by Blake Crouch
Letty raided the minibar and stocked her purse. Headed out still wearing John Fitch’s clothes.
The roof of the hotel was vacant.
The bar closed.
Letty eased down into one of the east-facing deck chairs.
Drank cheap champagne.
Watched the sun lift out of the sea.
Something Jav had said kept banging around inside her head. It’ll buy you enough crystal to kill yourself a thousand times over. Already she was feeling the itch to score. A pure craving. Is that what lay in store? Three months from now, would she be living out of another motel? Ninety pounds and wasting away? Now that she had enough money to finish the job, would she use until her teeth melted and her brain turned to mush?
Until her heart finally exploded?
She told herself that that wasn’t going to happen, that she wouldn’t lose control again, but she didn’t know if she believed it.
The sun climbed.
Soon there were other people on the roof and the smell of mimosas and bloody marys in the air.
Letty ordered breakfast.
As the morning grew warm, she thought about her son.
In better times—mostly while high—she had imagined sweeping back into Jacob’s life. Saw them in parks. Parent–teacher conferences. Tucking him into bed at night after a story.
But she didn’t want to entertain those fantasies now.
She wasn’t fit.
Had nothing to offer him.
She couldn’t get the hotel concierge out of her mind. Wondered if he could assist on scoring her a teener and a pipe.
Three times, she started down to the lobby.
Three times, she stopped herself.
It was the memory of the Atlanta motel that kept turning her back. The image of her skeletal reflection in that cracked mirror. The idea of someone someday having to tell her son how his mother had od’d when he was six years old.
In the afternoon, Letty moved to the other side of the roof. She passed in and out of sleep as the sun dropped. In her waking moments, she tried on three promises to herself, just to see how they fit.
I will set up a trust fund for Jacob with half the money and make it so I can never touch it.
I will check myself into the best rehab program I can find.
If I’m still clean a year from now, then, and only then, will I go to my son.
The next time she awoke, there were people all around her and the sun was halfway into the ocean. Letty sat up, came slowly to her feet. She walked over to the edge of the roof.
The people around her were making toasts to the sunset and to each other. Nearby, a woman mentioned a news report concerning the death of John Fitch. The group laughed, someone speculating that the coward had taken his own life.
Letty clutched the railing.
She couldn’t escape the idea that it meant something that she’d stayed up here all day. That she’d watched the sun rise, cross the sky and go back into the sea. She hadn’t felt this rested in months, and those promises were looking better and better.
Like something she could own.
Keep.
Maybe even live for.
She knew the feeling might not last.
Knew she might fall down again.
But in this moment, Letty felt like the tallest thing on the island.
BLAKE CROUCH has published ten novels, as well as many novellas and short stories. His stories have appeared in Ellery Queen, Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Thriller 2, and other anthologies. His novels Fully Loaded, Run, and Stirred have each earned spots in the top ten of the Kindle bestseller list, and much of his work has been optioned for film. He lives today in Durango, Colorado.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
