Lie Like a Villain

Chapter 17 || All Aboard

Jason needed to figure out how to get rid of Rachel. As they sat in the bus terminal, she stole glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking. They were the kind of looks you give wounded birds and sick children. The come here, poor thing, let me fix it for you look. But her mothering couldn't fix him. Her gun couldn't solve the problem. And though her wits were a tool he'd love to borrow, he'd stolen them for too long already.

What had possessed her to set her hand on his at the cafe? Jason's fingers tapped against the plastic arm of the chair. She'd felt sorry for him, that's what. And on the way to New York, he'd milked that for all it was worth. It'd taken root too well, like the succulents Mom had planted in New Mexico. When they'd moved, the landlords had wanted a stone garden instead, so Jason had ripped out each plant one by one. They didn't come up easy—maybe because they never should have been planted in the first place.

Jason's shoulder twinged, even though he wasn't moving, even though he'd settled down in the best way he could to relieve the pain. After his fight with Sam, it was feeling worse, not better. He took shallow breaths, trying not to set it off.

"It'll be here soon," Rachel murmured, as if to reassure him.

The next station, he decided. He'd find a way to ward her off at the next station, no matter how he was feeling or what kind of a jam he was in. Their pursuers were too close here, but she'd be safe in... wherever the next town was. He honestly couldn't remember where they'd bought the tickets for. Stupid.

All he knew was that they were headed west. To the freaks in Arizona as Sam had called them. Other people like his parents, like Ana—but not the ones chasing them. Maybe they could give him what Sam wouldn't.

His head tipped back, resting against the cracked plastic upholstery. The fluorescent lights flickered through his eyelashes. The news chattered softly, and the ticket clerk's chair squeaked. His arm twinged again as it brushed against the back of the chair, and he grimaced. He shouldn't be resting anyway. Just because they'd walked several blocks out of the way, skipping one bus station after another before finding this one, didn't mean the people looking for them couldn't catch up. He should sit up, rub the blur from his eyes, keep watch. Just because his body ached and his head pounded didn't mean he got to stop. But just for a minute, he promised himself. Sixty seconds, and I'll sit up.

He started a count in his head, timing them with his breaths. One. He tried to push out all the thoughts crowding in, all the worry constricting his throat. Two. Because what had Mom meant that they would be lucky if the people only killed them? What were they going to do to Ana? Three. His heart raced, and he took a deeper, slower breath. Four. Five. They would keep her alive. That's what it meant. Six came in shaky, and so did seven. He just needed to breathe. To rest. Just for a moment. Eight, he counted, focusing just on drinking air into his lungs. Nine, and the air trickled out like cold water.

"Look," Rachel muttered, tapping his good shoulder.

Jason stiffened, eyes scanning the room.

"Chill out," she whispered. "But look." With a low finger, she pointed to the TV mounted in the corner.

"...here at the scene of a Sunset Park fire," a reporter was saying, "that authorities are saying was started intentionally." She gestured at the dark building behind her, which didn't look that bad actually from the outside. The firefighters had finally put the flames out, leaving just a few charred walls on the first and second floor. "Residents have been forced to leave for the night until the building can be cleared. The police have yet to disclose their suspects for the crime, but an anonymous source has provided some photos, saying these teenagers were trying to get access to the private part of the building."