soon as he got in the tiny shower stall, he proceeded to scrub every inch of his body until all the blood was gone and his thoughts were clear. When the time was right, he would grab Nola Landry and take her back to the place where she should have died with the others, and that was where he would shoot her. If he did that, then all the other mistakes would be erased.
Hershel, that’s silly. You can’t make stuff go away with do-overs. People are already dead. You can’t take back what you’ve already done.
“They don’t know who I am. They don’t know where I am or what I look like. I can do anything I want, and I want Nola Landry to go away. She messed everything up, and I have to fix it.”
He put on a pair of sweats, then stowed his wig and mustache and got his other cell phone. He’d put the knife in Tate’s woman. It was time to twist the blade.
