Dreamland

“Yeah?” was the first thing he said.

Dea realized that she and Co

Sanderson’s jaw was working back and forth over a piece of gum. His eyes moved from Co

“We towed a VW about a week ago or so, yeah.” Sanderson turned his eyes back to Co

Co

Sanderson shook his head. He picked up a paper cup and spit into it, a thick brown liquid, like tar. Dea realized he wasn’t chewing gum, but tobacco. “Don’t have it here,” he said, and her stomach sank. “Cops got it in impound behind the station. We won’t see it till they’re done. Could be weeks. You want me to call you when it’s ready to go for scrap?”

“Sure,” Co

They reversed out of the lot, and Mark’s brother swung the gate closed and locked them out. All the time, he was watching them as if he knew something. She was glad to be back in the car.

“Well, that’s that,” Co

“What do you mean?” Dea said. “Sanderson said my car’s still in impound. So that’s a good thing. It means it didn’t get junked yet.”

“A good thing?” Co

“Please.” Dea’s voice cracked. She knew she sounded desperate. She was desperate. And guilty, too—Co

“Try what? The cops are looking for you, Dea.”

“They’re looking for me. They’re not looking for you,” Dea said. Co

“This is crazy,” Co

“Everyone knows we’re what?” Dea asked. There was an ache deep in her chest. How was it possible for things to change so quickly, for time to squeeze down like a giant thumb, for everything to go so wrong? In dreams, everything was reversible. There was no time, and so nothing was done that couldn’t be undone.

She wished real life were like that, too.

“Nothing,” Co

“That just means we have to hurry,” Dea said. “You promised to help me,” she added softly.

They were coming up on Fielding again. Dea could see the ExxonMobil and mini-mart, casting beams of light toward the sky—like earthbound stars, drowning in the dark. A single red light was blinking at the intersection. If Co

Right was Route 22, which went past the police station—and from there, west out of Aragansett County and eventually all the way out to California.

Co

“Damn it,” he said, and wrenched the wheel to the right.

Dea could have kissed him.

SEVENTEEN

A half mile before they arrived at the police station complex, when Dea could already see a halo of light hovering above the sprawling one-story building, Co

“Get in the back,” he said.

“What? Why?”

He exhaled heavily. “You know this is idiotic, right? Because it is. Idiotic. I’m not going to get in trouble for harboring a fugitive or whatever the hell you are, and I’m not going to let you go to jail, either. I’m not even supposed to be here, okay? I’m supposed to be at Gollum’s, helping her birth a frigging calf.”

“Really?” Dea couldn’t help but say.

“It was her idea,” Co

Dea knew it was no use arguing with him. A small dark crease had appeared between his eyebrows, like it always did when he was going to be stubborn about something. Besides, he had a point. So she climbed out and moved around to the backseat, which was cluttered with random clothing and sporting equipment, old textbooks and a backpack, dirt-encrusted hiking boots, and empty soda bottles, as if all of the runoff from Co

She cleared a space among the piles of clothing. She felt better back here, protected, concealed by the dark and surrounded by so many forgotten objects. She drew the blanket over her shoulders, folded it around herself like a cloak, like it might give her superhero powers.

They were nearing the police station now.

“Get down,” Co

She’d been expecting Co

“What do you see?” she finally said.

“I’m making a loop.” Co

She couldn’t stand it anymore. She sat up cautiously. She could feel the cold vibrating through the glass. Co

“That must be the lot,” he said, narrating as if she couldn’t see for herself. He was nervous. This lot was much smaller than Sanderson’s but similarly fortified, encircled by a tall fence topped with chicken wire. “Guard hut.” Co