Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(12)

“What does he want with you?”

“I have no idea,” said Griffin. “He’s probably the sickest person I’ve ever met. When we were locked up, he liked to control things. People. I was one of the things he controlled. The things he owned. But if he’s out of jail, then I don’t get it. I don’t see why I’d be important to him anymore.”

I tangled my hands together in my lap, still unsure of how to respond to something like that. The things that Griffin had been through in his life were horrible. When I tried to think about them, to really comprehend them, I always had to stop. Horror reared up inside me, and I couldn’t think about it any longer.

Griffin reached over and turned on the radio. Music poured into the car, too loud for either of us to talk.

We drove without talking for quite some time. The radio station we were listening to was classic rock, and eventually, it started to fade out as we got too far away to get reception. Right in the middle of Janis Joplin, it dissolved into static.

Griffin hit the seek button on the radio.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

Country music blared as the radio switched to the next station. It drowned me out.

“What?” said Griffin, hitting the seek button again.

“Where are you taking me?”

But this time I was interrupted by an easy-listening station. I turned the radio off.

Griffin glared at me, then turned back to the road.

“Where are you taking me?” I said. “We’re still on I-68. We’re going west. What’s out here?”

“I’m taking you to my place,” he said. “In Morgantown.”

My jaw dropped. “Morgantown? This whole time, you’ve been an hour and a half away from me?”

“I’m trying to go to school,” he said. “Or had you forgotten that?”

I had gotten Griffin to take classes in Thomas. He was older than most of the freshmen, but he’d seemed to enjoy collegiate life. Last fall, we’d had a lot of fun. We’d been normal. No one had been after us. And back then, all the shit that tore us apart hadn’t happened yet.

Still, I hadn’t expected him to continue with his schooling for some reason. I’d expected him to be somewhere far away from me, spending his days shooting guns at targets or something.

“I’m going to be living in Morgantown in the fall,” I said. “I’m going to grad school there.”

“Grad school?”

“There’s not much else I can do with an English degree,” I said. “I thought I told you this. I told you I was applying, didn’t I?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why it matters.”

“Right,” I said. “Marcel could kill us both, anyway, before fall.” I slumped in my seat. “Dammit, I’m going to miss graduation, aren’t I?”

He made a face. “I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience to your life.”

I stiffened. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Whatever.”

So, three and a half months, and he was still as angry with me as the day he walked out of my life. He was never going to forgive me. But I didn’t need to think about that, did I? I needed to focus. “You don’t think it’s a bad idea to take me to your home? What if he’s following us?”

“I’m pretty sure we lost him,” said Griffin. “Besides, he wants to meet me in Atlantic City in two weeks, right? That was the message he wanted you to give me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t there already. He probably didn’t follow you at all. He figured you’d get word to me. We’ll lie low for two weeks, but I don’t think we’ll see him. No, the real shit’s going to go down when I don’t show up at the meeting place. We’ll see what he does then.”

“Meeting place?”

“Yeah, I know exactly where he’s talking about in Atlantic City. He knows I’d know.”

“So, that’s your plan? Hide and do nothing?”

“He obviously doesn’t know where I am,” said Griffin. “You were his only link to me. I’ve taken you out of the equation. He’ll have to give up.”

I thought about the man who I’d seen that morning. He didn’t seem like the kind to give up. But maybe Griffin was right. “So, we’re spending two weeks together? You going to be able to handle that?”

He squared his shoulders. “We just do our best to be civil, okay? Be polite.”

“I have been polite,” I said. “You’re the one who—”

“And don’t do that. No blaming,” he said.

I closed my mouth.

“In fact,” he said, “it’s probably better if we don’t talk.”

He switched on the radio again.

I sighed and lay my head against my headrest.

*

Griffin’s apartment was one of four carved out of an old house high on the top of a hilly street in Morgantown. Everything in Morgantown was on a hill, so Griffin’s apartment was fairly typical. It was a one-bedroom. The door opened into a spacious living room which had unfortunate carpet the color of pea soup. It was sparsely decorated and immaculately clean. Griffin was a stickler for stuff like that. It was one of the many things we’d argued about.