The hand entwining hers could only be thought about in short, intense bursts like waves from a pulsar star radiating across the cosmos. Warmth. Together. Tender. Close. Thoughts that beat like blood in her ears.

Amy followed him, allowing herself to be dragged not because she was unwilling but because her feet had become clumsy and unresponsive. Moore moved with certainty as though there had been a well-marked path to guide them through the sprawl of the cemetery. They ventured further from the others and the cries and chatter of their little group became indistinct mumbles on the wind. The snow came down harder than the lazy flakes of before.  It was carried on gusts in sheets like lace sails. It frosted the edges of the gravestones and the tree branches giving everything a beautiful otherworldly feel, but Amy's cheeks stung from the icy needles.

They stopped before a simple grave. Moore pointed to it with his body not his hands. The flakes were beginning to fill in the recessed letters spelling out "Maurice Harris." The dates showed a lifespan of a sixteen year-old, who had been dead since 1994.

Amy felt a strange, frightening thrill and for a moment thought she really had fallen into one of her books. Was this the grave of the boy standing beside her? Was Moore about to reveal that he was a vampire?

In a synaptic flash she saw their future together. He would tell her what he was. She would tell him what she was. He would be shocked at first but soon see it was fate that brought them together. Moore would explain how he survived these past twenty years and show her how to be a creature of legend and live in the real world too.

But he said instead, "This is my uncle. He died when my dad was only twelve. Pop doesn't mention him much, but when he does, you'd think they spent a whole lifetime together."

The hush in his voice and the cold that pressed around her brought a brilliant clarity to the moment—every atom seemed distinct. Amy clutched at his hand returning the pressure he put on hers, while leaning close against him.

"He died in a car accident long before I was even born. It always seemed strange to me that I was so linked to someone who I had never shared the world with. Although I really hadn't thought about it much, until a couple of years ago. Things weren't going very well for me and I started coming here on my own to talk to him, like he might understand my problems—like a big brother or something. Now I'm older than he was. Strange."  He shook his head.  "I still visit him from time to time."

He shifted so they faced one another but still had their bodies crushed together. Moore looked down at Amy. "How strange is that? Talking to someone I never knew. Asking advice of a dead boy. So, no I don't think you're strange at all," he said answering a question Amy couldn't remember asking.

They kissed again, this time longer and less shy. While they were locked in each other's embrace the wind picked up to a howl. Frozen grit blew down the back of Amy's neck and she squirmed involuntarily, breaking the moment she desperately wanted to last.

"It's getting fierce out here. This way." He dashed toward a small chapel, where an archway formed a shallow porch that offered shelter from the storm.

"It won't last long," Moore said sounding as though he's seen snowy gales like this all the time. "We'll wait it out and go back to the others in a few minutes."

"I don't want to go back." Amy said this shyly but her actions were bolder as she forced their lips together again.

For an undefined period of time that at once seemed to go on forever and was way too short. The world shrunk down to a dizzying reality consisting of nothing but lips and hands and skin and hair. Then Moore's mouth parted and his wet tongue was pressing against her lips.

Amy yielded. She felt it probe inside her mouth and she joined in, hungrily.

The bitter remnants of alcohol and smoke were the first flavors to invade her mouth, but soon they vanished leaving the intense taste of him—his saliva, his flesh.

It was amazing and achingly familiar.

He was delicious. Amy wanted to fill her body with him. 

I could tear every last scrap from his bones.

Amy pushed Moore away, her face frozen in a mute cry of anguish.

***

An hour before dawn, R.J. snuck out the bathroom window. The motel was already paid, so there was nothing he needed to feel guilty about, but the secretive act still made him feel like a thief. He crept out the back and traced his way to the pickup, which he had parked at a McDonald's two blocks away. He then drove all the way to Balmorhea before doubling back and returning to the State Park.

During the course of the previous day he had become certain he was being followed. So while lying in bed unable to sleep, R.J. had come up with this plan to shake off any tails he might have. But the entire time he was going through his scheme, there was no sign of anyone suspicious.

"You're getting paranoid," he told himself. He might have gone on chastising himself but the smart phone's GPS barked out robotic orders for him to turn right at the next turn.

The closer he got to the trailhead the more chilled he became. R.J. squeezed his fingers open and close against the steering-wheel to try and work out the Freon that his nerves were pumping through his veins.

