43

THE RED AND YELLOW décor of the diner is too bright, and it drills into my eyes. I shift in the red plastic booth. Beneath my thigh, a piece of torn fabric digs into my jeans. I shuffle over, only to meet with another.

A waitress leans over the counter at the bar and flirts with an older man in a suit. He stands out like a sore thumb in this place, whereas me, my green and black flannel and worn-out Metallica shirt fit right in. I guess I can't judge the other customers when I look like this. I need a shower. Africa by Toto plays on the radio.

Adam Wexler picks weird places to meet.

I tear apart a napkin and trickle pieces over the coffee rings on the off-white table. The streets outside are murky under the night sky, and I catch my reflection in the window: shaggy bangs, buggy brown eyes. I look horrible. Like I did the night I broke into Elliot's shed. It's insane to think that he fell in love with me.

My heart sinks. He hasn't bothered texting me since we broke up, and I don't blame him. Maybe it's better that we cut all ties, anyway. All I care about is that he's safe.

Adam has been polite enough to let me know how Elliot is doing whenever we discuss the case, but we've never met in person, only talked over the phone. I don't know why he wants to meet now. My palms are sweaty, and I can't stop shredding this napkin.

The door to the diner dings. Adam walks in and adjusts the neck of his brown leather jacket. His eyes fall right on me, and I turn to concrete. This is so weird, especially since Adam was never been my biggest fan when I lived in his house. I swallow the lump in my throat as he sits across from me.

"Hey." I try to sound casual.

"How's it going?" His voice is gruff, his face tired.

"Fine, I guess."

The waitress trots up. "Can I get you folks anything?"

Adam looks at me. "You want something?"

I shake my head.

"You sure? Can grab a bite if you want."

"No, I'm okay. Thanks."

I'm hungry, but I can eat later. Since Colt's off the radar, Brett and Alecia are letting me crash on their couch again.

"Suit yourself." Adam smiles stiffly at the waitress. "Just a coffee, thanks."

We're quiet until the waitress drops off his drink. Adam clears his throat and takes a sip of his coffee, black, before his eyes meet mine.

"So. Any news?"

I'm silent. His nostrils flare as he takes another tense sip.

"I appreciate you trying, anyway," he says.

"Why'd you want to meet tonight?"

His features tighten, before he sighs and squares his shoulders. "My wife wanted me to check up on you."

Elizabeth. Of course.

"That's sweet of her," I say. "Tell her I said thanks."

"Will do."

"How's Elliot?"

"He seems okay. If we're being honest, I think this whole thing has really done a number on him."

Of all the times I've talked with Adam over the past month, he's never taken it here. The urge to cry pricks my eyes, but I won't dare. Not in front of him. This man has already seen me at my weakest, and that makes me scathingly uncomfortable.

Adam sighs. "All I ever wanted was for El to be happy. Liz and I try to give him as much freedom as we can, but we're not blind. We know he smokes up when we're not around. But..."

"Wait, you knew he smokes pot? Why didn't you try to stop him?"

"Doubt I'd be able to. Kind of put me in a tough position. The last thing I wanted was for my kid to view me as a cop rather than his dad, and he already has so many problems. We cut him off the booze, but the pot..."

Adam smooths his hands over his face, just like Elliot does when he's stressed. The lines of his face are deep, but I see Elliot in him so much it hurts. Adam's only in his early fifties but this whole thing is aging him fast. It's strange to see someone like him like this, because Adam is an adult; he's a cop with a beautiful home and a family, but he's human, too. Maybe we're not so different. Maybe Adam, like me, is still trying to figure life out.

The vessel changes, but the heart stays the same.

"You can't control what other people do," he says, "least of all your kids. Put a leash on them, watch them rebel. That's what I've seen. Liz and I thought if we gave them freedom, that they'd..." He laughs, but it's sullen.

I sit on my hands to stop myself from fidgeting. "Maybe you gave them too much freedom, sir."

"Yep... maybe." He slams back his coffee. "Well, I better head out. Thanks for meeting up with me. It looks like you're doing well. That'll make Liz happy."

