You Shouldn't Have Come Here(79)

“How did he die?” she asked.

“Slowly,” I said as I continued toward the truck.

Her mouth dropped open but she quickly closed it and eyed me cautiously.

“Did you call the police?”

I stopped and turned, facing her suddenly. Her reflexes were slow, and she nearly fell backward. “No, and I’m leaving.”

The whites of her eyes shined. “Can I come with you?”

Up close I could see fingerprint-shaped bruises around her neck and popped blood vessels surrounding her eyes. Her lips were dried and cracked, peeling in several places. She was obviously dehydrated. I turned from her and kept marching forward.

“No,” I said over my shoulder.

I pulled open the driver’s side door and hopped into the truck. Bri sprinted toward me, but it was more like fast stumbling. She was so weak.

“Wait, you’re just going to leave me?” she said in disbelief, thrusting her hand in front of the door. “You can’t leave me.”

I let out a sigh. Where was my thank-you? I rescued her, and she doesn’t even have the courtesy to express her gratitude. She would have been dead by nightfall if it weren’t for me.

I brought my foot up and kicked her square in the chest. “Yes, I can.” She gasped, reeling backward and landing on her ass. Bri let out a painful moan.

“You’re welcome.” I slammed the door, turned the ignition, and pulled out of the driveway.

Glancing back in the mirror, I watched her slowly get to her feet and dust herself off.

She’d be fine, thanks to me.





51.

Grace There it was. Gunslinger 66, the same gas station I had stopped at ten days prior. It was still Ope, not Open. I pulled the truck up to the side of the pump and got out of the vehicle. Once again, I was the only customer—nothing in both directions for miles and miles. I already knew it was cash only, so I started across the parking lot. I tied my long brown hair back into a low ponytail and entered the station. The door squeaked as I pulled it open. That same fan buzzed in the corner, oscillating the smell of beef jerky and gasoline throughout. The man with the lazy eye stood at the counter. I could tell he recognized me right away because he raised his brows, deepening the lines across his forehead.


“Back again, I see.” The words came out slow.

I nodded. “Can I get eighty on pump one?”

He punched a couple of keys on his register and grabbed the four twenties I held out, placing them in the drawer.

“I like the hair.” He smiled.

I was surprised he had even noticed the change. I must have been the only customer he’s had in the last ten days.

“Thanks.” I nodded, turning toward the door.

“Avery,” he called out.

The word made me freeze instantly, stopping me dead in my tracks. I swallowed hard and tightened my jaw. I couldn’t have heard that right.

“What was that?” I turned back toward him. Calvin must have knocked something loose in my head because that wasn’t possible.

The old man twisted his wiry beard. “Avery Adams.”

My shoulders tensed, and I took a deep breath.

He slid out a drawer underneath the register and flipped through a stack of papers. The old man held out his hand, extending a driver’s license. “You dropped it when you were in here. Tried to tell ya, but you sped off like a bat out of hell, so I’ve just been holding it for you. In case you came back.” He smiled, revealing cracked yellow teeth.

I closed the distance, retrieving the ID from him. “Thank you.” I smiled. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Safe travels,” he said with a wave of his hand.





52.

Avery


In the rearview mirror, I watched the sun go down. A ball of fire engulfed the skyline for a moment as Gunslinger 66 officially went out of business. The explosion was sudden and fiery, sending debris in all directions. Everything that was Grace Evans burned. The blood-soaked clothing, license, credit cards, and anything else that tied me to that identity. Grace Evans was dead. Same with that poor old schmuck. They both didn’t exist anymore. I wasn’t worried about fingerprints or DNA or anything like that. Avery Adams wasn’t in the system. She was a saint, an upstanding citizen. Grace Evans was here, but Avery Adams had never been to a place like Dubois, Wyoming.

I took my eyes off the rearview mirror and focused on the winding road in front of me. My work here was complete. You might be wondering how or why. Who would do a thing like that? Let me reintroduce myself. My name is Avery Adams. I’m your next-door neighbor. The woman at the café. The girl who jogs in the park every day. Says hello to strangers. Holds the door open. Gives up her seat for the elderly. A volunteer for an animal shelter. I’m the girl at a bar on a Friday night and the woman in church on a Sunday morning. I’m every girl you’ve ever known and every girl you have yet to meet. My name is Avery Adams. I love meeting new people—and I love killing them too.





Day Eleven





53.

Avery I slid the key across the counter at an Enterprise Rent-A-Car location. “Hi, I’m here to return my rental.”


The robust man collected it. He placed his thick fingers on the keyboard in front of him and asked for my name.