Return to North Paxton Street

Paige jumped into the passenger seat of Jackson's F-150, neighbors poking their heads out of windows and doorways in alarm and confusion. He jammed the key into the ignition, turned it, and drove into the night as fast as he could. Paige's heart was still racing. She clutched the bundle of clothes to her chest, trying desperately to steady herself as the truck drifted left and right into sudden sharp turns. 

"Where are we going?"

The truck swerved into an acceleration lane. The engine roared as it sped onto the highway. Jackson's eyes stared emptily out the windshield. 

"I... hadn't thought about that yet..." he said in a low voice. 

But he urged the truck forward. Headlights flashed by. A question arose. 

"Did they..." he started. Licked his lips. Tried again. "You’re alright?"

"Y-yes."

"Good."

Paige squirmed in her seat. A long moment of silence reigned as two, four, six, eight exits rushed past them. 

"How far are we going?"

"As far as we can," he replied. 

"But...no…I- I have to go back."

He furrowed his eyebrows. 

"What? What for? It isn't safe for you back there anymore."

Another exit flew by. 

“I have a life you know…a job…my best friend…" she finally muttered.

“I know…” Jackson sighed, “I’m sorry.”

Paige's mind wandered to Walter's sudden death, her two attackers, her lack of memory, and the keys that were stolen. It made her nervous to think that one of them had gotten away with the keys. They must've been very important. Then there was this unexpected road trip to escape to somewhere safe. But, if her attackers had gotten what they wanted from her...

"Why is it not safe for me anymore?" she suddenly asked.

Jackson swallowed and feigned ignorance to her question.

"Jackson?"

No response. He continued speeding down the highway. Paige's chest tightened as she shot an incredulous look at him. After everything, after all, they'd been through, that'd she'd been through, he still insisted on keeping secrets from her. Big ones. Why? She hasn't been able to figure out. But she was here, with nothing but a bath towel wrapped around her naked form, the dampness of her hair chilling her to the bone, running away with someone she barely knew, in his truck, from some unknown threat. 

Oh, I don’t think so. 

"Stop the truck."

Jackson looked at her now with widened eyes. 

"What?" he asked, looking forward again, "No."

“Jackson!”

“Paige, you need to calm⸺”

"Stop the truck now!" she shouted, slamming a solid fist on the center console.

Jackson slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt onto the shoulder lane. He waited anxiously as Paige stared out the windshield, her anger apparent on her face. 

"Get. Out."

He raked his fingers through his black tuff of hair, opened the door, stepped down from the truck, closed the door, and walked over to her side. She huffed and got out, walked to the other side, and climbed into the driver's seat. She lowered the passenger window. 

"Hurry up and get in."

Jackson did as he was told. Paige's barefoot slammed onto the gas pedal and the truck roared back to life, going faster than before. 

"If we get a ticket, you're paying for it. You and your sensitive-" 

Paige shot him a warning glance. Soon, an exit appeared. She swerved into it, the truck's tires screeching. Jackson began to protest, but she held a hand up, silencing him. She turned on the radio. Another one of her favorite songs began playing as she drove out of the exit. 

Gasoline by Halsey. 

The oriental instruments rang through the car. The bass dropped. Halsey sang. Dozens of streets and hundreds of homes passed by. She finally turned onto a familiar dirt road. 

She raced again. 

The snow swirled up behind the truck and created sparkling clouds in the darkness. The dirt was replaced by cobblestone. As the song ended, she stopped the truck in front of the mansion. Its door was still open. Without a word, they both got out and Paige snatched her bundle of clothes from Jackson's offering hands. They both entered the silence, and Paige rushed to the third floor to Walter's old room. 

There, she slipped on her underwear and a pair of Walter's pajamas. She walked out onto the room's balcony and stared at the moon. The wind gently lifted her hair's strands by their ends. Her frustration settled in her stomach. She could feel its fingers slip through the gaps in her oversized button shirt and baggy pants that were Walter's pajamas, feel them caressing her skin. 

She sighed and walked downstairs to the second floor, to Jackson's room. He swiveled around, startled by her sudden entrance. 

"What are you not telling me?" she asked. 

His face flushed in the darkness. 

"A lot," he admitted. 

"You told me to trust you. I can't do that if you're keeping secrets from me."

"I have to."

"Why?" she asked, crossing her arms and walking over to him.

"The less you know, the better," he whispered.

            Incredible. Just incredible.

            “So that’s how it is huh?”

He looked at the floor, his lips sealed. 

He truly wanted to tell her. Just as before when they had talked at the cemetery. He still knew better. He risked a glance at her. She was staring in another direction, thinking. And thinking. And thinking.

“In the morning, we’re searching this entire house. There has to be something that’ll give us more answers…”

He simply nodded, and she walked upstairs back to Walter’s room.