As the trapdoor slammed shut above me, enveloping me in complete darkness, the rest of my strength seeped from my body. Slipping closer and closer to unconsciousness, I had no choice but to stop fighting, and let it take me.
32
ASH
Now that we’d decided to travel to Brookmount, I wanted to leave first thing, but Maya had insisted I take her car to the garage in Falmouth for a long-overdue oil change while she packed and finished off two pieces for Drift. Ultimately, I decided I didn’t mind. We’d be spending the next two days in close quarters, and I could do with some time alone first.
I’d left the house a little before eight and it was almost nine thirty now as I sat in the waiting room of the garage, flicking through a shiny copy of a luxury car magazine, trying to distract myself. I stared at a picture of an Aston Martin, imagining a life in which I could afford that kind of vehicle, where I had no financial or other problems. It seemed so impossible, so vastly out of reach it was laughable. No way around it—my world was one giant clusterfuck.
“Mr. Bennett?” The receptionist who’d greeted me when I’d arrived stood in front of me, his arm outstretched, a phone clutched between his fingers. “I have a call for you.”
“Hello?” I said after he’d gone back behind his desk.
“It’s me,” Maya said. “How much longer will you be?”
“Not long, I think they’re almost done. Why?”
“Just wondering. I want to get going.”
After reassuring her I’d be there as soon as possible, I hung up and returned the phone to the receptionist. I tried to concentrate on the magazine again but felt a growing sense of unease as I thought about traveling to Brookmount. Would I recognize any of my things in the storage locker? Would a particular item help me remember anything? More importantly, what would the cops say when I walked into the station, very much alive? And what would I do if I saw Lily?
She was right; her lying about her name wasn’t the issue, I couldn’t be angry about that, or about her hiding a prior conviction. But stealing? Drugging me? I still couldn’t get my head around that last one. Why the hell had she wanted to keep my mind fuzzy? It didn’t make sense. Maybe she’d taken the pills herself, it was entirely possible, but then why not say so? Whatever her reasons, our relationship, both past and future, was over.
Lily and the trip to Brookmount weren’t the only things on my mind. Maya’s revelations about my fake alibi sat heavily in my stomach and I’d meant what I’d said—I couldn’t stay in Newdale with this knowledge. The place was slowly squeezing me dry, I had no future here. I’d broach the subject about selling the house with Maya again. It would make things easier for her, too. The place was heavy on old memories and upkeep, and her living there alone made little sense. She’d take some convincing to get rid of the house, and it wasn’t a conversation I relished, but I needed to get away. Find a job somewhere, move on with my life somehow, and not live with my sister. I needed to put some distance between me and her, too.
Something made me tune into the conversation the receptionist was having with a woman who’d just walked in. She was nodding furiously, leaning forward on the counter, her voice breathless. “It’s true,” she said, sounding as if she was proud to be the first one sharing some gossip. “They think it happened yesterday. He’d had a few drinks, and was working under his car when the scissor jack gave way...”
“Keenan’s dead?” the receptionist said, and the woman nodded. “That’s nuts. I saw him, what, three days ago? Came in for some parts to fix his car.”
I pretended to focus on the magazine again as I continued to listen to their exchange. First indications were Keenan had been trapped underneath his Subaru overnight, and someone had found him after looking in through the garage window. I shuddered as I wondered how long Keenan might have suffered. I hadn’t liked him, but that kind of death wasn’t something I wished on anyone, enemy or not. My next thoughts went to Fiona, and how she was coping with the news. She’d already lost Celine, now her brother was gone. Maybe Maya and I could stop in at the motel on our way to Brookmount and offer our condolences. It was the least we could do.
Ten minutes later and the car was ready. I paid the bill in cash—sorting out a bank account and credit card were still on my to-do list—and as I turned on the engine, I looked up at the car wash, something Maya’s grimy Pathfinder probably hadn’t seen in years. The inside of her car was full of empty sandwich and chocolate wrappers, coffee cups and other discarded remains, all of which emitted a slightly offensive smell. While it hadn’t bothered me so far, the thought of being trapped inside a rubbish tip on wheels all the way to Brookmount and back held little appeal.
I headed to the car wash, bought a pass and eased into Neutral. Afterward, I parked by the vacuum cleaners, where I emptied all the loose crap before removing the floor mats and grabbing the hose, sucking up mountains of crumbs and sand. The final task was to clean underneath the seats, and when I slid the one on the passenger’s side back as far as it would go, I uncovered another slew of waste. As I picked everything up and dumped it in the bin, I spotted a notepad wedged next to the seat. Maya’s writing filled the pages, shopping and to-do lists, mainly, which were interspersed with sketches of
