The kiss is over almost before it’s begun. A split second after my lips make contact with his, Nick jumps away from me like I’ve just scalded him. He’s staring at me, his eyes wide.
“Jesus Christ, Quinn! What are you doing?”
I should never have done that. What a horrible mistake. All the kindness and concern has disappeared from his face. “I’m so sorry. I just—”
“I’m married.” As he says the words, he glances out the window, at his own house across the way. At that one glowing light. “I love my wife, okay? Jesus Christ, what were you thinking?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“You’ve got to leave.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to get out of here. Now.”
“Listen, the boots—”
“Take the boots,” he says through his teeth. “I don’t care about the fucking boots, okay? You’ve got to go though. I… I covered for you with the police. Now you have to go.” He backs up against the door. “Please.”
“Yes, of course,” I say stiffly. “I’ll go now. As soon as the plow is done. Okay? I don’t want to make trouble for you.”
“Right.” His hand grips the doorknob behind him. “Then don’t.”
With those words, he yanks the door open and gets the hell out of my room.
I didn’t think it was possible, but I feel even worse than I did five minutes ago. What was I thinking? The poor guy was just trying to help me, and then I launched myself at him. As he pointed out to me, he’s married. All those years, I blamed Derek for cheating on me, and look what I did when I had the chance. I kissed another woman’s husband.
And not just another woman. A woman who is ill. Who is counting on him to take care of her, who can’t fight back. I am a horrible person. I deserve everything coming to me.
I look back up through the window. That light is still on in the other house. Rosalie Baxter is sitting where she always does. Watching. She must’ve seen everything. No wonder Nick was so freaked out.
I want to tell her I’m sorry. That it was entirely my fault, not her husband’s. He was only trying to be a good guy. I just don’t have much experience with good guys lately.
But there’s no way for me to apologize. I’m not about to go over there and have a heart-to-heart with the woman. The best thing is to do what Nick said: get out.
I look down at the snow between the motel and the house. I see Nick in his black coat walking across the cleared path. He’s going over to talk to her. Probably to apologize.
God, I feel terrible.
All I can do now is sit there and wait for the stupid plow to be done. I can hear it making noises as it scoops the snow away. If only it hadn’t snowed like this. I would be hundreds of miles away by now in a remote location in Canada. Instead, I’m trapped here. The police will be on the lookout for my license plate. By now, I should have swapped it out already.
I choke back another sob. There’s no way I’m getting out of here. I’m too close to home and the police are going to find me. If not in the next few hours, then in the next few days. I don’t know how to get a phony ID, and I don’t know how I’m going to make more money if I don’t have an ID. This is all going to explode in my face very quickly.
Running away was the wrong thing to do. I wasn’t prepared, and I’m not built for it. My best chance is to go back. ‘Fess up to what I did.
Nick noticed the bruises on my neck. When the police see them, maybe they’ll believe my story. And if I go back,
Claudia will be there to support me.
I’ve made up my mind. I’m going back home.
I won’t tell the police where I spent the night. It will get Nick in trouble. I’ll say I slept in my car. They won’t care. As long as they find me.
I thought I would feel sick at the idea of facing the police and maybe going to jail, but strangely enough, it feels like a great weight off my shoulders. I don’t want to run away. I want to tell everybody what I did and why I did it. Derek deserved it. He was a horrible person. A monster. If I hadn’t killed him, he would have killed me.
I look out the window—the area around the motel appears to be cleared away. I can leave now—finally. I grab my bag and exit my room one last time. As I lock the door behind me, I see that room 202 has cracked open again. Greta is watching me leave. But as soon as I turn to look at her, she shuts the door tight.
“Bye, Greta,” I say.
The stairs creak threateningly as I make my way down to the first floor. My bag strap bites into my shoulder. I consider leaving it in the lobby while I bring the car around, but Nick isn’t down here and I don’t want to leave it unattended.
The ceiling is still leaking, the same way it was when I came in. Why does the water look so red? I still don’t get it. But it’s none of my concern. I drop my keys on the desk.
I push the door open to escape the motel. The cold air hits me in the face, but at least it’s not snowing. I forgot to zip up my coat, and the wind slips between the folds of my open jacket. At least the roads should be clear by now, especially once I get on the highway. I should be home in two hours. And then I’ll turn myself in.
As I rifle through my purse, looking for my keys, I hear footsteps. I look up and see a figure approaching me. It’s so dark here, it’s hard to see who it is. I squint out into the blackness.
“Hello?” I say.
A raspy voice spits out, “How could you do that?”
And then a second later the knife buries itself in my abdomen, between the open folds of my coat. I stare at it for a moment, watching the crimson stain spread across my shirt. And then everything goes black.
