Fuck.
I just killed two people.
I look down at my hands and they are shaking. Am I shaking because of what I’ve done or is it because it’s cold outside? It’s the early hours of the morning and I’ve put bullets in Damon’s and Nox’s heads.
I try to look around but all I see is black. No cars approaching. Just the abandoned vehicle containing two bodies pulled off in the break-down lane.
I try and focus, but there’s this knot in my stomach that feels like its travelling up toward my throat.
I feel the birthday cupcake Dad got me starting to make its way north, back into my mouth. I’m not sure I can hold onto it.
My breath is ragged and it feels like my heart is going to explode.
If I die here on the road, there will be no one to claim me.
Everyone important to me is dead.
Dad–Henry.
Is it raining? What can I feel? I look up and the sky is black and cloudless. It’s not raining. I touch my face where the wetness is; I’m surprised to find I’m crying. My brain is in neutral, not processing anything. I stand on the same spot for I don’t know how long, but it seems I’m starting to see through the foggy haze surrounding my consciousness.
I close my eyes and try and calm myself.
The bile that threatened to make an appearance is receding.
I take a deep breath in through my nose and blow it out through my mouth.
My mind is clearing.
The hair on my arms is starting to stand to attention and I feeling imminent danger close by.
My feet are trying to save me. They’ve started running, not toward my old home that now lies in burning embers, but away from it.
I need to run away and start a new life, but with whom? I have no one I can go to. Maybe a school friend?
No one.
Maybe a teacher?
No, not even them.
I’m not going to become a ward of the state. I need to fight for myself now.
Where will I go? What can I do? I have the limited money I took from Damon and Nox, but I have no clothes, no food, no home and no one who loves me.
Fuck me.
What the hell am I going to do?
I’ve managed to hitch hike all the way to Clearwater, Florida and figured the sun would do me good. But since I got here, the weather has been cold and wet.
I find a motel who asks no questions about why a minor is renting a room unaccompanied by an adult. The desk clerk, a young man maybe 18, asks me how long I wanted to stay. I want to reply that since these are the sort of rooms paid for by the hour, I was only staying until I could find something better. Instead I opted for two nights, hoping I could find more suitable accommodations.
“Room 18, down the hall.” He barely lifts his eyes to look at me as he pushes the key toward me on the counter.
I don’t bother acknowledging him; I find the dingy room. It’s dark and the bed is uncomfortable, but at least I have running water and I’m safe for the time being.
Once I have a shower, I fall into bed and the land of nightmares takes me easily.
The sun breaks through particularly early, but my own demons chasing me, even while I slept, wake me before sunrise. Pulling out the money I took from Damon and Nox, I separate $50 and hide the other $2320 in the trash can, under the plastic liner. I need food, so I quickly dress, lock my room, and go searching for a supermarket to buy something to eat.
From the aisles of a local corner store, I buy the essentials and start back toward the third-rate motel. I need a plan for how I’m going to get myself through all this shit.
Reaching Room 18, I see the door slightly ajar. I check my pockets for my key. I double-check the room number on the key against the number on the door, hoping I have the wrong door. Wishful thinking. I slowly push the door open and what I see sends me into a panic.
The mattress is turned over, the waste basket upside down. My money, gone! Slumping to my knees, all I can do is cry and wish my heart would stop so I can finally find peace. Sitting on the floor with tears streaking my face, my body and brain shutting down, I fall asleep, exhausted by life.
I wake up on the lime green carpet. Sadness overtakes me, but I know my life isn’t going to end now. Life has other plans for me and I just have to keep pushing until I find my way through. Tonight is my last night in this fucking shithole; I may as well shower and sleep on a bed, because as of 10 a.m. tomorrow, I have no idea what the fuck is going to happen to me.
Morning comes all too quickly, and I’m officially homeless. Handing in the key at the registration desk to the boy who doesn’t raise his head is distressing, but asking him if he saw anyone go into my room is beyond useless. There’s no security or even cameras. I doubt police would even show up here if I called.
Walking the streets to find a temporary home, I locate a park with a small gazebo. There’s a bench I can sleep on. I just wish I had a blanket.
I’ve been so hungry today I did something I truly am not proud of. I stole food. I walked past a small grocery store over on Main Street and stole a tomato and a pear. It was the only thing I could take without making a scene. Dad would be so disappointed with me if he could see me now. Truth be told, I’m disappointed in me. But I’ll repay my debt to them, somehow, someday, when I find a way.
Yesterday was the last proper shower I had and all I can do now is go to public restrooms and wash the best I can. I really am struggling on my own and wish there was a way to bring Dad back. I miss him and love him so much. “I love you Daddy,” I say, looking up to the sky. I want to believe Dad is looking down at me and trying to guide me.
My days and nights blur together, and I stay away from others. The weather gets better and I still have the gazebo to myself where no one bothers me.
Until one early evening, eight days since my arrival to Florida.
