If I Live

by Terri Blackstock

  Jim’s blood? It isn’t Dylan? Now I see that the dead man is dressed in pressed pants and a button-down shirt covered with blood. Dylan was wearing jeans when he left this morning.

  It isn’t him! There’s only one body. He could still be alive. I turn back to the house, where the windows are lit up. He must be in there.

  I move back through the woods, dodging from tree to tree as quietly as I can, the sweet sound of wind through the leaves covering me. In the darkest part of the yard, I dash from the tree line to the house and the back door . . . the one I saw them coming from.

  It’s unlocked. I slip quietly inside, hoping not to draw the attention of anyone else who might be inside. The living room is dimly lit with just a couple of lamps. I don’t see anyone, so I tiptoe into the kitchen. No one.

  The sound of scraping down the hall snags my attention. I move to the dark hall and look toward the noise.

  A spot of light shines through a hole in the door at the end of the hall. I edge closer and hear the scraping again.

  “Dylan?” I call out.

  “Casey?” His voice from the other side of the door makes life worth living again. I steady myself on the wall as I catch my breath and try to focus through the tears rimming my eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Thank God you’re here. Can you get the door open?”

  I try the doorknob, but it’s locked. “No, do you know where they keep the key?”

  “Look in that living room area. Casey, they’ll be back.”

  I run back up the hall into the living room and look around for a key. There’s nothing on the coffee table, but on the dining room table across the room, I see a key next to a coffee cup. As I grab it, I peer out the window and see the lantern still in the trees. I hurry back to the door. “I think I found it,” I say, jamming it into the lock. It gives, and the door flies open.

  “Casey!” he says on a rush of breath. I throw my arms around him. But his hands are bound.

  “Let’s go,” he says.

  “Wait. I can cut your ties.”

  He waits just inside the living room as I run into the kitchen. I grab a knife from a holder on the counter, go back and cut his hands loose. He takes my hand and pulls me toward the front door on the opposite end of the house from where the men are. “They killed Jim Pace, Brent’s dad. This is his place.”

  “What?” I whisper. “I knew someone I knew had a lake house here.” We reach the door, but I don’t go out. “Wait! I have to get a picture of the door. It’s evidence we need.”

  “Casey!”

  I run back to the splintered door and, turning on my flash, snap pictures of the bloodstains, the floor, and the walls.

  I know Keegan will clean it up, but if I can show the clean cops where to use luminol to find the blood, we can prove what was done here. The sight of Jim Pace’s blood makes me shiver.

  “They’re burying him,” I say as I go back to Dylan, the gravity of that chilling through me. “They’ll be busy for a little while longer. My car is that way, just out of sight.” As we get out among the dark trees, I point toward the car.

  “You’re a genius,” he whispers. I run just ahead of him in the direction of the car.

  When it’s at last visible in the moonlight, Dylan whispers, “I’ll drive.”

  The keys are still in it. The dome light doesn’t come on, but the door dings when he opens it. I dive in on the driver’s side and climb over the center console so I won’t cause another ding. Dylan gets in and closes the door, silencing it. He starts the ignition and slowly backs out of the trees onto the gravel path. The headlights are off, but the brake lights can’t be hidden, and their red reflection lights the trees behind us.

  He puts the car in drive and pulls carefully back toward the road. Maybe they didn’t see us. But as we reach the road and turn south, I see the lantern beam bouncing toward Keegan’s car as he runs to it. As Dylan gains speed, Keegan’s car pulls out behind us.

  “Hang on!” Dylan says. He guns the accelerator and the car shoots forward, flying toward a more populated area. I get on my knees in my seat and reach across him to grab his seat belt and clip it into its slot, then I sit down and clip my own. Dylan powers the car around a corner, then again, and I hang on.

  “Do you see them?”

  I look out the window and see the headlights turning behind us. “Yes. They’re on us.”

  “Get on the floor.”

