How to Save a Life(84)

I will always come back to you.

And I had told him I believed him. I promised. I had to let him go. And the police lining the river’s edge. They needed to let him go too. They’d needed to see him vanish, and believe he was gone. They needed to watch the time tick by, the water giving nothing, until they gave up.

Because who could hold their breath longer than a few minutes?

Evan can. He’s the only one. I have to believe…

I sagged into the arms of a cop, as if defeated though in truth my limbs were rubbery with terror. He was almost gentle as he led me back a few feet and helped me sit.

The rest of the police watched the water, their dogs roaming and sniffing the shore.

How long had it been now?

A minute? Two? At least two minutes. I started counting seconds, an imaginary second hand whirling around my brain.

Three minutes. Three was nothing.

Four. The cop slung his raincoat around my shoulders. I slumped within it, drawing my knees up to my chest.

Five minutes. He was good for five minutes.

Six. The cop stayed next to me, standing, his fingers tapping his service revolver.

Seven minutes now.

Flashlights scanned back and forth, casting yellow slants of light over black water.

Eight minutes. My voice collected itself, uncoiled and rose up in a tiny wail. It was time for us to clear out. I staggered to my feet, moaning softly. Grieving.

The cop helped me to stand, keeping a firm grip on my upper arm.

Nine minutes and a few police were moving down the river, following its current to see where it would cough up Evan or where he might try to emerge. But I heard them calling it a day.

Ten minutes and then I stopped counting.

They wouldn’t find him. He was gone.

Evan Salinger was dead.

He was free.





The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear. And the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. —H.P. Lovecraft





Calhoun, Louisiana

One Month Later



Del’s expert on false documents, James (last name not disclosed), didn’t look seedy. Or skeezy. Or any other number of unsavory adjectives that popped to mind when I pictured a criminal of the underworld. He was young and leaning toward hipster with his groomed beard and horn-rimmed glasses. He looked too young if you asked me, but Del said he was legit and I trusted her. Even so, it took some will to slide over an envelope with five hundred in cash inside—the second half of the thousand dollars this job cost me.

Del was incognito today, wearing slacks and a button-down shirt and his birth name, Dellison Jones. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze under the table as James counted the money without taking it out of the envelope. He nodded and tucked it into an inside pocket of his leather jacket. From a briefcase he pulled a portfolio case and withdrew a manila envelope.

“Your guy’s picture looked like a mug shot,” he began.

“It was a mug shot,” I said.

James didn’t blink. “Point being, I had to manipulate the background a little. Lucky for you, most DMV photos look like mug shots anyway. I don’t think anyone looking hard will notice.” He started to slide the folder to me, stopped. “The names are the names. I have to build an identity on your age, height, eye and hair color. Getting it all to match is my job, not creating the perfect alias. So don’t bitch at me if you don’t like the names.”

My hands itched for the folder. Its contents were life. My life and Evan’s.

“She doesn’t care about the names, Jimmy,” Dellison said. A wry grin split his face as he leaned over me. “But I do. I’ll laugh my ass off if you’re now Mildred P. Hufflestuff from Hoboken, New Jersey.”

I opened the folder and studied the first set of documents—a social security card and an Arizona driver’s license. The license that had my picture, my height and weight, and my new birthday.

“Amy Price,” I said. “My name is Amy Price.” Hear that, Mama? I thought with a small smile. I was Jo and now I’m Amy.

“Amy Price.” Dellison said, trying it out. He sniffed. “Ain’t nothing funny about that.”

“I said no bitching.” James sipped his rum and Coke.

I slid the second set of cards out of the folder. My heart clenched painfully and my eyes filled. I blinked hard, looking at Evan’s handsome face. James had done an excellent job fading the background of the North Center Corrections Facility to the pale blue of a DMV shot.

“Justin Hollister,” I murmured.

“That name ain’t funny neither,” Dellison said. “I was hoping for a Herbert or an Adolf.”

I elbowed him in the side, and looked to James. “Thank you. These are perfect.”

“I know,” James sniffed. “One hundred percent legit. Clean social security numbers, laser perforation, functional bar codes and ultraviolet seals.”

I nodded, marveling at the holographic image on my new driver’s license. “And when we apply for jobs, the SSN’s will work? No glitches?”

Jameson snorted. “My work doesn’t glitch. This is your life now. Take it or leave it.”

I took it. Took all four life-giving documents and tucked them into my bag, then clutched my bag as if some stranger were going to run up and snatch it away.