As I’m hauled into a squad car, a new awareness settles over me. I’ve suffered my pattern since the day I entered that dark underground room, and never once did I fear it would touch another life. For the first time in my solo existence, I can feel the shift. The design has changed.
I’m going to enjoy killing Agent Nelson in the most personal and painful way.
20
Folie à Deux
London
By the time my plane is on its descent toward Bangor, exhaustion claims every muscle in my body. A quick layover in DC allowed Sadie and I to make the exchange of documents. She returned my phone with a hesitant scowl, claiming the multitude of notifications forced her to shut it down, worried “this Special Agent Nelson character” would track me down only to find her. Sadie isn’t fond of the FBI, to say the least.
Once I was seated on the plane, I turned my cell on, then thought of switching it right back off when the flood of messages and voicemails arrived. Instead, I put it on mute and settled in for the flight home.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I sigh out a breath, deciding I won’t start returning calls until I land. When a notification buzzes my phone immediately afterward, resistance becomes pointless. I ignore the “no cellphone” sign above and swipe open my text messages.
The air leaves the cabin.
My heart stops.
No.
Grayson has been apprehended.
I drag in a breath, forcing my lungs to expand past the constriction as I read the text from Allen Young again, trying to discern a different meaning. My hands shake as I type a message to him, then I stop.
I open my browser and search Grayson’s name, my head aching from the pressure. I tap open the first article, and the world tilts.
The Angel of Maine Caught.
The wheels touch down, and the motion rocks through me with a jolting sickness. I only have hours before he’s transported to Cotsworth Correctional Facility.
* * *
I ignore the calls and messages from Agent Nelson on my way to my apartment, where I hurriedly shower and change into clothes more becoming of Dr. Noble. Sliding into the suit is like sliding back into my own skin, comforting.
A brief thought of Lydia flutters up—what my other, better half would do in this circumstance—but I’m too far beyond her now to feed that insecurity. I tamp it down as easily as I call for a cab, decision made.
I can’t flounder one step.
As the taxi coasts toward my building, I pocket my phone with a curse. I’ve covered every news station report and article, looking for something, anything to contradict Grayson’s arrest, and it’s not until the cab pulls to a stop that reality fully sinks in.
The car is swarmed as a flood of reporters rush the vehicle.
“Pull around to the back,” I instruct the driver. “You can wait for me there.”
He blares the horn, forcing camera crews and bystanders to move. “You sure you want to get out here?” he asks as he stops near the back entrance. “I’m not sure I can wait here…”
There’s a number of people here, too, but it’s not as thronged. “You can wait.” I leave my purse in the backseat to keep the taxi waiting, then I jet out of the car toward the door, trying to shroud my face. Cameras flash, and a recorder is thrust in my face.
“Dr. Noble, how do you feel about the arrest of Grayson Sullivan?”
“Do you fear he’ll escape again?”
“Are you scared he’ll come after you?”
Christ. I wave off the questions and make it into the building, pulling the door closed behind me. Crime-scene tape is layered over the elevator. Irate, I tear it away from the panel. In my mad dash to get here, I hadn’t bothered to check if the building had been reopened.
Now that Grayson is caught…