On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Forty-Three - "Lookout"

Jake

I knew where she was and yet somehow, I had no idea.

Sam and Devon arrived within minutes, and we began a search. But I knew my wife enough to know that we wouldn’t find her unless she wanted to be found.

Chloe stood frozen at the front door, as if debating whether to run or not. Jack was on the phone getting in touch with everyone he could at this ungodly hour. Caroline made coffee, which no one drank. Consuela pulled out the scotch, which we all devoured.

Somehow, and we all knew it, we all seemed to be making less of an effort than we should have because deep down, we all wanted Sarah to do it. To keep doing whatever it was she was doing. We wanted to get there a little too late to help the guy, because frankly, we didn’t want to help him.

“Finchley, we got a hit on those prisoners. An ambulance just pulled the driver into Phelps Memorial Center in Ossining. Want us to go talk to him?” Devon asked, as I stood staring into Sarah’s side of the closet.

Would she have left a clue?

“Yeah. Find any footage from traffic cams in the area; maybe we’ll get a hit. I don’t know what car she was driving, but . . . I don’t know. Something. We might get something.”

He gave me a pat on the shoulder and left.

I knew she was going to kill him; that was a given. The question was: did I want her to? I’ll admit, I’d given it some thought myself, but I knew there would be no coming back from murder.

Would Sarah be able to deal with the aftermath? Would she let the guilt eat away at her? Would she become even more cold and calculating?

“Jake?”

Chloe was standing at the entrance to the closet. She seemed scared, yet somehow managing to maintain composure.

“Hi. I’ll be down in a minute . . . I just . . .” I let out a sigh.

She stared at the clothes lined up in front of us. Her hand reached for the blue folded sweatshirt that only Sarah seemed to find attractive. It was loose and ripped, but it had been her dad’s, so she wasn’t giving it up anytime soon.

In my head, I could see her wearing it as she listened to me go on about how exhausted I was with the FBI. I smiled to myself.

“If you keep complaining, I’m going to stop listening.”

“No, you won’t.”

She sat up on the deck chair, “Just quit, Jake.”

“Are you kidding me? Hell no.”

“Fine, then stay.”

“I will. I am. I’m just saying I should have quit when I had the chance.”

She rolled her eyes.

I frowned, “Hey!”

She smiled and came round to sit on my legs. “Jacob Taylor Finchley, I am going to say this once and never again. There are very few great people in this world, and you just happen to be one of them, so find where you belong, and I’ll be right behind you all the way. Besides, you are starting to sound like a whiny six-year old. ‘I don’t want to go to school tomorrow, mommy.’”

My mouth dropped open. “What?”

“You should hear yourself,” she replied with a smile.

I stood abruptly, holding her in my arms, as she tightened her legs around my waist.

“Take it back,” I murmured.

She raised a brow, “Seriously? God, what have I gotten myself married to?”

I laughed, “Oh, you’ll regret that.”

She looked back at the lit-up pool as we neared it, and tried to wriggle free from my grasp.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a laugh.

“Getting you to drink your words,” I muttered, and jumped right into the pool.

I picked up the sweater, as Chloe put it back. Sarah wasn’t a murderer; no matter what, she wasn’t a murderer.

Chloe glanced up at me and whispered, “Do you think she’s actually going to do it?”

I shrugged, realizing really for the first time in the six years I’d known Sarah, that maybe I didn’t really know her at all.