Rachel drove as the first drops of a rainstorm splattered against her windshield. In the backseat, Jason's head lolled to the side. He'd fallen asleep about ten minutes after he'd navigated Little Miss Creepy back to his side—a stupidly stubborn undertaking considering he still looked like he fit better in a morgue than a marathon. She had decided that if he passed out on the side of the road, she was just going to leave him there.

But he'd pulled the girl into the backseat with him and stayed alert as long as he could manage. He'd even startled himself back awake a couple times. His sister didn't notice an ounce of the devotion.

In fact, she hadn't said a word. Not while Rachel had been sewing her brother back together. Not when they drove through the underwater tunnel, the ocean pressing in around them and the world blocked from view. Not when Rachel repeatedly tried to make small talk—what's your name, where are you from, how's a nice girl like you end up on a crazy trip like this. Instead, she stared unflinchingly forward like they were in a horror flick and she was some evil spirit's frozen puppet. Rachel swore when the girl opened her mouth, it would be to consume their souls.

She shivered even though she knew she was being ridiculous. There was no way that skinny kid could hurt her. But Rachel would still have felt more comfortable if Psycho Boy had been alone.

The car rolled along the highway, exits coming in and out of view. She passed them all up, ready to put as much distance between her and Hampton as physically possible. After too many hours of driving, dawn began to touch the sky, and weariness crept over her. Her blow-up with Rafe, her escape from his Lost Boys, and her impromptu surgery all dropped its weight on her at the same time.

So the next time she saw a sign for a city, she followed it. Within ten minutes, she found herself in the tiny town of Berlin, Maryland. A faded sign announced they were now in the "the coolest small town in America," and she scoffed.

A couple sleepy stoplights later, she parked in front of the most run-down looking motel she could find. The roof sagged and dirty water dribbled from the gutter. Drunkenly tilting numbers decorated doors that might have once been white. Over the crusty lobby window, rusted bars pretended to offer their protection.

Though Little Miss Creepy continued her staring contest with the window, Jason stirred. "What are we doing here?" he mumbled.

"Sleeping," Rachel answered shortly. "I need a break."

Jason eyed the motel. "Looks like a great spot to bed down." He dragged a hand over his bleary eyes. "I'm sure the roaches love it."

She switched the engine off. "Where do you think they're gonna let you in at? Some five star? We'll be lucky to get through the door here. You look like death." She turned around, pleased to note he didn't look quite as dead as he had earlier. "And you promised me something?" She held her hand out, forcing it to keep still despite her nerves thrilling with anticipation.

With his good arm, Jason dragged one of the bags into his lap and dug through it. As he counted out a fat chunk of cash, Rachel glued on her poker face. He'd said he had the money, but until seeing it here, up close, part of her hadn't believed it. She and Rafe hadn't hit a score this big in years, and now, striking out on her own, here was some rando offering her that and more.

She craned her neck, trying see exactly how much money he had in that bag, but he shifted it out of her view. "Five-thousand dollars, as advertised." As he pressed the bills into her hand, he held her gaze. "You'll get the other five in New York."

His dark, piercing eyes unnerved her, and she fought the urge to squirm in her seat. She broke his gaze to focus on the money in her hand, examining it like he didn't exist. Though she'd watched him count it, she still checked the denomination and hefted the stack. Wouldn't have been the first time someone had ripped her off, and she didn't want him thinking she took his word for anything. Satisfied he'd dealt honest, she tucked the money into her hoodie's pocket and climbed out of the car.

Jason remained in the backseat, staring down the building like he was deciding whether or not it was going to eat him. When his attention wasn't bearing down on her, he wasn't half as intimidating: just a tired teen with a stitched-up arm.

"Coming, Psycho Boy?"

His head snapped up, and he nodded, grabbing his bags with his good arm and gently guiding the girl with his other. Rachel went inside the barred-in lobby, sucking on her lip as she thought.

In the dim fluorescent lights, the clerk looked up from his phone at them and frowned. They had to look out of place; probably would've even if they hadn't been painted with dirt, blood, and the glaze of shell-shocked survivors. Because who were they supposed to be? A brother, his little sister—who, for the record, looked nothing like him—and his girlfriend? That explanation was plausible, but even if it flew, why would they be traveling together at the crack of dawn? Rachel couldn't think of a reason.

Jason made small talk with the guy in tones low enough that she couldn't quite hear what he'd said. It fit the quiet, incomplete feeling of the place, though, and seemed to set the clerk at ease. He gave Jason the keys and promptly forgot them, turning back to the video he'd been watching when they came in.

Jason tossed the keys to her before hauling his luggage and sister back outside. As Rachel unlocked the door to their room, a roach skittered across the decidedly blood-colored carpet.

Jason sent her a pointed look.

"Shut up." The corner of her lip quirked up, and she pushed inside to keep him from seeing. "At least you've got somewhere to sleep."

Jason's footsteps followed her in, and the lock clicked behind them. Rachel took in the room's cracked TV screen, wheezy AC, and two grey-sheeted beds while Jason guided his sister to the one on the right. He dropped the duffel bags at the foot, and Rachel settled on the other bed, tugging her shoes off.