  I unhook my belt and fall to the floorboard. He turns sharply again, and I wonder if he knows where he’s going, or if it even matters. He rounds a curve, tires screeching. A bullet crashes through the back window, past Dylan’s head. He swerves.

  I rise up to see how close they are.

  There’s only the space of three or four cars between us, and they’re gaining speed. Dylan swings to the left again, then the right, and finally we’re on a street with traffic. Dylan zigs and zags between cars, in and out of lanes, and I lift up and see that the car chasing us is pinned behind a box truck.

  Dylan hangs a left, barely passing in front of a van, and I bump my head as I try to steady myself. He swings right, then left again, then slows. The tires screech as he makes a quick U-turn, then swings to the left again. “I think I lost them.”

  “Don’t count on it,” I say.

  “Stay down. I’m getting out of this part of town.” He drives for several minutes more. Then I feel him slowing.

  I move back into my seat and hook my belt again, watching for any sign of lights following us. Of course Keegan could have turned them off, or he could have taken another route, planning to cut us off. I don’t think he has given up.

  “Are you all right?” Dylan asks.

  “Yeah.”

  He turns onto a four-lane road and matches his speed to the traffic around us. I watch for some sign of Keegan, but no one seems to be following us. Dylan still moves from lane to lane, passing cars, turning onto side streets, going around the block, then coming back.

  Eventually, he turns onto a side street with no traffic, and we check again.

  No sign of Keegan.

  “We have to call Macy Weatherow,” I say. “I left her a message earlier.”

  “Yeah. Call her.”

  I call her at the number where I left the long voice mail, and this time she answers. “Macy Weatherow.”

  Relieved, I catch my breath. “Macy . . . this is Casey Cox.”

  “I was hoping it was you. I got your message. I’ve been waiting. I want to meet with you tonight. Is that possible?”

  “I don’t know if it’s wise for us to meet with you in person.”

  “Us?”

  “I have a friend with me,” I say. “It’s too dangerous, for you and us. The district attorney is involved in this corruption, and he and Detective Keegan are looking for us right now. They want us dead. We’re too much of a threat to them.”

  “The DA?” she says, and I can tell from her voice that she’s not sure whether to believe me. It doesn’t really matter if she does, as long as she reports it.

  “Look, I know this whole thing seems like a stretch, but there’s a story here even if I prove to be out of my mind. I’m a fugitive. I’m accused of killing several people. All you have to do is let us tell the story, and whether it turns out I’m insane or paranoid or not, you’ll still have a story that everyone will want.”

  “Sold,” she says. “All right, let’s do it over the phone. I’m recording now, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Yes, we want you to.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” she says. “This is Macy Weatherow recording this interview for KTAL, Channel 6 News, and I’m talking to fugitive Casey Cox. Casey, for the record, do I have permission to record this interview?”

  “Yes,” I say again.

  “Casey, can you tell me again what you told me on my voice mail?”

  Dylan pulls behind a dark building and parks in the shadows as I launch into our story. After I get it all out, he takes the phon
e, reveals to Macy who he is, and adds what happened to him today.

  When we’re done, Macy is quiet for a second. I worry that she still doesn’t believe us, that she’s calling the police and having our phone traced at this very moment. I expect a helicopter to fly overhead, or a bank of headlights to come from out of nowhere and surround us.

  But finally, she says, “I talked to that dry cleaner’s wife last week right after his death. I had the distinct impression that she wasn’t telling everything she knew. I suspected there was something going on, that maybe she knew who killed her husband and she was afraid for the rest of her family.”

  “That must have been before she talked to me,” Dylan says. “I told her to leave town after that.”

  “She must have. She hasn’t answered my calls, and I went to her house the other day and she wasn’t there. And while you were talking, Casey, I looked up our reports on the death of Sara Meadows. I went to the scene when it happened, and ever since, I’ve wondered why there was never a resolution to that case. The police never found who killed her. She worked for them. You would think it’d be top priority.”

  “Then you believe us?” I ask.

