On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Thirty-Eight - "Temerarious Epiphany"

Sarah

Saturday.

Surprisingly, the busiest day of the week at Barron & Co.

I threw my bag on the couch, letting out what felt like my first breath of the day.

“Chloe?” I called.

I knew Jake was still in the city, and Chloe had been spending a lot of her time with Fitch, but Jose and Ritchie were outside, so I knew she was home.

I walked up to her room. The lights were out, but I could see the mound on the bed, which looked like a human figure. I turned on a standing lamp and made my way over. It was exactly like her old room; stepping into it, I felt like I hadn’t even left my apartment in the city.

“Chloe?” I called again. It was barely late afternoon, so I knew something must have been up. She spent her days either with Fitch or in the library downstairs, or at the pool with her friends, so this was abnormal for Chloe.

She stirred and pulled the covers off her head.

“Hi,” she murmured, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the light. She still seemed to be in her pajamas or an outfit equally close.

“Have you been in bed all day?” I asked, walking over.

She looked up at her bedside clock and sat up slowly, “I guess so. Um . . . yeah.”

“What’s up?” I asked, sitting at the edge, as she turned on the lights.

She brushed her hair off her face, and shrugged. Something was up.

“Chloe,” I pled.

She fell back onto her pillows and let out a sigh, “Can we go away for a little while? Like a road trip or something.”

“You kind of have to tell me why I’d be leaving in the middle of a major case though.”

“Can I tell you when we’re away? I’m . . . Please, Sarah,” her face was contorted in what seemed like grief.

“Is it about your nightmares? You’ve had a whole lot lately.”

Every night, to be precise. Sometimes two or three in a row, with the same long-period screaming and deep sleep as the first. A lot of the time, I just sat there watching her writhe and plead at somebody to wake up, as my heart creaked and crumbled in my chest. Occasionally, I’d get into the bed and try to hold her still or calm her, but she just wouldn’t stop screaming.

“Something like that. I just . . . I need to get away, and who better to do it with than . . . well, you.”

“Me – Sarah, or me – the queen of getaways?” I attempted to joke, despite the ice-cold chill running down my spine.

She gave me a forlorn expression, “You – my mom.”

It tugged at my heart every single time, until I was smiling.

“Okay. We’ll go away,” I murmured grazing her cheek, “After your birthday.”

She winced, “For my birthday.”

My eyes widened, “Chloe, we have to do something special. You’re turning eighteen.”

“Please? Sarah, I can’t . . . I don’t want to do anything.”

“Not even dinner?”

“I just want to go someplace far away.”

I frowned, “Is everything okay with you and Fitch?”