Ripper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 2) (12 page)

“You decide,” she mumbled as she nibbled on her thumbnail, a nervous habit Greg had come to know well.

“I’m sure Brooke is fine,” he said, trying to ease her concern.

“But what about the screaming we heard?”

“Maybe just party excitement.” He knew it was a lame theory, but what else could he say?

She gave him a look that seemed to say
I’m not stupid
.

“Okay, so maybe it wasn’t party related, but they wouldn’t have hurt anyone. I’m sure they left when they realized we weren’t there.” Greg was counting on that. He hated the thought of anyone getting hurt because of them.

He looked right and left, then in his rearview mirror. “Okay, we’re going west, then.” He started to turn left, but stopped when Sam seized his wrist.

“Wait!” She had a look of deep concentration in her eyes.

“What?”

“Go east,” she said as if in a trance.

“O-kay. Are those . . . your instincts talking?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah,” she murmured. The trance seemed to break. She blinked and looked around. “Yes,” she repeated, sounding more certain.

“East it is.” He turned right and stepped on the gas. Indecision wouldn’t get in their way. “Any place in particular?”

“I’m not sure.” She gave him a pleading look.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry. The
calls
aren’t very specific sometimes.”

“Right.” She seemed pensive for a moment then said, “This sucks. I don’t want to leave.”

“I know.”

They’d had this conversation plenty of times. She wanted to live a simple life, have a simple graduation and become a simple cook. Well, not a
simple
cook, she wanted to be a five-star chef, a goal she knew she was more than capable of accomplishing.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it all out,” he reassured her, then left her to ponder.

Soon they found themselves on the interstate headed . . . somewhere. Away, at least. Greg didn’t feel all that happy about the fact that they were going in the opposite direction of Colorado. But in this, he knew he had to follow her instincts, even if east didn’t feel like the right direction to him.

Sam dialed Brooke’s number several times and bit her thumbnail a little more with every answer from her friend’s voicemail.

“Call me as soon you get this, Brooke. I need to talk to you.”

“That’s got to be the tenth message. Um, don’t you think it’s time you call James?”

Deciding how to inform her adoptive dad and Rose of their eventual escape had been the hardest part of the plan. In the end, they had chosen the cowardly route: leaving a letter that explained their reasons for their departure, a piece of paper that Sam had composed over a month ago and had kept at the bottom of her desk drawer.

The missive was mostly full of lies, of course, because the truth was too hard to believe. It explained their deep love and readiness to start a life of their own, and her desire to find her biological parents. It begged James and Rose not to worry and promised sporadic contact. More importantly, it assured them that the decision to leave had nothing to do with anything they’d done. On the contrary, Greg and Sam assured them they’d be greatly missed.

Very slowly and deliberately, Sam dialed a number. “I’ll call James’s office.”

After leaving a short message that explained where to find the letter, Sam threw her head back in exasperation.

“I hate doing this to them,” she said.

“I know.”

“They’ve been great. They don’t deserve it.”

But there was no other choice. They’d already gone over this a thousand times. Discussing it again would just bring them more frustration.

Sam got back on her phone and left another message for Brooke. This was turning as compulsive as her fingernail-chewing.

“Why don’t you try to sleep?” Greg asked to divert her attention. “We’ll be on the road for a while. Brooke will call you tomorrow. For all you know, she’s making out with Brandon as we speak.”

Another lame attempt at cheering her up, but he couldn’t think of much else. He had known leaving everything behind would be hard for Sam, but tearing out of town full of apprehension over her best friend made it that much worse.

Still, she played along. “Ew,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Exactly.” Greg was glad to see her try. It was a good sign.

“You’re probably right,” she said after a few minutes of silence. She opened the glove compartment and placed her cell phone inside. Her hand hesitated for a second before shutting the little door. She pushed up on the seat and, for the first time, looked ahead at the road.

“So where are we going?” Greg asked.

“Beats me.”

“Indianapolis?” he asked.

“Mmm,” she furrowed her brow. “No, further.”

“Louisville,” he offered.

“No.”

“Further than that?”

“I think so.” She rubbed the back of her neck.

Greg knew just how infuriating calls could be. They could be overwhelming, but short on details.

“The Big Apple!” she exclaimed.

“New York?! I don’t wanna to go to New York. Shit!”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s just . . . too big. Maybe if we were going on vacation, but I don’t want to live there.” He turned on the windshield wipers as a light drizzle started to fall.

“Why not?

“Oh, I don’t know. Let me see . . .” He tapped his temple in a fake gesture of deep thought. “Could it be because we only have a thousand dollars and we’ll need an arm and a leg to pay for just about anything?”

“We can find jobs. It might be fun,” she offered.

“I doubt two high school dropouts—because that’s what we are now—will be able to find much. Although, maybe I could walk poodles for rich, old women,” he joked. “That should be easy enough.”

“I’m afraid of where that could lead.”

“What do you mean?”

The windshield wipers squeaked. Greg turned them down a notch.

“Who knows, maybe the old women will end up walking
you.
”

Greg thought about it for a second, trying to figure out what Sam meant, then it dawned on him. “You think?” he asked, acting as if he was actually pondering the possibility. “Could be a good thing. Morphid Gigolo in New York City. Easy money, you know.”

Sam slapped him on the arm. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Hey, you brought it up.”

They laughed, if a bit nervously. There was a lot on their minds, but it was good to set all their worries aside, if only for a moment.

