But she’s going a hundred miles an hour on one of the most dangerous roads in America. And there’s a curve coming up, a ruthless twist with nothing but empty air and a long drop to the ocean below.
She brakes hard. The car jumps and swerves. She wrestles with the wheel to fight the fishtail.
Her car sideswipes the barrier rail. Metal screams and sparks fly.
The world spins as she loses control. Out the windshield: sky, tree, canyon wall, sky.
Laney fights back and manages to stop the spin. But the Beetle is now heading directly into the barrier.
LANEY
No!
She screams as she slams into the metal.
Her body is thrown against the seat belt. The air bag explodes.
The world is chaos and breaking glass and smoke. And then, suddenly, it’s over.
Laney groans. She reaches up with fumbling hands, touches her face. Her lip is split, and there’s a smear of blood on the air bag. But she’s alive.
Out the cracked windshield, she can see only sky and water. The Volkswagen’s engine coughs and shudders.
LANEY
Oh god.
She throws the vehicle into park, struggles with her seat belt, panic setting in. She gets it on her third try.
On the passenger seat, her bag has fallen open. Makeup, wallet, sunglasses, pepper spray spill across the seat.
As do five neat bundles of twenty-dollar bills.
Laney hesitates for a fraction of a second, then stuffs the money back in the bag, retrieves her cell phone and wallet, and leaps out.
Wobbly on her feet, she looks around. The VW has broken through the barrier. The front tires are inches from the cliff’s edge.
But she’s alive.
Laney looks behind her. The accident is out of sight around the curve and has temporarily blocked traffic from that direction. There are cars coming the other way, but they are far off. No one can help her.
And Bennett will be here in seconds.
An idea occurs, and she is in sudden motion. She climbs halfway into the Beetle, presses the brake, and shifts the engine to drive.
Then she guns the gas as she leaps out of the car, landing in a clumsy heap.
The V W lunges for ward. Momentu m carries it over the cliff.
It slams down the rock face like a dumbbell down stairs, every impact stunningly loud, and then there is a splash, and the sound of waves.
She edges to the cliff, looks over. Her little car is upside down in the surf, and sinking. One tire spins lazily.
From behind, the roar of an engine.
Laney rushes across the PCH and into the low scrub brush on the other side. She flattens herself in the ditch, wriggling beneath the thin cover of dry brush.
The engine is near.
The Xterra brakes, coming to a stop near the mangled barrier. The door opens, and Bennett hops out.
Laney holds her breath. If he looks on this side, he’ll find her.
Bennett hurries to the cliff edge. He leans over. BENNETT
Oh, fuck me.
He rubs his forehead.
Then he turns and hurries back to his truck. The Xterra races away.
Laney waits only seconds before she climbs out and begins limping the other direction, bag slung over her shoulder.
LANEY
Jesus. Jesus.
(beat)
You should be dead.
A steep path winds up the side of the cliff a hundred yards away, and she aims for it. LANEY
You are dead. Laney Thayer is dead. You’re no longer Laney Thayer.
(beat)
You’re . . . Belinda. Belinda Nichols. As she begins to climb the hill, sirens sound in the distance.
5
“At first,” Laney said, “I was only thinking of getting away from Bennett. But then I realized that if he thought I was dead, he might back off. Of course, for that to work, everyone had to think so. Even you.”
“Why—”
“You know how smart Bennett is. He would have been watching the house. Maybe even tapped the phones. He liked to do that, plant microphones and cameras. And if he realized I was alive, he’d come after you.”
“So your plan was, what, lay low forever? That doesn’t make any sense.”
She shrugged. “You’re the writer. You plan things. I was improvising.”
“Improvising.”
“It’s what actresses do, love.”
“So you were just going to let me think—”
“Only until I could find a safe way to get in touch with you. A day or two at the most. I knew it would be terrible for you, I just didn’t see any choice. But then you were gone. And I figured, well, if Bennett thinks I’m dead, maybe that’s useful. Maybe it will give me a chance to get close to him. So I dressed as a cleaning lady, became a woman named Lila Bannister, and went to the house for one of your guns. Then I started looking for him. And for you.”
Daniel stared at the ceiling. His mind screening footage of the car chase, of her limping away. “I see how you’re alive, but why was Bennett chasing you in the first place? Who is he? How do you know him?”
Laney laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, right.”
“I mean it.”
“I don’t want to go through it all again, okay? I don’t want to fight. It was a long time ago.”
Daniel stiffened, stomach going sick. What was a long time ago? Every time he got one answer, two new questions popped up.
Then he realized. He had known all of this. He must have. It’s just that it was gone, along with the rest of his memories.
“Besides, it’s not like you don’t have things in your past,” Laney continued, voice rising. “What was the name of that skank you used to sleep with? The one who got pregnant and told you and four other guys that they were the father, asked for money. What was her name, huh?”
“I don’t know,” Daniel said. He rubbed at his eyes.
“Yeah, I bet. So don’t you—”
“Laney.”
“I never thought he’d come back into our lives. I thought that was behind—”
“I need to tell you something.” He took her hands. How are you going to explain this? It’s one thing to tell Sophie you don’t remember her. But this is your wife. “You know that woman you asked about?”
Laney’s shoulders tightened. “What about—”
“I don’t remember her name. I don’t actually remember her at all. In fact,” he tried to laugh, but the sound was wrong, “I don’t remember most of my life.”
“What? What are you—are you being philosophical again? Because now isn’t the time to go all Sartre on me.”
“No. Literally. I don’t remember. I have some kind of amnesia.”
She stared at him. He met her gaze. After a long moment, she said, “What are you talking about?”
“I’m still figuring it out myself. Things are coming back, a lot of them. But most of my past, it’s . . . I can’t remember it.” Haltingly, he took her through the last week of his life. Waking in panic and pain, half-dead on the wrong side of the country. The pursuit, the endless drive, the loneliness, the dreams. The revelations about their life—okay, yeah, he downplayed the complete shock to discover they were married—and the discovery that she was dead. His grief and anger and attempts at revenge.