You Can't Catch Me(78)

“And that was it. That was the last thing the story said,” I told JJ as we slowed in the morning traffic on Broadway.

“She probably had a psychotic break.”

“Maybe she was joining a cult.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“Why? My parents did.”

JJ was driving and I could tell that the traffic frustrated her. “Right, but not like that.”

“I’m sure it seemed like that to my grandparents. One day, normal kids. Next day, poof, gone into the Land of Todd.”

“Okay, good point.”

I look out the window. We’re passing Persephone, this great pastry shop. “Hey, park the car over there.”

“Shouldn’t we be getting to the police station?”

“I need something to eat. We might be a long time with them.”

“True.”

JJ turns the wheel and parks the car in a spot down the road. The day has warmed up some, and there’s a line of people waiting out the door.

We get to the end of the line, and JJ says, “Can’t we go somewhere else? Isn’t there a Starbucks over there?”

The person in front of us turns around in horror. “Dude, you do not want to choose Starbucks over Persephone.”

“Okay, sorry. Jeez.”

“It’s pretty good,” I say by way of explanation. Persephone was part of my routine when I was following Five— “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

I lower my voice. “Five. Goddammit. Five. We forgot about her.”

“What’s the problem? Liam said she was okay, right? Plus—”

“He didn’t say. She only got there yesterday . . .”

“Right. I lost track of time.”

I had too. Yesterday feels like a week ago.

“So, what’s the issue?” JJ asks.

I hold up a hand. “Let’s get some food. Then I’ll explain.”

We stay silent as the line moves quickly. When we get inside, I feel ravenous. The air smells like butter and frying bacon and fresh-brewed coffee. There’s an assortment of tables on either side, with a long glass counter at the back that displays the best pastries I’ve ever seen, including in New York. When I get to the cash register, I order a ham-and-cheese croissant, guaranteed to have enough calories for an entire day, and a latte to go. JJ gets the same, and we take our food out onto the patio. There’s an open table in the corner where we can talk in relative privacy.

JJ unwraps her croissant and takes a bite. “Now I get what that guy was talking about.”

“Right?”

“So, what’s all this with Five?”

I open the paper around my croissant and take a large bite. The fats rush into my bloodstream like an opioid. “If we tell the police what we did with her, we’re going to be in trouble.”

“What part, specifically?”

“Tricking Five like that. That was a crime, wasn’t it?”

“Tricking her into a free trip to New York?”

“Not so much that, but all the other stuff. Impersonating her online. Luring her to the airport. It could look like we were trying to scam her with Jessie.”

“Shit. I didn’t think about that.”

“Me neither until just now. She used to come here every morning . . . that’s what made me think of it.”

“So, what do we do? Leave it? Go home and forget this ever happened?”

“No, we need to stick to the plan and go to the police.”

She takes another bite of her croissant. “I never mastered how to make these things. They’re so finicky, and you would not believe the amount of butter—”

“JJ, focus. Come on.”

“Sorry, I’m tired.”

“Me too.”

JJ puts down her croissant and brushes the crumbly bits off her fingers with a napkin. “So, we’re fucked is basically what you’re saying.”

“There must be a solution.”

I look around at the other patrons. Everyone looks so healthy here, like they just went on a ten-mile hike at sunrise and are running a marathon this afternoon.

“You want to ask those people for some input?” JJ asks.

“What? No.”

“What are you staring at, then?”

I look away. “Todd always told us that clean living would make us beautiful. That wasn’t true in Upstate New York, but out here—have you noticed what everyone looks like?”

“You mean the whole Germanic-pod-people thing?”

“I think it might be more Scandinavian, but yeah.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Do you think they’ll put us in a local jail? That might not be too bad.”

JJ finishes her croissant. “Stop being so melodramatic. You have Five’s number? Call her and ask for help.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“Better than the alternative.”

I take out my phone and find Five’s number. She picks up quickly.

“Hey, it’s Jessica.”

“Which one?”

“The OG. How’s New York?”

“Good so far. What’s up.”

“Well . . . Jessie’s gone.”