Page 11 of Queen of Ruin

She’s a blank slate with a deep enough fear that she knows, down in her soul, that she doesn’t want to go to the hospital or the cops.

At this rate, it won’t be long until they turn up on my doorstep anyway. Burning the getaway car was a good idea at the time, but it took a night’s sleep for me to realize how pointless it was.

My own car is still there next to two dead bodies.

One look at the license and the cops will batter down my door, lock me in cuffs, and God knows what will happen to Amber.

It’s partly why I leave.

Maybe the cops will track me down, break in and find her, then get her the help she needs. She might have escaped from a hospital, be someone who harms herself, or even a dangerous person who escaped retribution. I could have a serial killer in my bedroom, so maybe it’s a good thing the cops will pop by.

I tell myself that on the bus to work. I repeat it as I greet my staff and lock myself in the office, feigning illness, and let the bar run itself for the afternoon. I recite it until curiosity gets the better of me and I start googling.

Starting with missing persons reports, I type in everything I know about her appearance. A woman as beautiful as that? Someone has to be missing her. Unfortunately, none of the reports matching my search criteria look anything like her, and those that come the closest are children who have been missing for decades.

Could she be a kidnapped child running away from a captor after decades of torture? It would explain the fear of authorities, given how someone that cruel would definitely instill that kind of terror. But those men chasing us seemed… different. They were dressed smartly and didn’t flinch at running us off the road, beating me, or trying to kill her.

I adjust my search for muggings, attempted kidnappings, car crashes, even explosions, anything I can think of that would result in the wounds she has. Other than a few muggings of nearby stalls and a couple of store robberies, that search also gives me nothing.

At this rate, she’ll think I’m the one who did this to her.

A rowdy patron drags me away from work for twenty minutes and after taking care of him, I return to my computer and cautiously search up details of last night. Surely, someone reported the murders or the car accident, right?

My search comes up empty. The last reported car crash was a week ago.

Should I cover my bases and act like my car was stolen? Maybe, by some weird stroke of luck, no one’s driven that busy road all night or day and nothing has been discovered.

I’m clutching at straws, but it’s enough to calm my racing heart, along with a glass of Bourbon. Liquid courage like that makes it easy to email my insurance with a bullshit claim that my car was stolen, then I end my shift early and take the bus to the local pharmacy.

And stand outside with my heart pounding.

I lost years of my life to drugs. I chased an impossible high that no shot could ever recreate, and the years slipped by until I nearly lost my own life. Now, five years sober, I’ve stayed away from everything and anything resembling drugs and it’s been fine.

Until now.

Assuming Amber’s even still alive, she needs something to help with her pain and I’ve put it off long enough. She can’t get her memory back if she’s overwhelmed by agony and sensation.

But in there are rows upon rows of drugs that will start my spiral back into darkness, and I’ll lose another ten years. Five years have been easy in comparison to the itch that crawls up my spine and nestles in my mind.

I can do this, can’t I?

If I just go in there, buy the strongest ones available, and walk out, it’s fine. They’re not for me. Having them in my apartment won’t set me back.

I mean, sure, it’d be nice to have painkillers again. Numb my body and my mind every once in a while. Would they even work, though? If I really wanted to help her, I could call Tech and get⁠—

No.

I cut that thought off abruptly.

It’s just painkillers. I can do this.

Sucking in a deep breath, I enter the pharmacy and head straight for the counter. The man at the desk doesn’t even bother to look up at me as he types lazily on his computer and speaks to me out of the corner of his mouth.

“Can I help you?”

“I need painkillers.”

“Well, you’re in the right place.”