The Night Shift(38)

When the novelty wears off, they sit quietly, the only sound the hum of tires on asphalt.

Ella tries to contain her emotions. She’s angry. At Phyllis, for being Phyllis. At herself, for letting her mother get under her skin. At Mr. Steadman, for pulling her into this mess. At Jesse, for making Ella lose all sound judgment. She chides herself for getting angry at a victim, a traumatized child, at that.

Jesse turns to her. “You’re giving me great color for my story.”

Traumatized kid or not, Ella is tiring of this game. But she bites: “Like what?”

“Like, you’ve got to have a trust fund, right? So what the hell were you doing working at a video store? What were you trying to prove to your mom? To yourself? And why the hell do you live in a low-end apartment complex in Linden?”

How does this girl know where she lives—actually, where she used to live, since Brad has thrown her out?

Jesse continues: “And what’s with the beat-up Nissan?” She looks out the window at Ella’s car as the limo pulls to the curb in front of Corky’s Tavern.

The privacy window hisses down. Charles twists around. “I’m sorry, Eloise. But I need to drop you here. The car won’t be able to maneuver out of the lot—it’s too narrow.”

Ella’s car is the only vehicle parked at Corky’s. Right where she left it last night, before her intoxicated Uber ride to the Target. There’s some type of construction work at the far end of the lot. Orange cones surround a hole in the asphalt covered with a slab of steel.

It takes her back to the Blockbuster parking lot. Stevie standing in the empty space on a Sunday before the store opened. He’d put out cones and was shaking his head as Katie ran them over, trying to parallel park. Stevie may have acted exasperated but he had a soft spot for all the girls. Katie finally had gotten her permit and her driver’s test was coming up.

Stepping out of the limo, Ella suppresses a sob. Katie passed the test the day before she was killed.



* * *



As she drives to Jesse’s house, Ella rehearses in her head what she’ll say to the foster mother. How to explain? Keep it simple, she supposes. There was a misunderstanding at the Target and Jesse called her. It was late, so they went to Ella’s mother’s house and stayed over.

She imagines the foster mother asking the obvious question: Why didn’t you call? There’s no good answer for that. And unless the woman’s as indifferent as Jesse claims, this is going to be a disaster.

“You okay?” Jesse asks.

This makes it even worse: Jesse thinking she has to manage Ella.

“I’m fine,” Ella says, rounding the corner to Jesse’s street. “So, when we talk to your foster mother, I think I’ll tell her—”

From the passenger seat, Jesse holds up a hand, her face bloodless.

Ella follows her gaze. In front of her house are several police cars.

What the hell? That’s a ridiculous amount of backup for a teen missing less than twenty-four hours.

“Pull over,” Jesse tells her.

“What? No.” Ella hesitates, thinks. “I’ll come with you. I can explain.”

“Please.” Jesse’s tone is desperate, the tough kid morphing into a little girl again.

Ella turns down a side street and eases to the curb. “Look, it’s going to be okay. You won’t be in trouble. I’ll talk to the police and your foster parents.”

But Jesse already has her seat belt off. She flings open the door. “It’ll be better if I go alone.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Jesse says.

Ella thinks about this. She may indeed face some consequences. She’s a therapist and she’s kept a teen girl out all night without permission. Not to mention the breaking and entering at the rail yard. Running from the police.

No, she won’t leave her. She’s the adult. She needs to act like it.

But in the nanoseconds that it takes to complete the thought, Jesse’s out of the car.

“Thanks for everything,” she says, slamming the door shut.

“Jesse, wait.”

But she’s already running. Down the street and through someone’s backyard. Away from her house.





CHAPTER 31





Ella’s knuckles are white, clenched to the steering wheel, as she drives aimlessly. What to do? She’s already canceled all sessions for the day. She doesn’t have a home. She’s at odds with her mother (again). And she doesn’t really have any friends. No one to talk to about what she’s feeling. Dread is consuming her.

What’s causing this sense of imminent doom? Obviously, it’s what Jesse told her. That she’d lied about what happened: she’d had a dispute with one of the victims at the Dairy Creamery.

But it’s more than that. It’s the feeling that Ella’s had ever since Y2K. The foreboding has dulled over the years. From the pills. From the denial. From the faking it with Brad. But the beast is back.

She decides to stop by the apartment—what Jesse called her “low-end” abode—to change her clothes, pack some things. Brad will be at work, so better to go now. At the front door, she slides the key into the slot, relieved when it clicks open. Brad hasn’t changed the lock at least. Not yet, anyway.