Yeah, I know. I know, and it’s eating at me.
“What were the numbers of the license plate you saw?”
“666,” I say, throwing an arm over my face and closing my eyes. Damn, I’m beat.
“The number of the Beast?” Dylan laughs. “This is a joke, right?”
“Huh?” I lift my arm and catch an exchange of looks between the others. “What? That’s what I saw.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Fuck.” Tyler pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s got the mother of
all headaches. “Could it be that Zane saw the plate at the parking lot, and his mind associated it with his past?”
“You mean…?” I sit up straighter. “That the car isn’t connected to his past, not really?”
Tyler nods, and Tessa groans.
Shit, can’t do this anymore, not like this. The doubt is killing me. We need answers, and Zane can’t give them to us. Need to wait it out one more day, one more night.
Can’t fucking wait for tomorrow.
***
“Here’s everything we have on you,” the clean-shaven man behind the counter says, shoving a thin folder toward Zane. Then he pushes a receipt paper, too. “Please sign here, and it’s all yours.”
Zane doesn’t make a move to take the folder or sign the receipt. His hands are splayed on top of the counter, and his breathing is shallow. Despite the warm day, he’s wearing his jacket and it’s zipped up.
“Thanks,” I tell the man and grab the folder. I open it, stare at the few sheaths of paper. “Uh, is this all?”
“Yes, that’s all we have.”
I flip through the pages. A few names, some numbers. “Not much, then.”
“I’m not the one who kept the records,” he protests, and I straighten to my full height, staring down at him.
“Seriously?”
He takes a step back from the counter, gulping visibly. Sometimes being a six-foot-tall inked wall of muscle has its uses. “I’m sorry, that’s really all there is.”
Fuck. Shaking my head, I turn away, the folder clutched in my hand. The info we need had better be in that folder, or I dunno what I’ll do. Probably trash this place.
“Get that paper signed, Z-man, so we can haul ass outta here.”
Zane licks his lips and reaches for the pen, as if in a trance. His face is too pale for my liking, but he gets the job done, and I drag him by the arm to a small sitting area by the entrance of the building.
“You’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?”
“Shut up, fucker.” He rubs his hands over his face.
“Don’t wanna see what’s in your folder?”
“Fuck, no.” He snorts. “And yeah. It’s all I want, and it’s all that gives me nightmares at night, you know?”
Not only at night, I bet. “Yeah.”