What if she still didn't come back?

Last night, after dinner, he had finally decided on a course of action. He would check the park one last time in case Amy made it back. If she didn't, he would move on to Galveston alone. He couldn't wait around forever. Eventually the Agency would catch up with him. The money would run out. His ability to escape would evaporate.

The smart thing would be to get moving and get to Bill. Take the ride into Mexico alone.

But the logic of his plan only went so far. He'd think of Amy out there by herself and doubt would creep in. His only real hope was that she'd be there this morning waiting. Otherwise, he wasn't sure he could go through with it.

The last twenty-four hours had brought back thoughts of the weeks and months following Mila's departure from his life. The hours of idle time, spent in restless and pointless activities, often chain smoking just to have something to occupy himself with, while he brooded about the breakup.

The fact that it still haunted him proved that leaving Mila had been one of the greatest mistakes of his life. And now, here he was, thinking of leaving Amy behind.

Not that it was close to being a similar relationship. But he was feeling the same agitation, the same loss of purpose. He almost picked up a pack of cigarettes. He even went into a store to buy some and only stopped himself at the last minute.

It was also different from Mila in another way: there was a very good chance that Amy had left him behind.

The Amber Alert was still active. Had the Agency or any part of the government captured her, it would have been canceled. There would be no value in keeping up the ruse. So that meant yesterday, either she had not been able to come back, or she hadn't wanted to.

Maybe she had taken the opportunity of being unencumbered for a night to slip away. Disappear into the wide world and try to find her own life. It was incredibly dangerous but perhaps she didn't appreciate the risks.

When you are that young, he thought, you feel like you're immortal.

He stopped the pickup in the same spot as the day before and stepped out to an empty landscape. He had no hope of seeing her and nothing proved him wrong. Still, he had to play it out or he would always wonder. R.J. checked his watch and decided to give it an hour. If she wasn't there by then she wasn't coming.

He retraced his steps up to the trailhead, feeling a cold that the breaking sun did not have the strength to dissipate. He wished for a jacket and hugged his arms around himself. His shoes scuffed through the dust and his eyes alternated from the rough path to the rocky terrain ahead. Rounding a pile of rocks, a dead mesquite tree came into view.

R.J. had to blink to believe what he was seeing. Amy was coming down the hill toward him. She was walking hurriedly as she finished adjusting the clothes she had seemed to have just thrown on.

He had to check himself to make sure his face wasn't plastered with a silly grin, as the relief that washed over him was replaced by a wave of excitement. He waited for her and hooked his thumbs in his pockets to keep his hands still.

When she was close enough so he wouldn't have to yell, R.J. asked, "Where have you been? What happened to your hair?"

Amy marched past him. "I don't want to talk about it."

Her words had a seething hostility to them but her eyes darted down nervously, as though she was more scared than angry.

They walked silently back to the truck, Amy leading, R.J. following, studying the sullen way she carried her body and the leaden way she moved her legs.

What hell had she been through?

He let her be until they were inside the car. "I was so worried about you. Do you need any food? Something to drink? First aid?"

"I'm fine."

"Amy, what happened to you?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it. Let's just get out of here."

There was no point in pushing. Amy would tell him when she was ready. And it hardly matter. She was back safe and sound. Now he had to get her away to freedom.

R.J. plugged Bill's address into the phone's GPS and headed off. He'd have to use the interstate to get to Galveston on time but they'd make it. It was possible. In the fresh light of a new day everything seemed possible.

***

Author's Note: Well we're finally at the end of Amy's day of freedom and the end of this seemingly endless chapter. This is the turning point of the book. We have crested the hill and will now coast down to the ending.

Last week I included an author's note to explain a plot point that many of my readers missed. I hadn't intended it to be a pity party but thank all of you for coming out to it just the same. The support was very appreciated. Writing can be discouraging at the best of times and these past several weeks have been a challenge. Between adjusting to a new a job, taking a course, and life in general, writing has been restricted to a few stolen hours each week.

But onward. To Galveston and freedom...

Unlesssomething goes wrong for R.J. and Amy.

Note on Music: A last minute selection this week. I was pointed to this one by the great writer Duke Miller who used to be on Wattpad. Enjoy.