The miles flew by, one after the other. Sam slept for a bit while he drove, feeling more at ease with every state they left behind, even if New York didn’t ultimately feel like the best place to go. When he stopped for gas, Sam woke up and offered to drive. She wanted him to rest, but he was too wound up to feel tired. He was determined to get Sam as far away from Indiana as possible, maybe even in one trip.

After twelve hours of driving, stopping only to refill the gas tank, Newark came into view. They had discussed the need to get rid of the car and planned to find someone who would buy it. Greg’s parents had given him the title, and if they found the right kind of place, they could get some cash for it without being asked too many questions.

Sam seemed convinced, for some odd reason, that they would find a place to live in Manhattan. The idea was bonkers, but he went along anyway. Her Morphid instincts were guiding her.

They found a title place in a rundown part of Newark. The owner gave them the once over, flashed a set of unsightly gold teeth and offered them a third of the car’s price. They took it without arguing.

Greg hated to get rid of their wheels, but they needed the money and had no idea where they would stash it in the meantime. Besides, he wasn’t about to risk getting tracked due to the car. If they had to flee again, they’d just catch a Greyhound.

Careful not to attract undue attention, they found a bus station and climbed on the first bus that stopped there, backpacks in tow. From the driver, they learned the quickest and cheapest way to get to Penn Station. After a few bus transfers, they found themselves on the subway, finally on their way to Manhattan.

They sat together on the hard plastic seats, avoiding eye contact by all means. People got in and out, everyone keeping to themselves. Some read newspapers, others checked their phones, most simply stared at the floor with earbuds stuck in their heads.

They reached Penn Station at 7 P.M., climbed out of the subway and emerged on a busy street, teeming with people. Standing on the corner of 8th Avenue and W 33rd Street, they watched in complete amazement.

“Wow,” Sam said, echoing the exact way he felt.

“What now?”

“Mmm, I don’t know. Let’s walk around a bit, find something good to eat. I’m starving,” he said.

“Yeah, me, too. But after that, we should find a motel or something. I’m beat.”

“Good idea. You’re starting to look rough,” she joked, though there was concern in her eyes.

Greg didn’t argue with that. The lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him and, if his stomach weren’t complaining so loudly, he was sure that instead of food, he’d be daydreaming about a soft pillow.

“Look.” Sam pointed at a street vendor with a “Philly Steak Sandwich” sign. “I’ve always wanted to eat some street food. Let’s go.”

Sam took his hand and pulled him along. They ordered two large sandwiches with all the trimmings, along with two Cokes. With their hands full of food, they sat across from the Pennsylvania Hotel, in front of Madison Square Garden, to eat and people-watch. It was an interesting experience for both of them, as neither had ever visited New York.

After finishing his meal, Greg used his iPhone to search for a place to stay. He clicked on a few of the nearby hotels and cocked an eyebrow in a satisfied I-told-you-so expression. The prices were ridiculously expensive, way more than they could afford, even for just one night.

“So, genius?” Greg said. “Where do we stay now?”

Sam ran a hand through her hair. “I still say we can find something.”

She knew perfectly well they didn’t have enough money to live in Manhattan. It didn’t make logical sense for her to feel confident about this. It had to be her instincts talking.

“C’mon, let’s take a walk. See what we find,” she said.

A huge yawn suddenly broke out of his lips. “I say we head back to Jersey. Everything’s cheaper there. We should both rest.”

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.” She pulled him to his feet and gave him a quick kiss. “We’re in New York, boyfriend. Don’t be a square.”

They walked down the street, towering above everyone. Greg felt people’s eyes on him and, more importantly, on Sam. He figured he would never get used to the notoriety that his Morphid looks gave him, but he knew with certainty he’d always detest the way men looked at his girlfriend. He wanted to
thwack
them all over the head.

Sam, as usual, was oblivious to it all. He loved her for that, even if sometimes he wished she was a bit jealous of all the girls that vied for his attention—not that he enjoyed feeling scrutinized by female, hungry eyes all the time.

It had been months since he’d rolled up inside a cocoon and metamorphed but still, going from a short, puny kid to a tall, muscular guy that girls found attractive was a serious mind job. Maybe it would have been easier to get used to if he’d grown up among his own kind, but he’d lived in the human world since birth.

“Here we are,” Sam said, staring up at the many, huge screens at Time Square.

“Impressive.”

A Calvin Klein commercial flashed on one of the screens, a sexy model wearing a tight skirt and revealing top.

“Maybe we could model,” he said “
That
would be some easy money.”

“You’re joking, right?”

He shrugged.

The image flipped to a male model in a pair of tight underwear.

“Well,” Sam said, cocking her head to one side and letting her eyes travel downward on the obscenely huge . . .

Greg grabbed her and pulled her away.

“Wait, I think I like your idea,” Sam said. “I would pay to see you on a big screen and . . . in
all
your glory.”

“Very funny.”

“Hey, it was your idea.”

They laughed and teased each other, their mood growing considerably lighter. Greg tuned in to his instincts and liked the silence he heard back.

After a few more blocks, the weight of so many hours without sleep started to catch up with him. Still, he let Sam lead the way, until the foot traffic practically disappeared. He looked around, surprised at how suddenly they’d migrated into a less desirable part of the city. The street looked dirty and the air carried the smell of garbage. The buildings were in disrepair, most is serious need of a paint job, especially the ones covered in graffiti.