I gently lower Marie's arm. "It's okay," I tell her, and put the gun on the counter. "You had to do it. You gave him plenty of outs."
"Mm," she replies, but she's not looking at me. She's staring at Taz as he lies on the kitchen tile, bleeding. I walk over to him. I can tell with one look that he's not going to make it.
"Let's go," I tell her. She nods. I hurry into the bedroom and grab the backpack. The sound of that gunshot will draw the cops here in no time. She's still staring at Taz when I get back. I take her face in my hands. "Marie, we gotta move really fast now, got it?"
"Yes, yes," she mumbles back. I take her hand and pull her to the car. I've got a splitting headache and can feel moisture on the back of my head that I know is blood, but Marie's in shock and I'm not letting her drive. I take one glance at my bike and know that it's not the best option. I think Marie might fall off the back off it right now.
I open the door of the truck. "In," I tell her. She hops in, and I run around to the other side and toss the backpack behind us. I peel out, noticing a neighbor nervously glancing through their curtains as I drive by.
"Your bike," I hear her murmur.
"I can get another bike," I tell her. I pull onto the highway. We've just got to make it to the border before they catch up with us.
"Is he dead?" Marie asks.
"He will be soon," I tell her.
"I killed him."
"If I'd been holding the gun, I would have done the same thing," I reply. "I wish it had been me, just so I could take it off your conscience."
"Are you okay?" she asks again.
"Don't worry about me. I'm fine. We can stop in a hospital in Mexico for some painkillers."
"We're going to Mexico," she replies, and a slightly hysterical giggle bursts through her lips. "I feel weird."
"You're in shock. Just give it some time," I tell her. "Hear, listen to some music." I reach forward and turn on the old CD player. Bob Seger plays through the speakers, and we fly down the highway, heading south.
Four and a half hours later, I nudge Marie awake. "We're here," I tell her.
She jumps and her eyes fly open. "What? Where?"
"Mexico."
"What do you mean? The border?" she asks, glancing around. The dawn light is filling the truck, and she looks around in confusion at the dusty road.
"Passed the border forty-five minutes ago."
"I fell asleep?" she asks, sounding horrified.
I laugh. "It was a long night," I tell her.
"So we're safe?" she asks, looking over at me in disbelief.
"We're safe," I tell her. She leaps across the console toward me, covering my face in kisses. I swerve slightly. "Woah, careful!"
"Where should we go? What should we do?" she asks breathlessly.
"Well, if you're up for it, there's this little village called Sayulita on the Pacific coast that I've always had my eye on. It's near Puerto Vallarta so it still gets some tourist traffic, but not too much."
"Sounds perfect," Marie says with a grin.
"It's still a long drive," I warn her.
"Fine with me. But I want to stop soon and take a look at that head wound. You were out for a couple minutes, so you're almost definitely concussed."
I spot a sign by the side of the road. "Puerto Peñasco's coming up. It's a little resort town. What do you say we stop here for the day?"
"Sounds good to me," she replies, and I take the next right. Just like that, the Pacific ocean springs into view, the early morning sun glinting off its calm waters. "Wow," Marie breathes. "I saw the ocean when I lived in Washington, but the color is completely different here. Lighter, more green."
I pull into a public parking lot by the sand. It's still early, so it's completely empty. I reach back and grab a small first aid kit from the backpack and hand it to Marie. We both get out of my truck, then meet at the hood. I take her hand, and we walk down the still-cool sand toward the water.
When we're about ten feet away from the spot where the sand turns damp, I sit down, and Marie kneels behind me.
"You've got a nasty bump," she says. "It's probably too late now, but stitches would have been a good idea. Headache?"
"Yeah."
She roots around in the kit. "Here," she says, handing me some Tylenol. "Any other symptoms?"
"My ears are ringing a little. I don't remember what happened before he hit me. I remember you coming to the compound."
"We drove back to your place," she explains. I wince as she cleans the area around the throbbing spot on the back of my head. "And you got the backpack."
"I should have just left it. I wanted us to have a better start here."
"You couldn't have known. He must have followed us from the compound." I study the water as she works. "I guess I'm wanted for murder now," she adds quietly.
"It was self-defense," I tell her. "I might not have seen what happened with your stepfather, but I saw this one, and I'm telling you, it was self-defense. You have nothing to feel guilty over. I'm not saying it'll leave your mind right away, but don't let yourself dwell on it," I advise her.
"There. I cleaned it as best I could," she says. "I don't know about a bandage, because of all your hair." She sits next to me on the sand, and rests her head on my shoulder.
"Do you think there's really such a thing as a fresh start?" she asks me.
I pause for a moment, thinking. "I don't know, but let's find out."