The sun was just setting and it wasn’t quite dark yet, more like dusk. I was sitting in the little gazebo I called home and I watched as the colors reflecting in the horizon transformed from one shade to the next.
At this time of the afternoon it was generally quiet here. There was no one around to bother me, maybe the odd homeless person looking for shelter, but my glares usually made them quickly leave.
I’m sitting on the bench that serves as my bed and watch as a man is walking a hundred or so feet away. He looks about 30, but it’s hard to tell for sure in the evening dimness.
He’s minding his business, nothing out of the ordinary about him. He sits at a bench and crosses his legs. He looks to the left and then to the right. I notice his nervous twitch. Then his right ankle comes up to rest on his left leg and his right leg is bouncing.
This is the point at which I take a particular interest in this man and I look around my surroundings to see if there’s anyone else watching his behavior. I can’t see anyone, so I sneak up closer to him, closing the distance until I’m only 40 feet away, but concealed from the sight of him or anyone else who may be lingering.
The sun has disappeared now and the darkness of the night will take over for the next few hours.
From my hiding space, movement catches my eye to the right. Almost behind but more toward the left side of the gazebo I call home. I close my eyes and listen hard for any noise coming from that direction. It’s dark and the movement could possibly be a stray dog or cat.
An owl hoots close by.
A car toots its horn down the local drag.
I hear a murmured prayer. It comes from the right, toward the gazebo. Not the man sitting over on the bench to my left.
“Lord have mercy,” a deep, scratchy voice whispers.
I look over. I can’t see him, but I know this can’t be good.
I quietly make my way closer to the man sitting on the bench.
I don’t know why I’m going to do what I’m about to do. This isn’t my fight. There’s only one man whose death matters to me: Roman Murphy, the man who sent his two henchmen to kill my father
and take me. He wanted me because of my shooting skills, but I killed the two imbeciles he sent and now my fight is with him. In time, I’ll find him and end him.
Standing to the side of the man sitting on the bench, I start talking in a low voice.
“There’s a man behind you at seven o’clock. He’s incognito, and I just heard him say a prayer. I think you’ve been followed here.”
The man doesn’t look over at me, his leg stops moving and his voice comes out in a hushed tone too. “Which side of the gazebo is he on?”
“On the left, but back a little.”
“What does he look like?”
“I didn’t see him. I only heard him.”
“How do you know he’s after me?”
“Do you really just want to chit-chat?” What an idiot.
The man turns his body away from me and props his leg up casually on the bench seat, his knee bent. I slink back further so I’m out of visual range. The man on the bench leans his left arm on the seat and brings his head toward his hand, looking like he’s rubbing his eyes.
Then I hear it.
That beautiful sound.
A bullet leaving the chamber.
A sound so low I think it might actually be my imagination, but no, I hear it again.
There’s a silencer attached to the gun.
A small groan escapes my mouth. Just the thought of being near a gun is sending excited electric chills through my body.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” The man who was sitting on the bench is now standing in front of me, his hand gently gripping my shoulder. From him, calling me “sweetheart” is anything but sexual.
“Oh, that sound. I just love it and boy, do I miss it.”
“What sound is that, sweetheart?”
“The bullet.”
My eyes have adjusted to the dark and I turn toward him to see a look of surprise on his face. His lips are slightly parted and his eyes are wide as they search my face.
I look over to the gazebo, but I can’t see anything. I close my eyes and try to listen to the man who was there earlier.
“What are you doing?” he asks me.
“Listening.” A very simple answer.
“Come with me. You look and smell like you haven’t eaten or bathed in a month.” He grips my upper arm and starts walking in the opposite direction from where he came.
“Hey I’m not a working girl,” I hiss at him while I try to snatch my arm out of his grip.
“I never thought you were.” He doesn’t break his stride. I immediately feel comfortable with him and don’t think I’m in danger.
He leads and I voluntarily walk away from my temporary home, walking quietly next to him.
We walk for maybe ten minutes, and stop at the other end of Main Street. He walks us into a café, and the smells that waft through the air as the door opens send my appetite into overdrive. My stomach, which has only seen stolen fruit and vegetables since I started calling the gazebo my home, grumbles loudly.
“Sit.” He takes us to the far corner and orders me to sit in the booth. The booth is private, with no one around us.
I sit and scoot over close to the window. He slides into the booth across from me. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me. I look at him and then out the window.
“Who are you?” he asks. I look at him and start to answer, but what’s playing on the muted TV immediately gets my attention.
The news is playing and I see a picture of my former home, now just rubble. A stretcher wheels off, carrying a blue body bag toward a coroner’s van.
The white box on the screen has my school picture with my name spelled out and a phone number. Big type at the top of the box reads, ST. CLOUD GIRL STILL MISSING, as the headline. Tears streak my face and I let my head fall into my hands, elbows on the table.
“I see,” he says as he looks over his shoulder at the TV. “Did you do that?”
I shake my head.
