The Sword and the Scythe

Chapter 22: Wolves

The ride to the airport in Richmond was silent. It was the kind of silence that made Charlotte's stomach twist up with anxiety. Thomas didn't want to talk to her now that Leroy was gone and doing so was no longer a way to antagonize him. She settled into her seat and looked out the window, trying not to think about Peter. Or Leroy. When they pulled up to the airport and got out of the car, Thomas handed her a passport with her name on it.

"Is it safe to travel under the name Charlotte Evans?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "No one but us is even looking for Holly Barnes anymore—but we don't need anyone asking why a dead girl is flying. Charlotte Evans will be just fine."

He gave her a cellphone to pass the time—the only number programmed was his own. But there were some addictive games that helped take her mind off everything that had happened. She fiddled with the phone as they checked in, got through security, and waited in the first-class lounge until it was time to board.

Their short connecting flight to New York was smooth sailing. She sat next to Thomas in the terminal waiting for their next flight, googling Peter's name, knowing she'd regret it but would feel just as guilty if she didn't.

To her horror, she found dozens of old stories about what had happened. She read through them, the pit in her stomach growing. The police had assumed the signs of struggle at the crime scene had been between her and Peter and that Sebastian had been killed when he'd tried to intervene on her behalf. The lingering mystery was what had happened to her body—everyone was surprised that the young murderer who had done such a shoddy job of cleaning Sebastian's blood from the rock at the crime scene had been able to hide her body somewhere that no one could find it even in the four years since her disappearance.

Silent tears slipped from her eyes as she looked out the window at the city lights, forcing the thoughts away again. Instead she thought of Tameka—remembering that her friend had to be somewhere in the city around her. She looked out the window at the lights of the city scape, wondering what her friend was doing at that precise moment. Then with a jolt she realized how hard it must have been for Tameka when it had all happened. To hear that her cousin had murdered her best friend before getting killed himself could not have been easy. She would give anything to hear her friend's voice again—to tell her that she was alright, that the official story had gotten it wrong. But maybe that was worse—to learn that her best friend was responsible for all her family's pain because she ran instead of owning up to her actions.

Thomas grabbed her arm, squeezing it too tight, shaking her from her thoughts with a jump. "Come on, look alive." He followed her as they boarded the non-stop flight from New York to Paris. The plane took off without any incidents, but Thomas stood up as soon as the fasten seatbelts light was switched off.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be back before we land. I've some things to attend to before we get to Paris. Why should I waste time babysitting you when the airline will do a splendid job of it for me?"

Charlotte settled into her seat, looking out the window at the city's lights down below, blurred by distance and her own tears. And she thought of Peter—dying abruptly and alone because she hadn't wanted to take responsibility for what she'd done.

The more she thought about it, the more guilt ate at her stomach. And the more it ate away at her, the more she hated Leroy for not telling her sooner. It was easier to hate him than to try to untangle how she felt about him now. She didn't know what she'd do if she saw him again, and she was too tired to think about it. She fell into an uneasy sleep, plagued by nightmares about Peter, Leroy, and her own guilt.