Proven Guilty (Treadmill III)

XII

I don't know why I was born with an innate talent for lying my ass off, but I've always been thankful for it.

I hadn't planned on all the other negative traits about myself, but you give and you take.

Did you know that teenage hotel employees don't redact anything when they send a fake detective 37 files worth of documentation on a specific guest in a specific room? Including full credit card numbers that seem illegal for the hotel to even have on file, weeks after said guest had checked out?

Well, they do.

And the reason that my dear, sweet hotel employee had done so was because of my natural ability to tell anything but the truth.

A lot of the time, lying is just so much more exciting than telling the truth. I once told an Uber driver in New York City that I was a supermodel from Spain on a vacation to see the Big Apple. He started speaking to me in Spanish, which I hadn't been expecting, and I managed to get out the few Spanish phrases I could remember from high school. I acted like a bratty model who wouldn't want to speak with the driver, and he didn't question it. At least not verbally.

Es muy divertido.

I love making up different personas. I love being someone else, even for just a short time. And while travelling? It was so much fun. No one questions what you tell them; they all assume you're telling the truth, because how would they begin to guess that you're not actually an heiress to a paper clip empire? If you say something with enough authority, no one questions you.

You should try it sometime.

><><><

"You didn't put any postmarks on it, right?"

"Well, the post office is going to mark it regardless. We'll have to go somewhere else once we send it in."

Kennedy sighed. She knew that Rebecca was right, but she didn't want to leave the beach house quite yet. It was comfortable and safe and had doors that locked.

The girls had placed three things in a medium-sized envelope and called it good:

1. A receipt for room service on the afternoon of December 16th, complete with the full credit card number used to purchase said room service.

2. A list of the outgoing phone calls from the hotel room's phone with a particular former ADA's personal cell phone number highlighted for convenience.

3. A note reading, Run the credit card number and the highlighted phone number. You'll have your killer and your victim.

Kennedy knew they would have to drop it off at a post office on their way out of Florida. She just didn't know where they were supposed to go next. And she didn't know how they would find out if the police received the envelope, or if they ended up believing the girls. She didn't know how they would figure out whether they were both still considered fugitives.

Regardless, they would have to continue. They had to move. Staying in one place—especially one owned by your father—for too long was asking to be found. And that was the last thing Kennedy was asking for.

Two days and 2200 miles later, the two girls were holed up in another shitty motel, this time in Hartrandt, Wyoming. A town with a roaring population of 1,016 seemed like a place where they wouldn't have to worry too much about being found. At least for a few weeks.

And then, the news came.

They had kept a national station rolling nonstop on their tiny little motel room TV for the three and a half days that they had been staying there, and on January 10th at 3:49 PM, Kennedy turned the volume up as loud as it would go.

"Continuing in their investigation of Kennedy Abrams, the escaped South Carolina prisoner who is suspected of killing an assistant district attorney, Oconee County police say they have a new development in the case. We'll take you live to the Oconee County Sheriff's Office, where Detective Paul Simmons is delivering an update."

The newscaster's face disappeared from the screen and was replaced by a face that Kennedy, unfortunately, knew all too well: Detective Simmons, whose entire demeanor was one of pure arrogance and nothing else. The cops lined up behind him shared the same look, but not to the same degree.

"It has been ten days now since Kennedy Abrams escaped Oconee County Jail with the assistance of Rebecca Eaves," Simmons began, "and the search for both women has not stopped. We are imploring Abrams and Eaves to turn themselves into the authorities, in whatever state they may be in now. An anonymous tip led us to new information that could reduce your charges to accomplices in the murder of Jaxson Karl. But this deal is only good for 24 hours. At 4:00 PM tomorrow, January 11th, the deal will be revoked, and you will continue to be treated as dangerous fugitives until you are inevitably caught.

"If anyone has any information regarding the death of Jaxson Karl or the whereabouts of Kennedy Abrams and Rebecca Eaves, call the number on the bottom of your screen. Thank you."

Rebecca snatched the remote back and muted the TV as the screen went back to the original newscaster from before, who appeared to be reiterating what Simmons had just said.

"We're taking it."

Kennedy hoped her expression was conveying just how stupid she thought that idea was.

"We are absolutely not taking it. If there is anything that those people have done over the past few months, it's trick us and try to make us seem as guilty as possible."

Rebecca rolled her eyes.

"Ken, please think about this. Think about it for more than two seconds. Don't jump into the worst-case scenario. Because this, this constant packing up and driving to a different state, isn't a long-term solution. We'll run out of cash. We'll get pulled over and they'll realize who we are. We have to think beyond the next week."

Kennedy took three deep breaths, calming herself. She thought about what Simmons had said.

"An anonymous tip led us to new information that could reduce your charges to accomplices in the murder of Jaxson Karl."

That's exactly what they had been. They had helped Lydia cover up what she did to Jaxson. They were accomplices. And now, it looked like the authorities understood that.

"Alright," Kennedy breathed out, "let's go in."