"Thanks. I'm okay."

Adam stands and wipes his palms on his jeans, and again, I see Elliot. He places five bucks on the table for the coffee. "See you, kid. Take care."

"Thanks, Adam."

He leaves. I watch the tail lights of his service car pull out before I go too.

* * *

A drip of water cuts the silence under the bridge. Huddled near a wall, I watch the circle of junkies by the tracks. One of them is tall, skinny, bucktoothed and scabbed. He's handing out the drugs.

They don't notice me, of course. To them, I'm just another vagrant girl, not even worth a second glance. Invisible; that's what I need to be. But I've been scouting these people every night, ten p.m. sharp, and I'm beginning to lose hope.

Colt is one of the biggest drug suppliers in this city. Trafficking between Toronto and Godfrey is his day job. Maybe I'm grasping at straws by looking here, but I don't know what else to do. Going undercover and eavesdropping on junkies isn't something Adam could do well, but I know this life. I know how it works.

Still, I'm only human. Watching them shoot up and slip into a blissful coma makes me feel something. I hate it, but I miss the feeling of floating on air and forgetting everything bad that's ever happened. I'm lonely without Elliot; I miss him every second of every day, and that makes me crave. But I'll never go back to that life.

The air is warm and damp, and cars clunk over the bridge as they pass. I force myself to focus on the junkies. Most of their conversations revolve around street drama, like who fucked who and who fought who. But then one of them asks a question, and I sit up.

"Where'd you get this shit, anyway, Mike? It's as bomb as Slater's shit."

"All right, it's supposed to be on the DL, but he's back in Godfrey."

"Really? Heard he went AWOL."

"Trust me, he's back. Nobody else gets shit as good as this."

Holy shit. I bite down the urge to break character, to run over there and demand information. My bones shake but I keep my muscles stiff and wait until the junkies shoot themselves into zombies scattered across the rocky underpass.

I tip-toe up to Tall and Scabbed. His eyes are rolling back in his head, and his mouth hangs open, his elongated nose bumpy like it's been broken too many times. I gulp. It's terrifying to think I could have ended up just like these people. I nudge the guy with my foot until he budges. The thing about heroin is that it makes you forget; it makes you sleepy, susceptible, lost in another world. That's why I'm not worried about any of these them waking up and threatening me. They're just too far gone.

"Hey, asshole," I whisper.

He mumbles something incoherent.

"Hey." I kneel in front of him. "You heard anything about Colt Slater?"

"Bombest shit, brah."

"You said you bought from him. Where'd you see him?"

He says nothing, just writhes like a worm on the ground.

"Come on, where was he? Think."

"I dunno, brah."

Fuck's sake. This guy isn't even on the same planet as me. I'm about to explode with frustration when he speaks again.

"Slater... yeah, I saw him."

"Where?"

"Yeah... I bought this H off him. But he'll kill me if I tell. Oh fuck, what am I saying?"

My pulse hammers. The answer to all of my problems is so close, yet it feels like wading through quicksand. The more I move, the further I sink.

"Where'd you see him?" I ask.

This guy is completely screwed up. A moment of panic flashes before his eyes before he collapses again. Damn it, I don't have time for this. I grab the hem of his shirt and shake him.

"Come on." I grit my teeth. "Where'd you see him? Was it in Godfrey?"

"I... can't tell."

"I'll give you twenty bucks."

He meets my gaze, his brows furrowing. "Who're you? Lisa? Is that you?"

"Sure, it's Lisa. Where is Colt Slater?"

"I can't tell you that, babe, you know that."

Pulling a twenty out of my pocket, I dangle it over his face. He watches it move, back and forth, back and forth, like I'm hypnotizing him.

"Gimme that," he says.

"You can have it if you tell me where Colt Slater is."

"Motel something—what?" His eyes roll back in his head again, so I slap him until he opens his eyes. "Okay. It was the motel."

I grind my teeth harder. This is like talking to a damn toddler. "What motel?"

With a floppy arm, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. I snatch it.

"What's your passcode?"

