Look Again

Chapter Ninety-two

Ellen shot up like a rocket, sending her desk chair rolling back across the floor, and ran to the door, then tore down the stairs.

Clop, clop, clop, clop, like a racehorse she sounded. She reached the living room, grabbed her purse and keys from the windowseat, snatched her coat from the closet floor, then flung open the door and hit the icy air.

She slammed the door shut behind her and went flying down the steps, spraying snow everywhere, her heart in her throat, heedless of the reporters, who surged forward as they had five minutes ago, raising cameras that had been at rest and flicking on generators to power up klieg lights and microphones.

"Hey, where you going now?" a reporter called out, filming her, and the others joined in. "Ellen, what's going on?" "You going back to Sarah's?"

Ellen tore through the snow on her front yard, staying on her property where the press couldn't follow, struggling in the deep snow to get to her car, as the reporters shouted questions from the sidewalk.

"Can't you give us a statement?" "Ellen, come on, give us a break!" "What's all the activity? You going to see Will?"

Ellen chirped the car door open, jumped in, and switched on the ignition. She threw the car in reverse while she hit the button to lower the driver's window. "Move, move, everybody!" she hollered, gesturing frantically out the window, her heart pounding. "Get out of the way! Get out of my way!"

"Where are you going?" "Have you heard from your son? Are they letting you see him?"

"Move, move, MOVE!" Ellen reversed out of the driveway, hitting the gas until they jumped out of the way. Some shouted questions while others sprinted to their cars and news vans, ready to follow her again.

"Ellen, they're staying at the Four Seasons, did you know? Is that where you're going?"

"MOVE!" Ellen put the car in drive and hit the gas, spraying road salt and snow, speeding to the corner, and turning left so fast that she almost fishtailed on Wynnewood Road. She kept control of the car and accelerated up the plowed street in almost no traffic, and by the time she hit City Line, she was being followed by news vans with microwave towers and an array of pursuit vehicles. The traffic light ahead turned red, but she hit the gas and powered through the intersection. She passed a snowplow, a bus, and even an ambulance at speed.

Nothing was going to stop her.

Not now, not ever.