She sent a postcard to my house. I didn’t see it, but Bren told me. There wasn’t any note, but the picture had two old ladies laughing and leaning against each other. The caption said “We go together like drunk and disorderly.” The postmark was from Paris. I’m not sure why, but I really like the idea of Alex living the rest of her life in Paris. It’s the City of Light, right? She’d never have to be in the dark again.
Mostly, I’ve given the agents and officers names, locations—basically, everything I have and everything I know about Michael’s operations. The officers are calling him a monster and I agree. He is. It’s my heritage, but it’s not who I am. It might not be Michael either. In those last moments, my father was someone else. He was human. True, his love was twisted, deformed. He was violent. He used people. But he was also lonely. Normal people aren’t the only ones searching for someone who understands them. Monsters search too.
The morning my transfer comes in, the guards take me through the rear entrances, and as I wait for the van to come around, I notice the figure at the fence line.
Griff. He came to see me off.
Immediately, the guards start yelling and threatening and he’s smart enough to take off, but not before I see his grin. It’s for me alone and I almost laugh. Amazing how his smile warms me like sunshine.
He’s attending community college in the fall and will transfer to art school after his hands have fully healed. Bren’s pretty much insisting he stay at our house. She wants to make sure he’ll be okay. I’m not worried though. Griff’s going to be brilliant.
He’s already brilliant.
But right now, Griff’s running hard in the opposite direction with two heavyset guards in pursuit. They’re never going to catch him, but they’re hoofing it anyway. The van comes around for me and the remaining guard opens the passenger door, motions me inside.
The driver looks at me and then looks at his clipboard. The name on his shirt says Baker and the badge underneath it is scratched.
“Tate?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, let’s go.” Baker heaves himself around and shifts us into drive. We pull away and my stomach clenches so hard I feel like I’m going to be sick. Terror has a way of doing that to you. It fills you up, makes you feel like it’s the only breath you’ll ever take.
But it isn’t and I know that now. I’ll get through this.
Somehow.
“Charges like yours,” Baker says, watching me in the rearview mirror. “Usually you go away for a long time.”
I flick my eyes to the windows, try to memorize every pine tree we pass. It’s going to be a while before I see stuff like this again. I want to enjoy it while I have it.
“Like decades,” he adds, and it’s funny how the statement curls into a question. I lean my head against the glass and look up. The sky is a bowl of sludgy gray. It’s going to rain later. I wonder if I’ll be able to see it from my cell or if the windows will be too small.
Or if there will be any windows.
Either Baker gets the hint or gets bored because we drive the rest of the way in silence. It takes us over an hour, but it feels like only minutes, and when he drives the van behind the chain link and razor wire fencing, I have to swallow and swallow to keep my stomach where it belongs.
Baker parks and climbs down from the driver’s seat, wanders around to unlock my door. “Welcome to your happily ever after”—he checks his clipboard again, grins at me—“or however long you make it.”
He’s trying to scare me and I grin. That was the wrong thing to say to me or, maybe, the perfect thing to say to me. All this time I never believed in happy endings. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. Love won’t save you. No one gets out alive.
And it’s true.
Or, at least, it’s partially true because love can save you. That’s the crazy thing about it. All those sappy stories and Top 40 songs, they’re so cheesy and stupid and right. Love is everything the fairy tales say it is.
Maybe that’s why I was so sarcastic with the whole thing—because I didn’t want to fight for love, for what I really wanted. I didn’t want to be brave. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I wasn’t willing to risk anything for it.
But the problem was, by not risking anything, I cost myself even more. Griff would probably call this a Big Moment, right? I am now the heroine of my very own romantic comedy. Although considering I’m about to walk into prison, romantic tragedy is probably more appropriate.
But one day I’ll walk out, and when I do, I’ll have my second chance.
I just have to get through this first.
Baker stands with me while we wait for my transfer. Eventually, another uniformed woman comes to get me.
“Tate?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You’ll be debriefed first,” the guard says. “After that, we’ll bring you to intake.”
Nausea rolls through me. Intake. That’s a mild word for getting my prison-orange jumpsuit and a cavity search.
“Great!” I say and make sure to smile. The guard rolls her eyes and motions for me to follow her. We make a right down a fluorescent-lit hallway, and when we reach the first door on our left, she opens it.