Afterimage by Naomi Hughes

Author:Naomi Hughes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Page Street Publishing Co.
Published: 2018-08-24T16:00:00+00:00

The Pie Hole is a 24-hour truck stop tucked away beneath an overpass, permanently guarded by a cadre of homeless people and stray dogs. The vinyl seats are cracked, the jukebox only plays ‘80s pop, and the ceiling rattles every time a truck hits the on-ramp—but the familiar smell of tart cherries and flaky crust and creamy meringue wrap tight around me like a childhood quilt, and for this conversation, I’m going to need that.

“You have twenty minutes before I decide whether to turn you in,” I tell Matthew flatly as soon as the waitress seats us.

Quint is sitting next to him, head bowed over the table, hands buried in his hair, silent, still. He didn’t look at either of us during the half-mile jog from the agency office, and he hasn’t moved since we sat down. I can’t blame him. I can barely look at him, either. If Matthew is the blackmailer, then who is this shadow I’ve been tied to for three weeks?

“We’ll be done in ten,” Matthew says. His gaze slides to the red-eyed truckers in the booth opposite ours, and he lowers his voice. “After that, I’d be screwed anyway. They can track me if I stay out too long.”

“Who can track you?” I keep my voice level and my posture rigid. Ask questions, get answers. That’s all I’m here for.

He scowls, like it should be obvious. “The agency.”

“Why is the agency tracking you?”

He takes off his glasses and sighs, cleaning them on the edge of his hoodie. The motion is unnervingly familiar. “It’s a long story, and I’m betting you’d rather spend our ten minutes on your own issues.”

I put my fisted hands on the table and lean forward. “Like why you tried to kill me? It was you who set the bomb, wasn’t it?” I struggle to keep my voice down. Ask questions, get answers. Focus.

He slides his glasses back on. “That was before I had all the facts about the situation,” he says, “and if you’d been in my position at the time, you’d have done the same thing.” A vision flashes through my mind: a trainmaster with empty eyes, there one moment and gone the next. Unnerved, I shake it away. “Never,” I snarl. “I would never.”

His lips thin out. “Not killing is easy when you never have to make a choice.”

The waitress approaches with our orders and we’re forced into silence. It seethes with the things he’s said and I want to leave, want to hurt him, want to go someplace where I can breathe, but—not yet. Not until I get what I came for.

The pie plates clatter to the table. My order is a slice of cherry rhubarb, and I take a bite to keep myself quiet until the waitress moves out of earshot. Matthew follows suit and then makes a face. “This is awful,” he says. The waitress doesn’t even bother to give him a dirty look.

I take another bite. “Yeah, the apple is the only good kind here,” I reply, in what I hope is a normal voice.

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