has the answers to help us find and stop the Carolina Creeper is in reach, and she’s about to disappear.
And Andrew? He knows far more than he’s admitted so far. He has information that he’s withheld. I’ll get it. Meet her. Suggest Witness Protection to her. It’s that or wait on Henry. My mind fills with the images of the dead women—and a small voice I don’t like to admit whispers that if I’d have been braver when I saw the signs that Darren was a threat to Sophie and Tommy, if anyone had been braver, my sister and nephew might be alive.
I think about the people I couldn’t save, and I think about the women the Creeper hasn’t yet killed, and I follow Andrew.
36
Tess
Returning to New Orleans after my pit stop in North Carolina has left me high on my own courage. I expected to feel relief, but I didn’t expect how proud I would be. I feel like I freed myself. I can live a life. I could even claim my inheritance.
I texted Michael as I left the airport and we met at my favorite breakfast place: The Ruby Slipper. I came into their location over on Canal the first morning I was in New Orleans, and since then, it’s become part of my stabilizing routine. When I am at my worst, I go to one of their locations to eat.
I’m home, at a beloved restaurant, and all is well. I was able to be Teresa for a good while. I hadn’t been able to be her for more than a hot minute since I left Reid. Neither Teresa nor Tessie handles life after Reid very well. We struggle. We remember, and the remembering isn’t good. Teresa wants to die because of the things we did, and Tessie wants to go home because it’s easier if Reid tells us what to do. Neither of those are okay, though, not if we want to survive.
“You need to file a report, Tess.” Michael brings it up again on our first morning back in the Crescent City. He’s trying to create the lie that he is appalled. It’s what he should feel, and so he’s trying to do that.
I don’t forget: he liked the feeling of overpowering me. Of hunting the lost lambs. I saw it.
“Why would I go to them?” I don’t admit that I already have. That’s between me and my guilt.
“Seriously?” Michael’s voice is horrified. “You know the identity”—he looks around—“of a killer.”
“Who would kill me if he knew where I was. Do you think he wouldn’t come here?”
Even now, Michael cannot understand. He thinks he does, thinks that writing down the stories I share will make the darkness make sense. People don’t understand, though, not unless you peel back their masks. Pain clarifies. Bleeding illuminates. I understood before I ran.
Michael’s hands are too clean to understand. Even the best writer can’t say anything real until he has the right ink. That’s what he wants from me.
“No police, Michael.” I smile at him, and it’s Tessie’s smile curving my lips. “Unless you want me to tell them things your agent wouldn’t like.”
He stares at me until I take his hand in mine. My fingernails cut into the underside of his wrist, not enough to do anything other than twinge as I lead his hand to my thigh. Silently, I direct his grip to the edge of where I am still red and tender. “I am not a lamb, but I know exactly how to sound like one. I can be very convincing when I have to be.”
He gapes at me.
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to survive. You need to understand that. Do you?”
And I see that he’s still thinking like we are researching, like this is an exercise in storytelling. He nods, but if he understood, he’d be more fearful than he is. He’d look like Lucas did when he realized that I am always a little bit Tessie even though I try very hard to be Tess.
“It’s self-defense. . . Let them know that you escaped.” He lowers his voice. “Tell them who he is.”
The server, a new girl with tattoos that speak stories if you study them long enough, stops by the table. I stare at her. I don’t like new. Not here. Not when I’m trying to be okay again.
One of my regular waiters comes bustling over before the new server reaches her second sentence. He stands beside her, angling so he can push