MY FINGERS GRIPPED around the instrument of my freedom—a switchblade hidden beneath the sleeve of my hoodie. When my hand closed around the cool, smooth handle, I was reassured it was still there and plotted my attack on the little red sedan parked across the road from me.

“Just get on the road,” I murmured to myself.

The quicker, the better.

I attempted to look casual as I cautiously eyed the street on either side of me. Despite the hour—with the sun barely beginning to set—the street was practically deserted. Still, I worried that anyone glancing in my direction would see my true intentions shining through my casual façade though. Usually, I wouldn’t risk such a bold move during daylight hours, but I needed to be on the road and far from Charlotte again. Far away from Clay.

If it’s him.

Once I was beside the car, I flicked the knife open and pushed the blade under the rubber of the car window. Twenty seconds later, I popped open the lock and climbed behind the wheel. Without caution or delay, I tossed my backpack onto the passenger seat and set to work. I didn’t look around again; I was too far invested to back out even if someone was watching. Instead, I twisted myself to peer underneath the steering column and reached for the ignition wires. Using my knife, I stripped away the plastic sleeve and set to work cutting and splicing the right wires together. I held my breath as I worked, waiting for the moment I either succeeded or was captured.

When the engine cranked and then rumbled to life, I slipped the car into gear and peeled away from the sidewalk without a second thought.

It was only once I had confirmed that the street behind me was still empty that I breathed freely again. I was alone, if only for the briefest of moments. I risked a sideways glance at the letter poking out from my bag on the passenger seat. My fingers itched to open it, but I still wasn’t able to gather the courage I needed. Not with the two words sprayed on the motel room wall razing wicked trails across the shattered remains of my heart.

What if the letter is nothing more than pages and pages of the same?

I wouldn’t be able to cope with that. My breathing sped just at the thought of reading Clay’s hatred, of it cementing around my heart and closing me off from even the precious memories I had of him.

Swallowing down bile, I tried to shake unbidden images that surfaced in my mind. In my memory, flames licked at the edges of my vision. The heaviness of thick, cloying smoke reaching out to me from the distant past and long-extinguished fires. It filled my lungs and made it impossible to draw in enough oxygen. My body quivered.

Flashes of history reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. Dad’s death. Clay abandoning me. Police. Threats. Guns. Clay’s seething anger. Louise’s death. More death.

Always death.

It all swirled together in my mind, forcing me to pull the car over to the side of the road as I gulped for air. The cabin around me, everything I touched, all but ignited from the temperature spike.

Tears stung my eyes as my mind burned with tortured memories that I yearned to forget. Wringing my hands around the top of the steering wheel, I twisted it mercilessly in my grip until the smell of singed plastic filled the car.

I took a few deep breaths, ignoring the acrid taste of the burned plastic that each lungful of air drew in. Being in a stationary car on the side of the road did nothing to erase my unease. If anything, it made everything crash over me harder than before. I swiped at my eyes to clear away the tear-induced haze, and then pulled the car back onto the road, trying to ignore the torrent of negative memories smashing against my unprotected heart.

Needing to concentrate and quiet my mind, I twisted the stiff plastic around the steering wheel, stretching my skin paper-thin over my knuckles as I tightened my death-grip.

My gaze instinctively flicked up to recheck the mirror. Even though the reflection held nothing, I imagined Clay’s cold, hate-filled gaze locked onto me, just like it had been the last time I’d seen him clearly. The words written on the wall of the motel scorched across my vision, and my mind offered up the final words I’d heard from Clay.

“I’ll never forgive you.”

The terrible statement, once uttered in a venomous whisper, seemed to echo loudly through the tiny car, drowning out the sound of the tires on the asphalt. Blinking repeatedly, I tried to clear the vision from my mind. I couldn’t though, he invaded every thought I had.

When I was unable to clear my mind of him, I thumped my hands against the steering wheel in frustration. “Damn it, Clay!”

The sky darkened as storm clouds closed in around me. I leaned forward to glance through the windshield at the grey sky and hoped the weather would at least provide me with a distraction—hoping the slick roads and occasional car to pass might offer something else to concentrate on.

Before the threatening clouds had utterly eclipsed the sun, the first drops of rain hit the windshield. Fat, heavy, tear-shaped drops fell against the glass as if the sky itself was joining in my grief. Each drop glistened in the fading sunlight like tiny, rainbow gems. I flicked on the wipers and turned my full concentration onto the sound they made as they scraped across the glass and the sight as they scattered the fallen jewels. It wasn’t a perfect diversion, but it was better than the alternative.

By the time the sun had beaten back the clouds, it was hanging low in the sky, sending arcs of reds and purples reaching across the horizon. The sun stretched through the trees at an angle, spilling dappled light over the road and creating a hypnotizing, strobe-like effect that made my eyelids droop. I’d been pushing myself too hard, and the discovery of Clay’s letter had only made things worse. But in my dreams, I could be with Clay. My eyelids sank into another protracted blink.

I leaped to attention, stopping the car from veering off the road, and shook my head to clear it so I could focus.

Time dragged on relentlessly as I tried to concentrate on the road and not on remembering the way Clay looked at me while we made love—with his gaze so intense and full of desire—or wondering about the contents of the letter that sat less than a foot away.

Hours of night driving, of staring into the inky blackness with eyes filled with unshed tears, tugged at my eyelids relentlessly until it was almost impossible to force them to stay open for even a moment longer. I pulled the car over to the side of the road and rested my forehead against the top of the steering wheel. Allowing my eyelids to sink closed, I relished the burn that accompanied the momentary relief.