  “It’s just a tough sell. Brent Pace’s father was involved, and the DA? Even if it’s all true, making viewers believe it is going to be hard.”

  “Is it your job to persuade them or just report the news?” Dylan asks. “There’s a body at that house, unless they’ve already gone back to bury him.”

  “What’s that address?” she asks.

  We look on my phone for the destination on the phone-finding app, and I give it to Macy. “Don’t go there alone. You need a SWAT team.”

  “I think I’m going to get some of our main news anchors in to report this, but before it’s aired, I’ll have to call Chief Gates for a quote. Do you think I can trust him?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “We don’t have any proof he’s involved, and he may not be, but it’s possible.”

  “Be careful with Captain Swayze,” Dylan cuts in. “I think he could be connected.”

  “So what’s your plan?” she asks.

  Dylan looks at me.

  “My attorney is negotiating my surrender,” I say, “as long as I can be confident I won’t be murdered in the jail cell. Your exposure will help with that.”

  “There’s not time for me to unpack all you’ve said, so I’m probably going to air your whole interview live. NBC, my network, will want this too.”

  When we finally hang up, I’m trembling. Dylan gets out of the car and comes around to my side. He opens my door and pulls me up into his arms. I can feel that he’s shaking too.

  He kisses my hair, then I lift my face and he finds my lips. His are soft against mine, wet, and they hit me like a sedative that I’ll forevermore crave. I let my worries slide away as his strength renews mine. When he breaks the kiss, his gentle sigh next to my ear tells me he feels the same.

  He pulls back and looks at me for a long, stricken moment. “We did this.”

  I smile. “Yes, we did.”

  “Your name is going to be cleared and you won’t have to go to jail.”

  “Even if I do, it’s okay as long as Keegan pays.”

  He crushes me tighter, and I press my head against his chest. I can hear his heart through his shirt, and the rhythm soothes me. I don’t want him to let me go, but I know we can’t stay here.

  “Let’s find a place to sleep tonight. I’ll get Dex to help us again.”

  “Maybe we should just sleep in the car.”

  “We need a TV and Internet. I want to see the minute they air our interview.”

  “But if Keegan knew about you, don’t you think he knew about Dex?”

  “I don’t think so. If they knew, they would have tried to take him out already. I stayed with him the other night and Keegan didn’t find me. I think he’s still off their radar. I communicate with him on a burner.”

  I hope he’s right. I like Dex and I don’t want him to meet the same fate as Brent for helping us.

  I get back into the car, and Dylan gets in behind the wheel. He gets Dex on the phone.

  “Hey, buddy. Things are about to go nuclear, man.” I listen as he gives Dex a recap of the day. “It’s airing tonight, I hope. Morning at the latest. Listen, can you get us a room somewhere? Meet me somewhere to give us the key?”

  “You got it,” I hear Dex say.

  Dylan tells him a place to meet that might be obscure enough, and warns him not to take any chances. We sit still in the car and wait to hear back.

  “Is Dex going to be brought into all this when I turn myself in?”

  “I don’t think so. I think I can keep him out of it, at least until Keegan’s behind bars.”

  My mind drifts to my sister Hannah and my mom, and how this media storm will impact them. “Do you think they’ll let my family visit when I’m in jail?” I ask.

  “I hope you won’t be there long enough.”

  “You think Billy can get me out on bond?”

  “Billy?” he asks, laughing. “Who is this guy?”

  I give him a quick rundown on how I met him.

  Dylan touches my chin, turns my face to his. “You need a better lawyer. Barbero is in over his head. Besides, he’s a shark.”

  “I know,” I say. “I just didn’t know who else to call. I’ll get a criminal attorney once I’ve turned myself in.”

  “I’ll help your family with that unless they arrest me too.”

  This is starting to get too real. “They won’t, will they? You were kidnapped! You were held against your will, almost murdered at least twice. Surely when a jury hears all this . . .”

  “It takes a long time to get to a jury,” he says.