With Little Miss Creepy safely deposited, Jason stood for a moment like he wasn't quite sure what to do. Rachel flopped onto the comforter to watch him. "You should get some more sleep. Real sleep, I mean."

Despite the dark circles beneath his eyes, he shook his head. Rummaging one-handed through his backpack, he emerged with clean clothes. "I'm going to go..." He jerked a thumb at the bathroom. "Clean up."

He swallowed the end of that sentence like it was lemons and vinegar. The sour look made Rachel cock her head. The bravado he'd managed in the car and with the clerk was dripping out of him like the rain from the gutters outside. He had that battle-rattled face of a rookie after his first shoot-out. He looked like the kids who'd knocked on death's door for the first time and realized it wasn't hard to get through, that there was no lock on it, and that the handle opened easily but didn't close quite so nicely.

Even so, he paused to watch her, as if making sure she really was going to go to sleep. Rolling her eyes, she kicked off her shoes and curled up obediently beneath the blanket. With a slow, wary turn, he slipped into the bathroom. The door shut firmly behind him.

As water began to run, Rachel's eyes fell on his bags. She glanced over at Little Miss Creepy. The girl was under the blankets, but awake, still staring directly forward like a possessed little statue. Rachel shuddered. Hopefully digging through her brother's stuff wouldn't trigger some kind of curse.

Rachel slipped out of bed and unzipped the money bag.

A low whistle escaped her, and she rocked back on her heels. That was... that was more money than she'd ever seen in one place. Forget the 10K. This much money, she could dump her stolen ride and buy herself something legal. Not something 'borrowed,' not a gift with strings attached, but something that was hers, property with her own name on it.

Her fingers itched to snatch the bag and drive away. It was right there, right in front of her. No more Psycho Boy, no more girl with the dead gaze, no more worrying about whoever might be after them. It'd be so easy. She could be on the highway before Jason ever came out of the bathroom.

She dragged a hand down her face, trying to force the thoughts away. She'd driven till her eyes crossed. There was no way she could keep going. Plus, she was doing things honest from now on. Honest didn't include double-crossing people who trusted her. Right?

Her eyes flicked toward the bathroom door. She bet this bag is what got him shot. No way you tote around a sum like this and count on getting left alone. As she zipped it up, she found herself wondering again exactly who this guy was. He was a terrifying contradiction: a mix of purpose and uncertainty, of knowing eyes and wet ears, of too much suspicious money and not enough suspicion to keep it.

She dug her phone out of her pocket. A gift from Rafe, she'd considered ditching it several times before. Or busting it, like he'd busted her lip. Or dropping it in a glass of whiskey, left to drown.

But while she loved a good thrill, she hated a waste. So no matter what argument they'd had, no matter how hot she got or how ready to kill him she was, she didn't waste him and she didn't waste the phone.

Now she turned it on, pleased to find even a cruddy motel like this had Wi-Fi. She did a quick search for "Jason Wil Hampton Virginia" and scrolled through the results. The first few were just Whitepage listings and Facebook profiles.

The fourth one wasn't.

BREAKING NEWS: PARENTS MURDERED, SISTER KIDNAPPED. Eyes widening, Rachel clicked the link and scanned the page.

Jason Kole Williams, a seventeen-year-old student at Hampton High School, is suspected for the violent murder of his parents, Matthew and Jessica White. The police arrived at the Williams' home, the scene of the murders, at 12:11 a.m. last night. There they found Mrs. Williams already dead and her husband just barely alive. Unfortunately, he died from his injuries before paramedics made it on site. The couple's daughter, Anatole Nicole Williams, is missing and presumed to have been kidnapped by her brother.

In a separate incident, police pursued a speeding SUV registered to the Williams when it failed to pull over. The car stopped on Whythe Creek Road, where a shoot-out commenced. The culprits escaped into the woods bordering the road and have yet to be found. However, officers on the scene report descriptions matching that of Jason and Anatole Williams.

We will release more details as they become available. Below, we have included photos of Williams and thirteen-year-old Anatole, as well as pictures from the crime scene. VIEWERS BE WARNED: IMAGES ARE GRAPHIC. If anyone has any information...

Rachel scrolled down the page, disregarding the warning. She'd seen enough death that a few bolded words weren't going to scare her off. First were family pictures of the Williams. Sure enough, it was her hitchhikers, Jason's arm slung over his sister's shoulders as they stood in front of a Christmas tree.

Her fingers scrolled to the next picture as she sucked on her split lip. The mother lay shot through the shoulder and sliced navel to neck, eyes open in shock, blood covering everything. The father's body looked more like a practice dummy than a corpse, a dozen bullet holes riddling him. A cell phone rest half in his hand, half on the floor. Behind them, someone had graffitied the wall with bloody obscenities.

Rachel's hands shook as she shoved her phone back in her pocket. Her eyes flicked to the bathroom door, to the 'shell-shocked rookie' hiding back there. What was he really doing? Gloating in the mirror? Freshening up for his next victim? She'd guessed right that he could be dangerous; she'd just been wrong thinking he hadn't found that out yet. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her palms slicked with sweat. But she stood, rubbed them dry, and took a deep breath.

Then she went to get the green bag.