Wanted (29 page)

My pulse races while I wait for his answer, hoping he's going to say my name. And even if he does, why would I believe him? I'm not one of those gullible girls who believes everything a guy whispers to her. I don't even find badass guys attractive, so what's wrong with me? It's completely ridiculous and illogical. Still, I barely breathe, not wanting to miss his reply.

If he says Bonnie, I'm screwed. I'll need to run for it and hope I'm still alive tomorrow.

If he says my name, I'm not sure what he expects from me, but at least I'll have a chance.

Clyde removes his hand from the back of his head and looks at it, as if checking for blood, his face contorted in pain. Groaning, he pushes himself up, dusting off his palms. He watches me silently as I watch him—unsure if I should run away, cry, or scream for help. Clyde shuffles forward, glaring at me, as the first raindrops begin to fall.

“Don't touch me,” I warn, holding up the stick, “or I'll stab you in the throat.” My nerves are on such high alert now, I bet I could do it, too. A whimper of anguish escapes my mouth as hot tears lick my cheeks. What am I saying? No matter who's in charge of the body, this is a living, breathing teenage boy in front of me who deserves none of this, and whom I need alive and well with me at the deadline so we can end this nightmare. But I don't throw my weapon away just yet.

I can wound him without killing him if I need to.

“You think I'm scared of you, Monroe?” Clyde asks between gritted teeth.

“Stay back!” I raise the pointy branch, realizing I've made a huge mistake. It's obvious Clyde meant to take Bonnie with him, not me. My options are now extremely limited—fight to the finish or die trying.

Wait a second.

Did he just call me Monroe?

He throws his hands up, his face reddening by the second. “Why'd you do it? What if I wasn't able to come back, huh? What then?” He grabs a shovel out of the back of the pickup truck. “Maybe I should just bash your head in right now, like you threatened to do to me. What do you think of that?”

My knees buckle. I back up, leaning against the truck for support. “Jack? Is that you?” The fluttering of a million moths in my gut brings the queasy feeling right back. Is this really Jack in front of me, or is this Clyde using his Northern accent to trick me? “How did you—”

“Come back? I'm not telling you.” He glares at me, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Because you'll just use it to turn me back into Clyde, you fucking traitor.”

“No, don't say that! I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't know what else to do!” I lower the branch, but still I don't throw it away. Judging by his anger, I'm not sure who the enemy is anymore. “If you had gone to the police, we'd be sitting in jail right now. Then Bonnie and Clyde would hang around for the rest of our lives while we sat there doing nothing to stop them. Surely you believe that now, don't you?”

He starts pacing. “Only thing I see now is that you're a selfish liar, only concerned about yourself. I told you I didn't want to do it and now I'm in even worse trouble than before.”

His words are bullets to my heart. He's obviously so pissed at me that he cannot see my side of things whatsoever. Even so, I'm convinced that we still need to be together in the end to make this work. And even though Clyde can be completely compelling and charismatic, he and Bonnie already had lives to live and they blew it. Jack and I didn't. At least not yet.

“No, that's not true, Jack!” I plead. “I want to save both of us. Please don't be like this.”

“Like what—human?” He rakes his hair with his fingers. “Look at it from my point of view, will you? Here I was, driving a stolen bus—which I now realize makes no sense whatsoever—and when I'm trying to convince you that we made a mistake, you threaten me with a wrench.” He tosses the spade in the back of the truck, resulting in a loud
clunk!
“What the hell, Monroe? And then, not only that, but you did nothing to help me come back. You knew if he thought about Bonnie, it'd give me a chance to take back my life. But instead, you let him kiss you! How could you do that? He's a fucking dead gangster!”

Was once dead, but not for long.

Jack stares at me, waiting for an answer. He's deeply hurt, understandably so, but we're wasting precious time. I need him to calm down and forgive me so we can make up for lost time. “I only did what I did because I was afraid we'd stay half-dead forever, like Mr. Johnson said. Or worst of all, have them trade places with us altogether. But seriously, Jack, I'm glad you're back. Please just trust me on this, okay?” When I look into Jack's dark brown eyes, I remember sitting with him on the couch at Kyle's party, trying unsuccessfully to pick me up.

