Only now I’m the man outside the door.
And God help me, I plan to stay.
Chapter Six
Amelia
It’s like I wake with my hand on the lock.
For a few seconds, I don’t know where I am.
That is the worst part of running. Not the running itself. Not the packing while your hands shake, not the driving before the tire gives out, not the way fear makes every headlight look familiar. The worst part is waking up after you finally stop and realizing your body hasn’t believed in safe long enough to recognize it.
The room is dim.
A lamp glows low on the nightstand. The walls are brick painted a soft cream, but no paint in the world can hide the bones of this place. The old jailhouse still feels like an old jailhouse if a person has enough fear in her to hear every creak as a warning. The ceiling slopes a little near one corner. The floorboards are old. Rain taps somewhere outside, softer now than last night, and under it, from far below, comes the low murmur of men.
Not loud.
Not rowdy.
But there.
Always there.
My fingers are curled around the little metal lock on the door, like I climbed out of bed in my sleep to check it. Maybe I did. Maybe I checked it five times and don’t remember. The lock’s still turned. The door’s still closed.
No one came in.
No one took August.
No one dragged me back outside and handed me to Jeremy while explaining it was best for everyone.
I breathe out, slow and shaky.
Back in bed, beside me, August sleeps sideways across the bed, one knee shoved into my thigh, his mouth open, his dinosaur tucked under his chin. Sophie’s borrowed pajama shirt twists around his little body because at some point in the night, he crawled half on top of me and stole the blanket. His hair sticks up in the back. There is dried salt on his cheeks from crying.
My poor baby.
I touch his forehead with the tips of my fingers.
He is warm, but not feverish. Just sleep-warm. Kid-warm. Alive and here and mine.
The ache in my chest gets so big I have to close my eyes.
I got him out.
Not all the way.
Not legally. Not cleanly. Not safely enough.
But I got him out of that house.
That has to count for something.
A floorboard creaks in the hall.
My whole body locks.