“How can I help you fine people tonight?” A sweet, gentle feminine voice breaks in, jogging me out of the upset feelings caused by what I just watched.
“I’ll have a black coffee. My niece Sarah will have a strawberry milkshake and bring her the three-egg cheese omelet with bacon, home fries, a side of pancakes, and a bowl of yogurt with fruit,” this man I don’t know says to the waitress. My stomach growls again.
“I’ll have your drinks in a moment.” As the waitress leaves, her shoes make a squeaking sound I didn’t hear earlier.
“Why are you buying me food?” My tears have stopped and I’m looking at the man I can now see clearly. I estimate him to be no older than twenty-five.
“How old are you?” He ignores my question and asks his own.
“Fifteen. Why are you buying me food?” I ask again, but my tone is softer and more unsure.
“Because you have something I want.”
My intake of breath is audible and I sit further back in my seat hoping it will swallow me up and save me from this horrific nightmare I call life. “Nothing like that.” He shakes his head at me and smirks.
It takes a few moments, but I notice his features. Blond hair, dark green eyes, high cheekbones and a strong chin. He could be a male model for GQ if he wanted. He has broad shoulders and he’s dressed in a suit that compliments his skin tone.
“What do I have that you want?” The waitress comes back with his coffee and my milkshake. The man looks at the waitress, winks at her and gives her an endearing smile. She giggles and her face flushes. I watch the small personal exchange and quickly turn my body away giving them some privacy.
“I’ll be right back with your food.” Her voice warbles when she says the last syllable.
“Drink up.”
The man brings his coffee to his lips and starts sipping it while the waitress returns with a huge tray of food, all for me. She places it on the table and leaves without another word. But her body gives her away. She steals another look at the man opposite me and I notice how she lusts after him.
I pick my fork up and start eating the only food I’ve had in what feels like a month. But I know I need to pace myself or I’ll end up sick. And I really don’t know when I’ll eat next.
After a few bites, I repeat my question. “What do I have that you want?”
“You, Sarah, have something I’ve never seen before, and I want it.”
“My name is Anna,” I correct him. “What’s your name?” I’m still eating while I wait for his response.
“Anna…hmmm. You look like an Anna. I’m Lukas.” He watches me as I continue to eat.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lukas.” I set down my fork and take his hand in mine. I feel no electricity, nothing that warns me to be wary of him.
“Anna, you’re very talented. And I believe I can help you, but I want to ask you a question first.” I nod my head, indicating I’m waiting for his question. “How did you know that man was after me?”
“Your body language told me you were sitting on that bench for a reason, and when I saw you jiggling your leg, I knew you were nervous about something.”
He laughs, a huge belly laugh, and shakes his head.
“Eat up, we have work to do.”
“Excuse me? I don’t understand.”
“Eat up Anna, you’re coming with me.”
“I told you I’m not that sort of girl, Lukas.”
“No, Anna, you’re certainly not. But you’ll come with me, and when we get to where we’re going, I’ll tell you what it is I want from you.”
My first instinct is to refuse, but I really don’t have any other options.
I can go back to living on the street, or I can go to wherever Lukas wants to take me and hope it’s somewhere good.
“Okay.” I give him the permission he needs to take me with him.
Lukas leads me a few streets away and we get into his sleek, silver Porsche Boxter. It sits low to the ground and the ride is super smooth. I can’t feel any bumps in the road; it feels like we’re gliding a
long on a cloud.
Lukas doesn’t speak while he drives; he just concentrates on the road. We travel for forty-five minutes before he comes to an industrial building amid other, similar buildings. There’s no traffic and no one else around as Lukas presses a button on a remote and a garage door starts rolling up.
This piques my interest because frankly, I have no idea where the hell I am. Lukas parks his beautiful car and I get out and look around my surroundings. I see a scarcely-furnished ground floor with metal steps leading to a second floor. I can’t quite see what’s up there, but I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.
“Close your eyes.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Close your eyes, Anna.” His tone is much more forceful.
I close my eyes and bring my hands up to cover them, so he knows I can’t even peek.
“Tell me what color my car is.”
“Um, silver?” I’m uncertain why he would ask that question, or what my response will reveal to him, but I don’t dare open my eyes.
“How many steps lead to the top level?”
“What? I don’t know.”
“Shut up and listen to my voice. Concentrate. You stepped out of the car and took in the furnishings downstairs before your eyes glanced over at the stairs and you looked up. Get a mental picture and see the stairs. How many steps lead to the top floor?”
I get a mental picture of the stairs. I count them slowly, double checking.
“Sixteen. Eight ‘til the first landing, then eight more before you go upstairs.”
“What color is the vase on the table?”
I sift through my memory of surveying the room as I entered and don’t see a vase. I see a book on the table, I look closer at the book and it’s a novel, The Da Vinci Code. It’s opened, lying with the cover facing up. Behind the book is an arm chair, brown leather, and there’s a glass of water on the same table.
The HiT Series Page 20