While I rested my eyes, I tried to plan my next move. The letter called to me from my bag and the temptation to reach out and grab it was so intense it was almost impossible to resist. The only thing that stopped me was the certainty that I wouldn’t be able to force myself back onto the road if it contained the hate-filled diatribe I feared.

Just find somewhere to stop. Somewhere safe. Open it there.

In the moments when the sunbird’s true voice came to the fore and her soothing and calming demeanor took over, it all but confirmed I’d gone insane and had merely been talking to myself the other times I’d thought she’d responded.

Nodding, as if the sunbird could actually see me, I replied, “You’re right, let’s go.”

I blinked my eyes a few times and turned up the air conditioning to help me stay awake and concentrate on the drive. I promised myself that I would stop at the next town I found.

When I pulled back onto the road and closed in on the next town, all of my rules for survival ran through my mind, and I plotted a way to lose the car and find a place to stay as quickly but safely as possible.

I did a short lap of the town, keeping an eye out for a motel within walking distance of the spot I’d selected to dump the car but far enough away to not be spotted performing my misdeeds. I didn’t drive too fast or too slow because I wanted there to be nothing to draw any unwanted attention to the car—or to me.

After my plan was all lined up—with a hotel and a dumping ground both within walking distance of each other—I drove to my selected destination and traveled away from the buildings of the quarry, as far into the inky black night as I could before stopping. Once the engine was off, I leaped into action, emptying the vehicle and ensuring my backpack was packed and ready for fast retrieval once the car was alight.

Glancing around briefly, I did what I could to confirm that I was alone in the darkness. When I had, I set to work.

Within seconds, I could feel the familiar sensation of heat prickling just beneath my skin as invisible flames licked at the air. Taking a deep breath, I reached into the passenger seat and pressed my fingers against the soft fabric. As I exhaled, I concentrated on the burning in my hand, imagining it leaping from my skin and away from my body. The heat became almost unbearable in the moments before my hands grew numb. The first curls of smoke reached my nose, and I knew it was enough. It was one of the advantages to stealing cars with a cheap fabric interior over plush leather seats—flammability.

Before I stepped away from the car, I watched the embers I’d set take root and grow into flames. Burning the car was a risk, a trail Clay could use to track me. It was better than leaving my fingerprints in a stolen car though. Either way, it was an obvious breadcrumb trail for anyone who knew what they were looking for, but at least with no fingerprints the police wouldn’t be able to track me as well.

Regardless, I hoped to be rested and far enough away by the time anyone found the burned shell. One night’s rest in the motel I’d spotted would be all I would allow myself.

Knowing that the fire was set well enough that it would spread rapidly to engulf the rest of the car, I stood, swinging my bag up onto my back as I did. Keeping my head ducked in case of CCTV cameras, I skirted around the outside of the buildings and headed back toward the road. I was at the end of the street before the flames caught the almost empty fuel tank of the Honda and exploded with a loud bang.

In my mind, I envisioned the plume of thick black smoke that the explosion would have released into the air behind me. There was no need for me to turn around, I’d done the same thing often enough that the sound was enough to inspire a perfect rendering in my mind.

The echo of the blast gave me a renewed push. I walked faster and fought the urge to run because it would only make me look guilty. Even as I rushed from the scene, a stab of guilt raced through me. Once more, I’d given in to the darkness and potential for evil that lived within me to destroy yet another innocent person’s car. I tried not to think about the trail of damage I’d caused that littered most of the country.

Instead, I turned to my earlier hopes about what the letter might contain. With the words painted on the wall of the hotel fresh in my mind, the optimistic thoughts now seemed foolish. It wasn’t like Clay would have forgotten what I’d done to his family—to his twin sister.

Rubbing my hands together softly, I longed to shift the sting of tenderness that had replaced the heat of setting the fire. The lingering cold tingles that inhabited my body after the burn had once been an odd and almost welcome sensation, but now they were little more than a reminder of the cost of my secrets.

Ducking under a fence, I crossed a vacant lot to get back to the main road. I trailed along it, pushing the dark thoughts out of my mind and sticking to my original plan to head toward the motel just a few miles closer to town. The one problem I faced by following the highway was that it left me exposed to the prying eyes of passers-by. There was no shelter for me, and the mere thought of someone in the Rain spotting me was enough to send the prickling heat over my skin again.

With the fear of capture racing through my veins, I couldn’t settle into an entirely natural rhythm. My heart hammered against my chest as though I’d been running for miles, not strolling for a few hundred yards. While I walked, I kept peering over my shoulder for rogue headlights following me and kept my ears cocked for the sound of any approaching cars.

“Calm down,” I urged myself. You look nervous.

I took a few deep breaths and tried to force my feet to move slower—to fall into a casual gait. It took almost half a mile before I believed that I might actually pass for a regular hitchhiker.

I’d walked almost a mile when a fire truck whizzed by with its sirens blaring. As it passed, I turned to follow its path, watching with what I hoped was an appropriate level of curiosity. Ignoring it outright would have been just as dangerous as showing obvious interest; either action would have been a flag to anyone watching.

It was almost a relief when I spotted the motel “vacancy” sign flashing in the distance. I did everything I could to resist the urge to break into a run at the promise of sanctuary. Regardless of how much I fought against that need though, my feet quickened a little of their own accord.

Once I was inside the safety of one of those untainted rooms, I could find out what Clay wanted to tell me. I couldn’t even pretend to want to go slow any longer. Before another yard had passed beneath me, I was sprinting toward the opportunity to read Clay’s words.