As they left China House, Freya’s eyes darted around the parking lot, scanning for anything out of place. Was that shadow Malcolm crouching behind Dan’s car with the pistol? Was he hiding in the back seat with a knife? Maybe he was on the roof with a rifle. She knew she was being paranoid and ridiculous, but she couldn’t stop.

Until Brad suggested she get out of town, the threat hadn’t seemed real. Now, it was all Freya could think about.

She imagined the soundless shot. It would be a flash at the corner of her vision, followed by a searing hornet striking her in the chest. She pictured the bullet shattering her rib, piercing her lung. Her mouth filling with the taste of metal, looking down in shock to find an impossibly huge hole in herself with her breath bubbling, escaping her throat as a punctured whine. Darkness next, the river claiming her at last as she drowned in her own blood.

Yesterday morning wasn’t a dream. It was an omen of death.

Freya shut her eyes tight and shook her head. She was being stupid and self-indulgent. There were no omens and no shadow people. She didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in morbid daydreams. Dan would pay the price when they were Reunited. That was another complication she hadn’t considered, the responsibility to think with someone else in mind.

“Where are we going?” Dan asked. He only meant a location, but the question loomed large around her.

“I don’t know,” she said, hating the hopeless sound of her voice. They’d been staring out the windshield for five minutes as the Toyota idled, wasting gas.

Before this morning, Freya knew the answer to that question. They would go home to her bedroom, tear off their clothes, and dive into each other to become one in body and mind. Her desire had smoldered behind every waking moment for days, building into an imperative.

Now, all she could picture was the finger tapping on the glass, the lingering smell of spray paint in her driveway. She was gripped with a sudden anger that didn’t even feel like it belonged to her. A shard of Lassa demanding revenge.

Her thoughts flickered ahead to a plan, texting Malcolm back and taunting him, calling him a pussy. Waiting for his car to come screaming up her driveway and hiding at the kitchen window with the curtains drawn. She pictured him with the pistol in his waistband, pounding on her front door and screaming. The kitchen window was less than ten feet from the front door. There was no way she’d miss.

She pictured herself emptying Randall’s gun into Malcolm’s back, continuing to fire through the shattered window as he dropped. Bullets striking his still body as he lay in a bloody heap on their welcome mat, the kitchen filling with a haze of smoke.

Her hands curled into tight fists. She was certain she could do it. She heard Dan speaking, but she was lost in fury. She couldn’t understand the words. She burned too hot, and she felt the touch of the Starball, frost on the edges of her thoughts. It had been a while since she’d been pacified by the orb. It felt unwelcome and unfamiliar, but she knew it was necessary.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Freya,” Dan said softly. He would have to hold another awful part of her.

Murder.

It was such a stupid plan, but she could only see that when the Starball calmed her down. An ambush like that was first degree murder, and it would go terribly for her in court, even with all the stalking.

She wondered if consequences were the only thing holding her back. Even with the Starball working its hardest to bring her down, her anger felt bottomless. The switch in Lassa that had flicked on and shattered Patricia Daud’s orbital and headbutted her into the hospital was in Freya, too. Once it was thrown, there was no turning it off.

“Freya.” Dan’s voice grew more insistent.

“Oh, God, Dan. I’m sorry,” Freya whispered, and he blinked in confusion. She had to remind herself he didn’t know what was in her head yet. “It’s going to be a rough download,” she said, grimacing at the awkwardness of the phrase, but he nodded, understanding what she meant.

“I wish we could just make it happen whenever we wanted,” Dan said and, for a few hopeful moments, they waited, as if mentioning Unity would trigger it. But there was nothing but the sound of the engine and the heater blowing air.

“Next best thing,” Dan said, putting the car in reverse.

“Let’s talk about it.”

* * *

They headed west, chasing the sun. The Toyota was destined to lose the race. Freya cupped the Starball in her hand as they talked. She wanted it in the open. The orb was up to something, pulsing with heat as they talked, but she could only guess what it all meant.

Around them, Dan’s car was a pearl of warmth in the frigid palm of night. A level above, the Earth was just a tarnished ball of iron, cradled in the empty hand of space. On and on it went, and it was a comfort to be so insignificant. Freya never wanted the drive to end.

They stopped at a gas station to fill up. Freya paid for their gas and bought them coffee that was scorched and strong. lent a slightly feverish tone to their conversation. One by one, Freya and Dan brought up all the things they were afraid of and dispensing with them. The black thoughts of murder and guilty desires were brought into the open and cast away.

The farther away from Sillas they traveled, the lighter they felt. It was as if they didn’t realize how deep their draft was until they started throwing things overboard.

Their conversation grew loopy and aimless, woven with laughter. The spaces between words grew longer, and Freya felt bare and unfettered. Hanging at the periphery was a sense of excitement. They were far from home. What if they kept driving west? What if they never went back?

“We’ll crash into Lake Ontario if we’re not careful,” Dan joked.

They’d crossed the New Hampshire line, and the Toyota glided through Berlin. Even on a Saturday night, no one was out, the little town dormant. They drove on Wight Road. Freya was just about to make a nerdy joke about the name when the Toyota’s headlights illuminated a green reflective sign that said DEAD RIVER.

Freya’s breath caught, and she wondered if she was hallucinating. She checked the map on her phone. There really was a Dead River. It was a tiny tributary of the Androscoggin. She checked her messages, but there was nothing new from Lynn and no word from Lassa. Freya realized if she wanted tonight to be anything but driving aimlessly into the darkness, she would have to take the reins.

“Do you have work tomorrow?” she asked Dan.

“They didn’t schedule me. I think they’re mad at me for bitching about dishwashing,” Dan said. “We can drive all night if you want to.”

“I have an idea,” Freya said, tapping on her phone.