Lie Like a Villain

Chapter 11 || Who's To Say?

Jason darted to the car, his wound pulsing in time with his heart. He stumbled on gravel, caught himself on the back door, and threw it open.

Ana was there, curled up in the floorboard, hands over her head. Relief swept through him. He cast a glance around for Rachel, but the road was empty. Even the cop was gone. It was just him and Ana and a dead deer.

Hands buzzing with nervous energy and head spinning, Jason climbed in. He shut the door behind him, then leaned over the console to turn the ignition and set the hazards to blinking. In the floor, Ana rocked, her face buried in her knees, her hair falling around her like a curtain. He started to reach out to touch her, then hesitated. He wasn't sure he had ever seen her as upset as she'd been today: beating on the car to get away from the restaurant, hitting him, screaming and kicking Rachel's seat. Things had only gotten worse and worse. He didn't want to touch her, comforting or not, and send her over the edge again.

"Hey, Ana," he murmured. "I'm here." She didn't flinch, didn't acknowledge him in any way. "If you're looking for me. I came back."

She just kept rocking. His heart twisted in his chest. His hand hovered in the air; it moved toward her, then retracted again. Swallowing hard, he tore his eyes away.

The road stretched empty before and behind them. The car had come on when he'd turned the keys, so the engine wasn't busted. But where is Rachel?

He waited a minute, hoping perhaps she would come back like he had. But that was all the time he had to wait because by that same logic, the cop could show up again at any point. He clambered into the front seat, moving the gun out of his way. Please, please work...

Ignoring the stinging and pulsing in his arm, he pulled the car into drive and took his foot off the break. With an awful scraping sound, it rolled forward slowly. Okay. Okay, that, we can work with. To Ana, he promised quietly, "I'll be right back," before parking and vaulting out of the car again.

Bloody fur coated the car's grill. The bumper was dented and smashed from impact, part of it hanging down. That was what was causing the scraping. Jason took his shirt off and wrapped it around his hands. Then he heaved and shoved the twisted metal, jimmying it back into something resembling shape.

Well. He stepped back, swiping his brow, arm roaring at him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to block out the pain, then assessed his work. Resembling shape might be a bit generous. It didn't scrape the ground anymore, though, and that's what mattered. The battered, floppy bumper could carry them for a few more hours. It would have to.

Jason jumped back in the car and twisted the keys. The first time didn't catch. "Come on," he murmured. He turned the ignition again, and the engine coughed back to life. "That's more like it."

He glanced over his shoulder at Ana still in the floorboard, debating moving her. "Hey, sis." Still no response. "We're going to start driving, okay? The car is going to move."

Nothing. Stomach clenched, he turned back. She looked safe enough wedged between the seats. And he wasn't going to go very fast.

He took off the break and eased the car forward.

In the afternoon light, the trees cast long, reaching shadows. The engine churned as they drifted down the road. At their snail's pace, it took a few minutes before a figure in a grey hoodie appeared before them, red curls bouncing. Rachel walked steadily away, hands in her pockets, head down.

The car putted along, and he didn't press it to go faster. But as it caught up, he pulled alongside her and rolled down the window. "Rachel!"

She put one foot in front of the other, not even glancing his way. He called her name again and still got no response. Throwing the car into park—but leaving the keys on in case the engine gave him fits again—he climbed out and ran up to her.