Page 12 of Crow's Haven
“I think the longer you’re gone, the easier it is for them to convince the world you killed that little boy and others like him. And if this gets picked up as a murder investigation, I’m afraid they’ll hunt you down and make an example out of you, whether it’s true or not.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” I whisper.
“I know,” she murmurs. But her voice doesn’t sound sure anymore.
The silence between us seems to last forever, as I think about turning myself in. I’m not sure if it’s the cold creeping through the car or what, but suddenly I’m shaking. This whole situation is surreal. In the end, I just can’t do it.
Finally, I choke out, “Are you hearing yourself? They think I murdered a child? That I did it out of some twisted sense of mercy?”
“Just think about turning yourself in. It’s for the best.”
Suddenly, a thought flies into my mind and won’t go away. “Jesus, Sylvia, did someone put you up to this? To try to break me down and get me to turn myself in?”
She quickly assures me, “No. Of course not. I’m your friend. I just want what’s best for you and I’m catching it from all sides because I spoke up for you.”
“Thank you, Sylvia. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to go back, especially knowing they want to make me their scapegoat.”
The line goes quiet again. Then she says, almost gently, “They’re not looking for a scapegoat anymore, Sharon. They’re looking for justice for Joshua. The police seem determined to get an arrest that ends in a conviction.”
I swallow hard, “Do you really think they have enough to arrest me?”
“How can I know that? I think they believe they do,” she says. “I just think it’s time to tell your side of the story.”
I press the phone against my cheek, fighting to keep from crying tears of frustration. Sylvia’s right. I left. I disappeared. That makes me look guilty, even if I had no other choice. Even if staying would’ve meant being blamed for someone else’s mistake.
“I never hurt anyone,” I whisper. “I was just trying to get through each shift without breaking.”
“I know,” she says again. “Just do the right thing and turn yourself in.”
That’s when I hear it, a soft, mechanical click in the background. Since neither of us are talking, I can hear it. It’s barely audible over Sylvia’s breathing but I’ve heard soundslike that before. When I used to work night shifts and we had those outdated landlines at the nurse’s station. I remember the tech guy once explaining how old recording systems made those little noises when someone picked up from another extension or when a call was being routed through external software.
I hold my breath and listen harder. I hear it again, a double click. It’s the faintest echo. Panic spikes in my gut. Sylvia isn’t my friend and this situation isn’t safe. My gut instinct tells me that I’ve said too much. That this call isn’t just between me and Sylvia. Someone else is listening.
I sit up straighter and force calm into my voice.
“Thanks for calling,” I say, too evenly. “I know you didn’t have to. I’ll take it from here.”
“Sharon, wait,” she practically shouts.
I end the call and drop the phone onto the passenger seat, just wanting it out of my hand. Rubbing two trembling hands down my face, I replay the entire conversation in my head.
Try as I might, I can’t come to any conclusion other than the call with Sylvia was a trap. They lured me in using a former friend and I fell for it. Being isolated and alone, I wanted to believe that someone from my old life was reaching out to me. That someone still cared about me.
I’m ashamed to admit to myself that I was so needy because I just fucked myself over royally by talking long enough for them to trace my call. Which means the phone has to go.
I pick the phone up again, with still shaking hands. Pressing the button to shut it down only takes a few seconds. Once the screen is black, I let out a shaky breath. I don’t feel any safer because I’ve watched enough detective shows to knowa powered-down phone still pings towers. That means it can still help them find me.
I quickly flip the phone over in my hand and pry at the plastic backing. It takes me a few tries, and I break a nail, but it eventually cracks slightly as I pry it off. I tap the battery out of its housing and toss it into my glovebox along with the phone. When I slam the glovebox closed, only then does my anxiety click down a notch. Unfortunately, my thoughts keep spiraling.
Of course, they’ve already tracked my location. Which means, this is no longer a safe place. Maybe nowhere that I’ve been is safe anymore. Not the apartment I broke my lease on, the storage area I rented to store my things, or the old campsites.
Right now, I can’t logic my way through the situation because I’m too exhausted to think straight. Every instinct is telling me to move my ass and to do it now. I’ll just drive around and park at a twenty-four-hour grocery or convenience store and think this through in the morning.
I stuff the last of my gear back into the storage bins behind the passenger side seat, rolling up the blackout curtains and folding my thermal blanket with practiced speed. Thankfully, the engine turns over on the first try. I immediately ease out onto the gravel path until I reach the main road.
Chapter 5
Crow