“How can I ever trust you again, Monroe? I couldn't hear what you guys said to each other while I was locked up inside my own head, but you looked pretty happy the entire ride. Oh wait, except for when you were crying your eyes out, like you were pouring your guts out to him. What was
that
all about?”

I can't deny that I was getting used to, okay maybe even enjoying, Clyde's constant flirtatious remarks. I'm sure it was fueled in part by the emotional connection of two people running from the police together. But discovering that this infamous outlaw had a soft side would make any girl's resolve to stay away from him falter, at least a little bit.

“It was all an act, Jack.” I'm desperate for him to let go of his questions and believe, once and for all, that we need to get to Gibsland together or we fail.

“So you were pretending to make out with him just now? You even grabbed him and pulled him close, like you were ready to get it on in the back seat!” He eyes me suspiciously.

“That was Bonnie taking over my body—I didn't want to kiss him!” I'm glad Jack doesn't know the pounding in my heart, the flood of emotions inside me while I kissed Clyde. The intensity I felt during those two heart-stopping kisses will have to remain my little secret.

You little trollop! Clyde was kissing me, not you!

Go away! I scream at Bonnie. Clyde's gone now, so leave me alone.

I glance at the digital clock mounted above the gas station prices. “But it's all over anyway. We need to get back on the road now, or we'll never make it on time. It's past ten.”

Jack shakes his head. “I'm not going with you, Monroe, and I don't think you should go, either. Hear me out and then decide.” He looks down at his hands and then back at me. “After Asshole took over my body, I fermented for four solid hours. Gave me time to do some thinking of my own. And you know what? I've come to the conclusion that Bonnie and Clyde are mind-fucking us. They want us to go to Gibsland because that's the only way they can take us over.”

I want to believe him, to give up and go home, but I now believe with every fiber of my being that doing so would be the end of me, of us. “No, Jack. That's not true. Remember the warnings from the Half-Dead Society? We thought this through already and there's no other way. It has to be tomorrow or never.” The high whiny buzz of panic starts to squeal in my ear as my plan unravels more quickly than I can repair it. “Think about all the clues Milo had—the G, the numbers, the deadline. It all adds up.”

“They mind-fucked Milo too! I mean, they're ghosts, right? They can do anything they want.” He slides his hands in his pockets and leans against the truck, legs crossed at the ankles. If I needed convincing that this was truly Jack and not Clyde faking it, Jack's no-urgency stance is a dead giveaway. “How about we go to the police and confess while they're still in us? Maybe they can do a blood test or something to prove it.”

I throw my arms up in the air. “A blood test? That's ridiculous!”

He stands up straight. “More ridiculous than stealing cars and driving fourteen hours on a whim?” Jack opens the truck door and puts a foot up on the ledge. “Look, I'm not going with you. Your calling me a pussy was a wake-up call to grow a set of balls. It's time I used them.” He hops into the truck and slams the door. “Get in, Monroe. Let's get this over with.”

The mosquito buzz in my ear has now become a 747 at takeoff. I leap onto the foot ledge, pleading with him face to face. “Please, Jack. I beg you. We'll turn ourselves in tomorrow!”

He starts the truck. “No,
now
! This is what I think will save our lives. Get in or get off.”

Tears well up in my eyes, as the first raindrops begin falling. “You're making a mistake.”

“No, you are. I'll serve time, but then I'll be free to live the rest of my life. Maybe you should do the same.” He leans down under the steering column and hotwires the ignition. “At least I learned one thing from Asshole. Last chance, Monroe.”

Get your butt in that truck right this minute! Don't let him go. We need Clyde!

I step down and pat the truck. “Good luck, Jack. I hope at least one of us is right.”

“Yeah, me too, Monroe. Sucks it has to end like this.” He gives me one last wistful smile before driving off toward the road. Three seconds later, he turns and accelerates away from me.

