Chapter 18: The Press Conference

The Scranton Armory smelled like floor wax and old popcorn, exactly as it had when I was ten.

They had already built the ring in the middle of the hall.

A banner hung over the far wall with my own face on it and a hotline number underneath.

FIND RAE.

Folding chairs filled the floor, and two rows of cameras stood at the front behind a table with a microphone.

I stood just inside the side doors with my jacket zipped to my chin.

"Last chance to be Callie Banks," Cal said beside me.

"She was a good front desk girl."

"She was a terrible bookkeeper." He kept his eyes on the room. "She found a fire extinguisher fine in a shoebox."

"Stop."

"I'm making you laugh so your hands stop shaking."

I looked down.

They had stopped.

Bea stood on my other side with her phone held up at chest height and the camera light off.

"I'm filming from the second this starts," she said. "Every second, from the door."

"Bea, you don't have to."

"I'm very quiet, Rae. I'll be so quiet."

Cal turned me by the shoulders and looked at my face.

"I'll be at this door the whole time," he said. "You don't look for me. You walk."

"I know."

"Go."

I took the hood off my jacket, and my short brown hair stood up from my head, still ragged from the bus station.

I walked into the hall.

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