Last Light(71)

This. Is. Over. We. Are. Over.

“Not sad, Mel. Just saying my good-byes.”

I looked to the mountains, which were magnificent with snow and sunlight. They were horrible, too, because I almost died there. Good-bye. Good-bye to the aching silence and this white, unembellished peace. The incredible wind. The night full of coyotes, their ululating cries like laughter, and owls calling in the dark. Good-bye.

Melanie joined me at the railing.

That day, she wore her boots with fur flaps and her fur-trimmed canvas jacket.

“I thought you were scared of good-byes,” she said.

“I’m not scared of them. Why are you so happy? Don’t you know what this means?”

“I’m not happy.” She hunkered into her jacket. “I’m … accepting, I guess. I knew you couldn’t pay me to keep you company forever.”

I smirked and turned to really look at Melanie. Silly girl.

“I paid you to drive me,” I said. “The company, I hope, was free of charge.”

She smiled. “Yeah. It was.”

“Mm … I thought so.” Because we would be parting ways soon and there would be nothing more between us, I slid my fingers into Mel’s hair. The red mop felt as I’d imagined: heavy and glossy. She laughed while I fluffed her hair, but I could see her disappointment.

“This is all I get, huh?” She rolled her eyes up toward my hand.

“Yes.”

“You won’t kiss me?”

“No.”

“How about a hug?”

I tilted my head, frowned, and then I pulled her little body to mine. She wrapped her arms around my waist. She felt smaller than she looked. Fragile. “Listen, Mel. After you drop me off, I want you to go home. You understand that?”

“Yeah.” She buried her face in my coat.

“No more of this. Don’t come back to the cabin; it’ll be locked. Don’t stay in Denver. Go home. Do you have all your things?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Hannah knows you published Night Owl. I think my brother knows, too.”

Mel flinched in my arms. Her head shot up. “He does?”

“Yes. Just listen to me, Mel.” I gripped her shoulder, my bandaged hand hanging uselessly at my side. “If anyone calls or e-mails you about the book, you don’t speak to them. Soon it will be over. And remember, I told you to put Night Owl up for sale.”

Mel’s brow creased. “No, you d—”

“Yes,” I said, “I did. Are you not hearing me? I contacted you online in January. I didn’t reveal my identity to you, but I gave you a link to my story on the Mystic Tavern and I gave you permission to publish it as an e-book, and so you did. I told you to keep the earnings, which you did. You’ve done nothing illegal, and you didn’t know I was Matthew Sky. We never met.”

“Why?” Mel said.

“Do you want my brother to sue you? He just might, Mel, even if he knows I wrote the book. What I told you is your story. Tell it to me.”

Mel looked at her feet. God, what a child she was. She only saw me erasing her from my life. She didn’t see that I was protecting her.

“You … contacted me online—”

“Not me,” I snapped. “A stranger. Via the forum. Start again.”

“Okay, okay. A stranger contacted me on the forum. Gave me a link to the story and told me to publish it and keep the money, so I did.”

“There’s my Alexis Stromgard.” I forced a smile, which felt thin and defeated. “Oh, and I told you what pen name to use. I told you to use W. Pierce, didn’t I?”

Mel nodded. I paused, considering her face.

“Why did you use W. Pierce, anyway?”

“I wanted to give you some credit,” she said. “I knew you wrote it, Matt. I just knew it; I could tell. And so I knew you had to be alive. I wanted to get your attention.”

I laughed suddenly, although I wasn’t happy. She wanted to get my attention?

“Well, Melanie vanden Dries.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “That you did.”

*

Every bump in the road sent a pulse of pain through my hand.

Mel kept glancing at me—I felt her anxious stare—but I watched the passing scenery.

Mel didn’t play music. I barely let myself think. If I thought, after all, my mind ran in circles. Why am I even going to Denver? It’s over with Hannah, and I should have stayed at the cabin. I need a new plan. I need …

What?

The winding mountain road cut through one-street towns, and soon we were on the highway and I felt the unavoidable pull of the city. I slouched in my seat. Exit ramps and neighborhoods went zinging past. The world that wanted to stare into this car, and into my life.

Soon it would get its wish.

About half an hour from Denver, I dialed Nate on my prepaid cell.

We hadn’t spoken in months. I’d decided we should avoid contact after I staged my death—but that didn’t matter now.

Several long rings sounded on the line.

Then, my brother’s voice. “Hello?”

“Nate, it’s me.”

“Oh…” He went quiet. I knew emotion had a hand around his throat.

“It’s good to hear your voice, Nate.”