I buy a ticket to New Orleans, the farthest city available. I check my watch. Thirteen minutes until the train arrives. Thirty-six minutes until the window for Trent’s death begins. He’s supposed to be killed sometime between 3:00 and 4:30 p.m. But I’ve done everything I could to make sure we’ll all be safe. We’re not going to die, I tell myself over and over.But I can’t help feeling like I missed something, like I forgot something, some piece of the puzzle, some part of the equation. But that’s impossible. I never forget anything. Everything is stored away in my head. I just can’t see how it all fits together.
Maybe I can text Trent, tell him to be careful or to get out of town, just in case. But as I grab my phone I realize I don’t have his number. I don’t even know if he has a phone.
