Lie Like a Villain

Chapter 9 || Unremarkable

Jason's good arm was starting to go numb, but he didn't dare move it. While Rachel threaded through the thick interstate traffic, Ana had nestled into the crook of his shoulder and fallen asleep. Neither Jason nor his sister had passed the early hours in the motel peacefully; he'd barely slept, and she'd woken up more than once. Sometimes he wondered if she dreamed so much when awake that her mind didn't have time for sleep at night.

When she was little, she used to wander through the house so often at night that his parents thought she was sleepwalking. Instead, she just seemed to be an insomniac. Drifting through the house like a moonlit ghost, she'd startled him on more than one late-night trip to the bathroom.

In sleep, her face was slack and serene, eyelashes fluttering softly. Her complete peace in this one moment set a stone in Jason's chest. She trusted him to take care of her; Mom had trusted Jason to take care of her. But Jason wasn't Dad. He wasn't the one who stayed home with her, who knew her every want, her every quirk, who knew when to accommodate her or redirect her, to give in or to stand firm. Dad, he thought, would have brought Ana back into the restaurant. We can't expect unreasonable things from her, he would often say, but we also can't expect her to be unreasonable. But Jason didn't know for sure. He couldn't. His family wasn't a phone call away. There was no one to give him advice or check his work or swoop in and clean up his mistakes. It was like he was balancing a precious glass trinket in his hands and one misstep would send it shattering to the ground.

"We'll be there today, you know," Rachel said, breaking the long silence. "Sign we passed just said two hundred miles."

"Great," he answered flatly. "Thank you." What's wrong with you? He wanted to beat himself. He could always turn friendly off and on like a switch, but somehow his circuit was blown.

"You scared?"

The question was uncomfortably perceptive, and he shook his head in reflex.

She sucked on that split. "Should be."

"Thanks for that."

"Well, I ain't your therapist." She switched lanes, narrowly avoiding side-swiping a car, and they honked at her. "It is what it is."

Ana stirred, and Jason shushed her. She eased back to sleep. "You know, you could try not killing us," Jason suggested mildly.

"You see all these cars?" She gestured at the eight-lane road. "I'm sure you could find someone else to haul your butt to New York."

Jason snorted.

"That's what I thought." She narrowly avoided running over another car as she pulled to the far right lane, angling toward an exit. "We need gas."

The traffic thinned out a little, stone sound barriers giving way to the occasional tree. They reached a stop sign, with 7/11's and McDonald's and Aldi's stretching out to the left and right. Rachel flipped her blinker on, but her eyes weren't on the local cars, looking for an opening. They were on the cars behind them.

Jason started to turn his head, but Rachel snapped at him. "Don't look back! I think someone's following us."

"There are a million cars on the road, Rachel." But the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

"Yeah, well I've seen this one for about two hours now. Sometime after we left Berlin."

"That was the Roach Motel town, right?" Jason couldn't resist anymore; he glanced behind them. His first impression was just of traffic, but as they turned, he caught it—an unassuming little grey Chrysler, just a few cars back. It wasn't new; it wasn't old. It caught his eye exactly because it was unremarkable. It was the kind of car he wished they were driving.