You Are Not Alone(86)

I wheel around, hurrying back out the door.

I’ve felt many things in the city I’ve lived in for nearly a decade: hopeful, despondent, joyful, irritated, and deeply lonely.

But I’ve never felt the gut-wrenching, primal sense of fear I experienced just now when I inhaled the faint traces of the distinctive floral perfume Jane always wears.



* * *



I stay aboveground, my hoodie pulled over my hair. Even though the streets are relatively crowded, I still spin around every now and then to make sure someone isn’t following me.

All I have are the clothes I’m wearing, my wallet, and my iPhone, but I know I can’t go back to Sean and Jody’s. I need to find a safe place to stay.

As I’m pondering this, I receive a text from Jody: Hey, my grandmother is sick, so Sean and I are going to head out of town for a few days.

I stare at the text, thinking about how I’ve never once heard Jody mention a grandmother.

I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut.

Only yesterday, they were so caring and concerned about me. Why the abrupt change?

I blink back tears as I shove my hands deeper into my pockets. Maybe I misconstrued Jody’s tone, which is easy to do in a text, I try to tell myself.

I begin walking aimlessly, thinking again of those three delicate teacups on the tray, and the still-hot kettle. Jody had pulled out her good china instead of simply taking mismatched mugs from the cabinet.

It’s as if she wanted to impress her visitors. Now I understand why.

Did something happen to make her turn from caring to brusque? Or did someone make it happen?

Cassandra and Jane met Jody and Sean when they came by to pick up Jane’s necklace.

Did the Moore sisters come to the apartment to convince Jody and Sean to turn against me?

Someone brushes past me and I whirl around. But it’s just a teenager on a cell phone with a big backpack.

I look up at the buildings towering over me. So many windows. Anyone could be watching me.

I can’t go to my new apartment or stay with my mom or Mel. The Moore sisters probably know their addresses, and I can’t put anyone I care about in jeopardy—or risk having Cassandra and Jane turn the people I love against me, too.

I don’t know what the Moore sisters have planned, but I doubt they’re finished with me yet.

I dial Detective Williams’s number, but she doesn’t pick up. I hang up before leaving a message. What could I even say? I know it sounds crazy, but I think Cassandra and Jane Moore—they’re the friends of Amanda’s that I’ve been hanging out with—are watching me. They know things about me, like what I eat or where I’ll be. And they turned my old roommate against me.

I have to collect more facts before I go to the police.

I wander the city for hours, until my feet are aching and my body feels numb. By the time dusk falls, I’ve figured out where I can stay tonight. I’ve seen enough movies to know that if I want to be untraceable, I have to pay in cash. So I stop by an ATM and withdraw the maximum $800.

Then I walk through Times Square and head west. It will be easier to be invisible in one of the most crowded places in the city.

It doesn’t take me long to spot what I’m looking for—a seedy small hotel with a neon VACANCY sign blinking outside.

I try to pull open the door, but it’s locked. A red buzzer is to my left, and I press it while I cast another look back over my shoulder.

At the loud humming noise I instinctively reach for the door again to pull it open. I step inside the dim lobby. The man behind the front desk barely glances up from his computer. He’s got a fringe of gray hair over his ears and a matching mustache.

“Reservation?” he asks when I reach the desk.

“Sorry, no. But I saw the vacancy sign.…”

“We’ve got a room with a double bed on the second floor.”

“Is there anything higher?”

“No elevator. Most people want lower.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Got one on the fifth floor. Eighty a night. Just need a driver’s license.”

I pull the wad of twenties I’ve just taken out of the ATM from the pocket of my jeans and peel off five beneath the counter. “I was mugged. They got my wallet. I don’t have a license.” I slide the bills to him, making sure they’re fanned out so he can see the extra twenty. “Is that a problem?”

“Not for me. One night, then?”

“For now.”

He’s barely even made eye contact with me. And if the Moore sisters—or anyone else—are looking for me, they may not know exactly how to describe me. I’m wearing my glasses again, and I used one of the scrunchies I borrowed from Jody’s supply in the bathroom.

“Name?” He clicks on an ancient-looking computer.

Once I looked up the most popular baby names for girls born during my birth year, and I immediately recall a name that dominated in the late eighties and early nineties.

“Jessica. Jessica Smith.” Smith is a perennial common surname in the United States.

He hands me a key. “Vending machines with pop back there.” He points toward the rear of the lobby.

“Thanks.” I look down at the heavy metal key. The clerk is already back on his computer, playing solitaire.

I want nothing more than to barricade myself in my room. But I don’t have any food, or a change of clothes. So I force myself to head back out.