Page 15 of Shadow Man

I force a path through their cigarette smoke and conversations, hearing snapshots of lives that seem so foreign to me: crap bosses, persistent ex-boyfriends—realities that are enviably mundane.

Not so long ago I worked in a bar like this; had something stupid to moan about like this. Now I have darkness snapping at my heels and a roll call of memories that won't stop haunting me.

I’m a hot mess as I push to the front of the line, chanting old cocktail recipes in my head as a sweetener to the bitter pill of panic.

Two shots of lemon vodka, a blast of cranberry…

There’s a spare cab there with its back door already open.

“Miami International,” I gasp out, chucking my bag onto the backseat and throwing myself in after before the driver has a chance to refuse my fare.

“Which terminal?” Probing brown eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“Departures. Any.” I swing my head around to check the back window. “Please, drive!” But the guy doesn’t budge.

“You got a flight, lady. I need a terminal.”

Fuck.

“Terminal C!” I scream as a tall dark silhouette appears on the sidewalk, barely twenty yards away.C is for courage.The cool kids are parting much quicker for him. It’s a privilege that comes with a Fuck You countenance.

Two shots of vodka and a half of peach schnapps...

The driver makes a tutting noise and pulls away from the curb. Still, I can’t seem to drag my eyes away from Joseph. There’s a part of me still reaching out for him; willing him to look up and give chase. But his head is still turned, and with each passing block the determination to escape is overriding everything.

We reach Miami International at three a.m. The terminal is an empty school cafeteria, and as I rush toward the check-in desks it feels like the bright lights are mocking me for being Miss Unpopular.

There’s one desk open. A brunette in her late twenties is chewing gum and talking on the phone. Her bored expression lights on me, and I hear her whispering out her goodbyes in a telltale rush. Slamming the receiver down, she flashes me the kind of Disney smile that would scare Maleficent away.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“I’m not sure.” I glance down at my passport as my black overnighter drops to the floor.

She shoots me the same mildly-curious-and-irritated look as the taxicab driver.

“Are you here to check in?”

“I don't have a ticket.”

“I don’t think I understand, ma’am. Are you flying today, or not?”

I catch her fingers straying toward her phone again.Where do you go to disappear?Is it even something you can buy? I find myself glancing at the red and blue airline insignia above her head for inspiration.

“What’s the first flight out of here?” I ask her.

“Don't you mean “where?”” she says, a note of sarcasm creeping in.

“Both.”

She retracts her fingers and starts tapping something into her computer. “You need to visit the ticket desk, but it’s not open until—”

“Please!” I watch her brows disappear into her hairline. “Please,” I add, lowering my voice. “I need to get the hell out of Miami as soon as possible.” I whip my head in the direction of the exit, my damp hair showering her in droplets of water and desperation.Is he checking out the airports yet?

“Name?”

“Anna Williams… No, sorry, Anna Jackson,” I correct quickly. “I took my mom’s surname a couple of years ago, but I haven’t gotten around to changing all my documents yet.”

“Miss or Mrs.?” I catch her glancing at my empty ring finger.

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