Page 19 of Fear of Flames
The thought of a shower occurred to her, but she wasn’t ready to wash Fletch away—not yet. She’d carry their connection until it was fully severed.
“What about the cabin?” she asked, taking one last look around. “Should we clean it, erase that we were here?”
“It will be taken care of.”
“By your contact.” Michelle exaggerated the word.
“Yes. He’ll also return the snowmobile.”
She dressed in clothes from the closet. Fletch didn’t want her to wear the bright orange hunting coat. Instead, he found a brown Carhartt coat a few sizes too large. Her feet were covered with fur-lined boots that fit as snuggly as the yoga pants.
Outside the cabin, they were met with a bright and beautiful frozen world covered by a thick blanket of white. Michelle squinted against the glare, taking in the surroundings that were hidden a day ago. Soon they were back on the snowmobile, her arms wrapped around Fletch’s torso and her cheek against his warm, strong back. The world passed by as they sailed through the trees.
The truck Fletch’s contact had secured was an old white Chevy, one of thousands on the roads. In the middle of nowhere, the vehicle sat on the shoulder, appearing abandoned. Yet after stowing the snowmobile behind snow-covered brush, Fletch knew where a spare key was hidden.
Michelle swallowed as Fletch opened the passenger door. This was her escape back to reality. As she strapped herself inside with the seat belt, she wondered if reality was where she wanted to be.
Fletch reached into the back seat and brought forward a plain paper bag and handed it to Michelle. Inside, she found a standard burner phone and a small key.
“What’s the key to?” she asked.
“P.O. box in your neighborhood post office. In two days, you’ll have a new driver’s license and all your credit cards.”
The question of how was on the tip of her tongue, yet Michelle was confident Fletch wouldn’t answer. She set the bag near her feet on the floorboard.
As they traveled the eleven-hour trip from Massachusetts to Indianapolis, neither Michelle nor Fletch discussed any pertinent matters. Instead, as the daylight morphed to darkness, they dined on cheap fast food and gas-station snacks. They spoke of the scenery, literature, movies, and television—polite first-date happenings.
It was as they crossed the state line into Indiana that the proverbial fire beneath her feet was turned up, and Michelle could no longer restrain her questions. She opened the flip phone to see one programmed number. The contact simply said ‘1.’ “Is this number you?”
Fletch nodded. “You can reach me if there’s an emergency.”
“I need a new phone—a real phone.”
“When you’re home, order one online through your carrier. You should have it in less than 48 hours.”
The back of her eyes stung with the weight of what was ahead of her.
“What if Sheriff Perkins shows up?”
“You give him your alibi. You’ll have the receipts to prove it.”
“I don’t understand any of this. Why have you been watching me? Why was my dad killed?”
Fletch’s proficiency at the art of avoidance lasted until they were nearing Michelle’s city via back roads. He reached across the seat, his hand landing on her thigh. “You can do this.”
She looked over, unsure if Fletch was convincing her or himself. “My father is dead.”
“You don’t know that yet.”
The heaviness in her chest was difficult to ignore. Her eyelids fluttered as she stared out at the dark road, the truck’s headlights cutting through the crystalized air. While it was cold in Indiana, there wasn’t the quantity of snow that had fallen farther east.
Michelle swallowed. “I’m supposed to forget something like that?”
He shook his head. “Not forget, just act as if you didn’t know.”
She inhaled, her chest filling with the warm air blowing through the vents. “Okay. I can do this.”
The sound of Fletch exhaling filled the cab.
