Accidentally Tasha

Chapter 25

The first place I decide to look for Kate in is the Death row shack. Well, to me it is the house of horror. I know she can't be there, but she's got to have left me a clue as to where she went. She wants my blood and won't stop at anything. When I get to the house, it is already sealed with crime scene tape. There is no one in sight, so I duck under the tape and slowly open the door. I am already breaking the law doing this but at the moment I don't really care.

I search every room in the house. There is minimal furniture here, but I still search under it... over it... behind it... I search the floor, the walls, heck if I could climb the roof I'd search it. I find nothing. I am seated on the floor in still in a state of misery and failure when I hear voices approach.

Panicking, I hide behind an ancient cupboard filled with books. I can feel the cobwebs on my face and in my mouth. I spit the material on the floor. Something catches my eye. An ancient hardcopy edition of Pride and Prejudice is among the books on the shelf. Feeling risky, I reach out for the book slowly. I am in awe. This is an original copy of the book! Bibliophiles would sell an arm to get one of this. I touch it carefully, feeling the binder and memorizing the touch.

I open my best part in the book, when Mr. Darcy proposes to Elizabeth the first time and she rejects him. He says, 'I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now to be ashamed of what my own have been.' As I read the words, I notice something scribbled in small, almost imperceptible letters between the words. The voices are still at the door. I can tell that it is officers who've come back from lunch. I scoot over to the light and squint my eyes to get a better view.

J.P, Memphis is written.

I assume that J.P is my initials. Smart bitch. She knew that I couldn't resist looking at such a treasure and even remembered my best quote in the book. And she even knew my identity. I wonder how.

Now that I've narrowed her location down to Memphis, I feel a little relieved. The only problem is getting out of this place before I'm caught. I could wait until the officers are gone, but I don't have the time or patience to wait for a conversation on football to end.

So I tiptoe to the wooden window I escaped from last time. I push it open. It creaks. I run behind the cupboard and hide again. An officer comes to check on the noise. He scans around the room and then returns to his colleague.

I return to the window. I push it one more time. This time it doesn't make a single noise. It simply drops to the ground in protest of being put to use so long after abandonment. I wait for it to make a loud noise but it only makes a soft hiss as it hits the soft overgrown grass. I remove my sneakers and jump outside the opening. I land on the wooden window with a small thud. I put on my shoes as quickly as I can and run towards the lake.

The officers will notice the broken window, but I'll be long gone by then.

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.

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"Andy?" I speak into the phone.

I'm at a payphone somewhere in Memphis. I could stay at the motel I stayed in last time, but the money won't last long enough to be beneficial.

"Jules, is that you?" Andy sounds relieved.

"Yes. I'm in Memphis." I say.

"Christ! Did you run away?"

"No! I was released on bond. My court date is in a week." I say.

"Do you need a place to stay?" he asks.

"Yes. I'm really sorry to bother you but you did say that your door is always open," I plead.

"I did say that," he laughs softly.

He tells me his address. I take a cab to his place. When I knock on the door, it doesn't take him even one second to open. It's as if he was waiting by the door.

He engulfs me in a hug before saying anything. I relish the feeling of comfort; the safety in his embrace.

"How're you doing?" he asks.

"Pretty good, actually. I just realized I love the people I've been lying to for close to a year." I say.

He smiles at my sarcasm. I look around his place. It really is impressive, a bit of a step up knowing where we come from. Andy is in his boxers and shorts. It seems like he was preparing to go to bed. He feeds me with leftover pizza and we talk for hours, avoiding any mention of the boys. He goes to bed at midnight.

I lie on the couch and observe the shapes in the ceiling made by the streetlights outside. Normally they'd scare me, but I'm too exhausted to feel anything. The experiences of the past month have left me feeling drained. I fall asleep to the humming of the passing cars in the street below.