  “Okay, I understand why they’d arrest me. But you . . . The police department and the attorney general’s office must know that they’re culpable in this, and that none of it would have happened if they’d had a handle on their departments. You were actually investigating this.”

  “We’ll see,” he says. “I need to be out so I can help you.”

  I scoot closer to him and lay my head on his shoulder. “Let’s not talk about it for a few minutes,” I say. “Let’s pretend we’re a normal couple, just sitting in the night with a breeze blowing through the window, in no hurry, with no pressure . . .” My voice cracks, my throat tightening. “I just want to remember what it was like to be normal for a little while.”

  “Me too,” he whispers, kissing my hair.

  “Do you think we ever could be normal?” I ask. “I mean, you and me? Is this . . . whatever it is . . . is it just because we’re in this centrifuge of danger? Would we get along if we didn’t have the threat of death and prison hanging over us?”

  “Yes,” he says without hesitation. “Yes, we could. We will.” He smiles down at me. “I’ve been a nightmare in relationships. I’d get involved with somebody, and she’d start expecting me to be something . . . and then I’d zone out or I’d have a bad night and not call her for days . . . or I’d be in a mood and not want to put it on her. Or I’d just be unmotivated and sullen. Eventually she’d drift off . . . or maybe I drifted off first. Happened the same way every time. I didn’t think I could be with anyone in a normal way.”

  “Exactly my point,” I say. “I’ve been pretty standoffish too.”

  “But I’ve thought this through,” he says. “I’ve actually visualized it. Saturdays just hanging out, doing nothing . . . I can see it. You don’t bring drama.”

  I shake my head, disbelieving. “Seriously? It brings me.”

  “Right, but even with all the chaos around you, you calm me down. You steady me. I’m more myself when I’m with you than I’ve ever been with anybody else.”

  Tears rim my eyes, but I blink them back. I don’t want to cry. “Remember when you told me to look for God? To see where he’s working?”

  “Yeah.”

  I wipe a tear on my cheek. “I did that. And I saw him all over the pla
ce. I started trying to be intentionally grateful. Looking for the good. Seeing it.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “Just before I was arrested in Memphis, I surrendered to Christ. I understood why he died. How I was involved in that. How it impacts me.”

  He looks at me in the moonlight. “Really? You told him?”

  “Yes,” I say, and I don’t know why that makes me cry more.

  He watches the tears roll down my cheeks and wipes them away. “I wanted that for you. There have been times since I’ve been home from overseas when I’ve felt like I had to cling to God. Like he was about to slip through my fingers if I didn’t. But when I started on your case, I got my purpose back, and then I realized that God was clinging to me all along.”

  “I wouldn’t have found him without you,” I whisper.

  “I wouldn’t have found my way back to him without you.”

  When he kisses me again, I feel the completion of God’s plan, and all that lies before me is no longer fear. God has paved my way to Dylan.

  Life is hard, and it’s going to get harder. But whatever he has for me, he’ll equip me to handle it.

  Dylan’s phone chimes. It’s Dex, and he’s got us a room and is ready to meet.

  I put on my seat belt and we pull out of our hiding place, still watching the headlights behind us for any sign of Keegan or others. We get to the meeting place—an alley behind the local Dollar General, and we don’t get out of our cars. We simply drive up beside Dex, and he passes the key to Dylan.

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  “Take care of yourselves now. It’s getting hairy.”

  “You don’t even know how hairy,” Dylan says. “Keep your eyes on the news and watch your back.”

  “You know I will.”

  As we pull away, I look back and hope I get to see Dex again. I hope I get to know him in normalcy, if there ever is such a thing for me, and I hope I get to meet his wife. Dylan has said great things about her. I think I’d like her.

  We’re quiet as we drive to the motel he’s arranged for us.

  42

  KEEGAN

  There’s a way out of this. I’ve been in tough spots before, and I’m always able to find my way out. I do miss Rollins, though. He might be useful in a time like this, but then again, he could be like a deadweight strapped to my ankle.