"What? You know it, Lisa."

"Tell me again."

"1243."

My hands shake as I unlock the beaten-up Android phone and open his text messages. And there it is, an unsaved number.

Meet me at 487 High Street, Honeymoon Motel, unit 14. If you bring any heat, ur dead.

Well Colt, I'm about to bring down the heat of a volcanic eruption on you.

* * *

I rush down the street with my phone pressed to my ear. "Come on, Adam, let me come!"

"Look, I've got guys all over this. If he's there, we'll get him." Adam breathes heavily into the phone, like he's running around. He must be hurrying to his cruiser. "Can't talk anymore. Thanks for the info, kid."

"Wait!" I stop. The wind gusts, and I press my finger to my ear so I can hear him.

"I gotta go."

"I need to be there! Come on, Adam, I've been helping!"

His sigh crackles through the phone. "Look, I can't stop you from being there, okay? But I'm not making any stops to come pick you up. Goodbye, Lucy."

The line goes dead. A car zooms down the lonely street, and I look at the crescent moon hanging in the sky. Although this is all chaos, I take a moment to breathe, to wonder if Elliot is looking at this same moon. I wonder if he misses me as much as I miss him.

Maybe we can fix this. We're going to get Charlotte back. If Colt's at that hotel... if he's there, and if Charlotte's okay, then maybe Elliot and I can be together again.

I bolt down the street as fast as I can.

* * *

The Honeymoon Motel is as sleazy as it tries not to sound. The lights surrounding it gleam from a mile away: a tall, tacky sign and some fluorescent palm trees that are fuzzy in the nighttime fog. Red and blue flashes everywhere.

I skid on my heels before the tattered gate to the property. The seedy building has pink walls, broken-up sidewalks, and an ill glow rising from it. It radiates an aura of illness. A fitting place for Colt to meet his end.

Just please, God, if you're real, let him be here.

I turn the corner. Everything else—the neon signs, the fake plastic trees—blur out of focus. All I see is him.

Colton Slater is being escorted from a motel room by two officers, his hands cuffed behind his back. He wears a white beater, his muscles bulging, but even with those arms, he's powerless.

Now you know how I felt, you sick fuck.

Flashbacks of our time together flicker in my mind. His hand around my neck, forcing me into a mattress. His manipulation, his anger, how he'd punch holes in the wall beside my head only to cry and beg for my forgiveness.

But there are good memories too. I hate it, but it's the truth. When I was fourteen, when he'd first saved me from my father, I'd thought that he was the world. Just me and him, on the road, driving away from the man who'd abused me...

One monster for another. Those good memories had all turned foul quick, and now, seeing him in cuffs, a deep relief washes through me, so intense it brings tears to my eyes. I blink them out.

Though I stand like a statue away from the scene, Colt's gaze finds mine over the red and blue lights and gaudy motel signs. There are a lot of people out here, rubbernecking through the rubber trees, but he finds me.

Take a good hard look, Colt, because this will be the last time.

I refuse to look away, not when his eyes widen in shock, not when they narrow as the realization of my betrayal hits. Not when they soften in disappointment and yes, hurt. I want him to know I helped do this. I want him to spend the rest of his life rotting in a cell, hating me, knowing that he lost. A cop shoves him in the backseat of a cruiser, and I blink out more cold tears.

It's over.

The car drives away, and screams erupt from the motel room as a girl is dragged outside.

They aren't shouts of joy.

Adam has Charlotte by her gangly arm. I'm too far to see her clearly, but I make out her bedraggled hair and grungy outfit. Charlotte kicks and flails as Adam forces her outside.

"You fucking assholes!" she screeches. "Give him back, he didn't do anything wrong! Give him back!"

She fights so hard Adam has to handcuff her. My lips are dry, my tongue like a swollen wad of putty in my mouth. I can't believe this. This can't be happening.

Adam shoves Charlotte in the back of a cop car, his face war-torn. And I realize I've made a terrible mistake. Not in finding Charlotte, but in believing that by doing so, everything would be okay again.

In believing that I'd be able to be with Elliot again.