“People forget blind doesn't mean technologically deceased.”
“Fair.”
“I don't have my phone anyway.”
Daniel frowned.
“Where is it?”
“The woman who brought me here has it.”
There it was.
“Who brought you here?”
Nora’s expression vanished.
Daniel waited.
The rain drummed against the umbrella.
Finally she whispered, “Someone I trusted.”
“What did she tell you?”
Nora swallowed.
“That she was taking me somewhere safe.”
Daniel felt anger begin, quiet and familiar.
He kept it out of his voice.
“And then?”
“She parked.”
“She put my suitcase beside me.”
“She said there was something she couldn't explain.”
Nora’s fingers tightened around her cane again.
“Then she said one word.”
“What word?”
Nora turned her unfocused eyes directly toward his voice.
“Hayes.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
Rain filled the silence.
“That’s my last name.”
“I know now.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel stood slowly.
Everything about the night changed.
Nora continued.
“She said ‘Hayes.’ Then she got back into the car.”
“You heard her drive away?”
“Yes.”
“She didn't tell you a bus was coming?”
“No.”
“Didn't give you an address?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Daniel looked down Route 9 again.
The anger inside him sharpened.
Somebody had left a blind twenty-four-year-old woman barefoot in a storm beside a road with almost no nighttime traffic.
And somehow his surname was involved.
He made a decision.
“My daughter is waiting at home.”
Nora stiffened.
Daniel immediately added, “I’m not asking you to live there. I'm saying it's warm. You can use a phone. Eat something. Then we figure out what happened.”
Nora remained still.
“I don't know you.”
“I know.”
“I could be dangerous.”
Daniel glanced at the cane.
“You could.”
That earned the tiniest smile again.
He continued.
“Or I take you to a twenty-four-hour diner in town and we call whoever you want.”
“I told you I don't have anyone.”
“Then we start with hot coffee.”
Nora’s chin trembled once.
Daniel pretended not to see.
After several seconds, she nodded.
“All right.”
He stood.
“I’m going to pick up your suitcase.”
“Okay.”
“Then I'm opening the passenger door.”
“Okay.”
Daniel lifted the suitcase.
It weighed almost nothing.
An entire life should have weighed more.
He set it beside the truck.
The latch clicked.
Then failed.
The case opened.
A white envelope slid onto the wet pavement.
Daniel cursed and bent quickly.
Water had already darkened one corner.
He picked it up.
Then froze.
His name was written across the front.
Not printed.
Written.
DANIEL HAYES
Beneath it:
IF NORA EVER FINDS YOU, TELL CHLOE THE TRUTH.
Daniel forgot the rain.
Forgot Nora.
Forgot the running truck.
He knew the handwriting.