The Perfect Impression by Blake Pierce

EPILOGUE

Hannah knew she didn’t have much time.

At some point Jessie was going to feel the need to pick up their argument where they’d left off. It wasn’t in her sister’s nature to let sleeping dogs lie. Some time tonight, likely very soon, she’d knock on the door. And when Hannah didn’t answer, she’d knock again.

Eventually, Jessie would unlock it and come in, probably with Ryan, whom Hannah had heard her talking to in the other room. That’s when they’d see that she’d slithered through the triple-locked, bulletproof bedroom window.

So she didn’t have long. She’d only left the house five minutes ago, not nearly enough time to get away from a criminal profiler with the resources of the LAPD at her disposal. As a precaution, she’d decided to have the rideshare driver meet her a few blocks over, near the closest gas station. With Jessie’s uncanny powers of perception, Hannah halfway believed her sister could just sense an unfamiliar car that pulled up anywhere in the vicinity of her house.

Hannah wasn’t one hundred percent sure what her plan was. She didn’t want to run away. Jessie was her family—her only true family. And whatever walls were between them now, she had to believe they weren’t insurmountable.

But she needed a break, a respite from the constant hounding and pressure. She needed some time to clear her head and understand what was happening with her; maybe a day, maybe just a few hours. But she knew that if she sat in that bedroom one second longer, she would explode. And when she exploded, the mess was hard to clean up.

She was about halfway to the gas station when she saw it. A car was idling on the side of the residential street four houses up on the right. Someone was lying on the road next to the open driver’s seat door. It looked like the person was writhing in pain.

She broke into a brisk jog until she got close. In the glow of the car’s interior light, she could see that it was an old man, probably at least seventy. He was clutching at his chest. There was drool dripping down his chin and his eyelids were scrunched tight.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, leaning closer.

His eyes popped open and she saw what looked like true terror in them.

“Think I’m…having a heart attack,” he grunted. “Can’t breathe, pain.”

“I’ll call nine-one-one,” she said immediately, standing up and pulling out her phone.

“Not…enough time,” he moaned. “Hospital…is close. Drive…me…please.”

Hannah looked at the man’s face, sweaty with the effort of speaking. His lips were starting to turn blue. He was right. By the time an ambulance arrived, he might be dead. The closest hospital, as Jessie had drummed into her head repeatedly, was less than three minutes from here.

Staring at the man, helpless on the ground, she was bombarded by a rush of thoughts. She could save his life. If she did, Jessie would be proud of her. She’d forgive her. They could leave the past behind.

And then came the buzz at the thought of tearing down the road, pulling into the emergency room driveway, screaming for help. Just the image of it made her whole body tingle with anticipation.

There wasn’t really any decision to make. She shoved her phone in her pocket, opened the rear door, and heaved the pathetic old man into the back. Then she got into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and without even putting on her seatbelt, hit the gas, speeding off into the night.