As sure as I was ten seconds ago, I realize I don't want to do this alone. I race to the street, hoping he was bluffing. Please come back, Jack.
Change your mind, change your mind
I chant until his taillights are two red dots in a tunnel of blackness. Knowing he's gone suddenly makes breathing an Olympic feat. I look up at the sky, knowing that unless I'm somehow magically transported to Gibsland in the next ten hours, Bonnie will forever share my body.

I sink to my knees, my tears blending with the raindrops.

Looks like you win after all, Bonnie.

I watch as the weak-kneed bastard gets into the truck and drives away—leaving Twinkle behind. If only I'd made up my mind a minute sooner, I wouldn't be in this mess! I try to holler directly into Jack Daniel's brain that he's a fool—to go back and get her no matter what the cost. But either he doesn't hear me or he doesn't care, because he pays me no mind. Just keeps on driving slow, both hands on the wheel like a muddled old woman, the automatic wipers going lickety-split across the front window even though it ain't barely raining.

All I can think about is Twinkle's face, her eyes filling with tears as she begged Jack to go with her. I should be mad at her since she's the one who kicked me to the ground, but I know she got scairt, thinking she was turning into Bonnie right there and then. Can't say I blame her. Being in someone else's skin is the most infuriating thing that's ever happened to me. It's like being in prison without knowing your release date.

This whole thing has me plum on edge because I can't calculate a clear way out.

He drives a few blocks before I know for sure that Jack ain't changing his mind. What kind of man leaves his moll behind? A lousy piker is what. I start concentrating hard, like a fox with one foot caught in a steel trap, thinking on how to get out of this coward's mind and into his body, but I ain't having no luck.

I need something bad to happen right quick, something that'll scare Jack Daniel right out of his body so I can take over again.
Lord, I'd sure appreciate some help here. I have to get to Gibsland and I want Twinkle by my side. I want to let her know that what I said before was the real deal, not a con job.
A speedy silver car cuts in front of us with no room to spare.

May lightning strike me dead if that ain't a sign that my plea went straight to God's ear.

Jack Daniel turns the wheel hard to the left, attempting to swerve out of the way, but since the ground is slick with rain, the back end fishtails. Instead of trying to even things out by making little adjustments, he turns the wheel back and forth fast, like he's doing a jig. Why, he's worse at driving a car than a three-legged mule! The next few moments are a blur of lights and colors as Crybaby runs off the side of the road, up the curb, and into a big ole light pole. The hood crunches up and Jack closes his eyes, so I can't see nothing.

I stare into blackness, wondering what's going on. Did Jack Daniel get hurt so bad he conked out? Is he dead, but I'm still alive somehow?
Please Lord, don't let me die again on the side of the road.
I pray another ten seconds before realizing I hear a hissing sound of steam escaping the engine. Like a dumb cluck, I finally open my eyes. I hadn't realized that I'd been catapulted back into Jack's body. I knew Jack was a chickenshit, but I didn't think a little run-in with a pole would make him fizzle out faster than a candle in a windstorm. Hallelujah! The Lord is surely looking down on me now.
Thank you, Jesus!

I move the deflated white balloon to the side so I can lift my middle finger in front of my face. “You see this, you cowardly bastard? Serves you right for cutting out on Twinkle.”

Warm liquid drips onto my lips and chin, so I swipe it away with my hand. Turns out it's blood coming out my nose, quicker than I can whisk it away. I flip open the glovebox, hoping to find some napkins, but instead, a fancy silver flask catches my eye. I smile like a fool when I shake the thing and hear booze sloshing around inside. Opening the lid, I take a big swig, loving the burn of the whiskey strolling down my throat. Someone raps on the window and I nearly choke. It's an old fella sporting an umbrella.

“Are you okay in there?” he asks, his face all wrinkled with worry.

I shove the flask in my back pocket before bolting out the truck, grinning like a madman. “Am I okay?” I repeat, smiling. “I'm alive, ain't I?” Another gush of blood runs out my nose and into my mouth. I wipe my nose on my t-shirt, then pinch it shut at the top where the blood flows out, like my mama taught me, not at the bottom like most folks tend to do.