The cupboard I needed was built into the left wall like a safe. The doorknob didn’t turn when I tried it. I needed a key. My gaze drifted back to the desk. The last time I’d seen her open the cupboard, she’d used the key on a chain around her neck, but she had to keep a spare somewhere.
I surveyed the desk, but nothing jumped out at me. Picking up the pencil holder, I pulled out the pens. Nope, there wasn’t anything there either. I knelt down and ran my hands over the bottom of the desk. Still nothing.
Come on, Rachel, think.
I pulled out the drawers on the desk and ran my hands underneath them. I tugged out the last one, brushed my fingers across the bottom, and touched something hard. I got onto my knees for a better look. There it was, a copper key the length of my hand and cold. I pulled it free of its trap.
Well, aren't you a clever nun? Seems I've underestimated you.
I pushed all the drawers closed again. Nothing could look out of place. I needed to get as much distance between me and the nunnery before they realized that I was missing. I got back to my feet and darted to the cupboard. The lock was slightly stiff, but it finally opened after I put some muscle behind it. There were plenty of boxes. Thankfully, judging by the scrawl on the sides, she’d wrote our names on them. Walking deeper into the cupboard, I spied mine.
I dropped the box at my feet, then rummaged through it. The book I needed was wedged in deep.
Thank God the nuns hadn't searched through any of the books I’d brought. Hell, thank god Dad had packed this one. If he’d thought that it would help me, he probably wouldn’t have. I had specifically chosen the Stephen King novel, figuring it was the safest one to hoard money and a fake ID in.
It had taken me ages to hollow it out, but there was enough money in it that no one would notice the slight difference in weight. I flicked through the wad of notes, stopping when I catch sight of the fake ID that added a few years to my age slipped into the pages at the back. My blue rucksack was also stuffed into the box. I put the things I needed inside of it as well as a skirt, a dress, T-shirts, and jeans. A part of me was looking forward to getting out of the stupid uniform. Hell, I'd burn it if I had time.
Just as I was leaving, I noticed a name on one of the boxes. Susan Towers. What had she told me about herself?
Come on, Rachel, think. She said something about makeup. She's a makeup student. There might be something I can use in her box.
I slid the box down for one quick search through it before I needed to go. I’d already pushed my luck as far as it would go. I bit back a yelp when I brushed my hand against something soft and brown hidden in the box.
What the hell is that?
I pulled it free and smiled. A wig. I fought against the urge to break out in a dance.
This is perfect. I can definitely use this.
I chucked it into my bag. The risk of getting caught grew the longer I stayed, but I needed one more thing. I'd spied a pair of them in the top drawer of the desk earlier. I snatched the glasses up and slipped them in the small pocket on the front of the bag.
Besides the things I'd taken, everything was back where I'd found it. I flinched when I glanced at the clock. Has it really been thirty minutes? Another hour and the ferry would be leaving, and I needed to be on it.
My escape route was pretty simple. Most of the girls probably knew about it. There was nowhere to hide on the small island, so in the end, it didn’t matter about escape routes. The only way off was at the harbor on a boat.
There was a garden near the back of the church, filled with daisies and forget-me-nots and lined by a thick hedge. On my second day there, I'd found the hole masked by the branches of the hedge. Inside, there been a large enough space to squeeze through. It opened up next to the sea. I needed to get around the building and head to town.
I was almost to the garden when I heard the noise.
I stopped in my tracks. A second passed and then another one. I stepped into a doorway and pressed my back against the door.
Dread filled me. Is that whistling? As if to answer me, a nun came into view. She must have been in the garden. I didn’t have a clue to who she was. They really need to start wearing name tags that read, “Hello, my name is Sister Mercy. I'm going to make your life unbearable during your stay.” I watched her until she vanished from view. I'd been lucky.
I'm going to have to make a run for it now. Taking a deep breath, I ran across the garden to freedom.
Chapter Three
I crouched down and darted for the hedge line. All it took was a short burst of energy and I was free. When I was sure that nobody could see me, I stopped and tried to catch my breath. My chest felt tight, and my vision swam in front of my eyes. When I was sure my heart wasn't about to explode, I slowly stretched out. My cheeks were hot, and there was still a tightness in my chest, but I was not about to pass out. That was a bonus.
God, I hate running.
I quickly stripped out of the uniform. The air was instantly cold against my skin like I’ve jumped into an ice bath. I tugged on a black t-shirt, with a blue dragon emblazoned across the chest, a pair of black leggings, and flat ballet pumps. It was better than being half naked, but I wished someone had packed a jumper.
A road snaked between the town and the nunnery, and thankfully, it was blissfully deserted. That meant nobody would see me add the last few finishing touches. I retrieved the dark wig from where I’d stashed it in my bag. The near black strands were quite long and vastly different from my blonde hair. With one hand, I held the front of the wig close to my forehead and slip it on like a swimming hat. The thick mane was heavy and felt unnatural, but it was better than nothing. Carefully, I felt around the edges for loose bits of hair and pushed them under the wig.
To complete the disguise, I retrieved the glasses from the front pocket of the bag. The frames were small and square, and I slipped them on. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t actually see through them. They perched low enough on my nose not to mess up my vision.
With a practiced motion, I worked my fingers through the wig and braided it. It laid over my shoulder, and I tied up the loose end. I wanted to add a few years to my age, making me appear too old for me to be an escapee student.
I put my arms through the straps on the bag and tightened them. Don't need it banging against my back while I run. The shoes weren’t ideal for the bumpy roads, but I gritted my teeth and took off at a gentle pace, eager to get more distance between me and the stone walls of the nunnery.
I stopped running as soon as I reached the town. My breath burnt in my chest and the muscles in my legs hurt enough that I knew they would be sore later. The town sign had the word Penance underneath it. What came first, the town or the nuns?
Penance was barely a town. A few shops. Homes. A fountain in the middle of a square. Shopkeepers were in the process of opening for the day. A man who’d decided to walk his dog—a small, shaggy thing in desperate need of a groom—glanced at me as if curious.
I smiled. Ignore me, just off to get the ferry.
He smiled back, and I continued my walk.
The dock was particularly full. Six people waited on the wooden platform as if eager to get to the mainland. I would bet all the money in my bag that none of them were as eager as me. At least I could hide in the crowd. Thankfully, none of them were nuns.
I drew curious glances from all of them, but none of them said anything. The day that my father brought me to the Inland, the dock to the small town had been deserted. It had been a different story on the dock to the mainland. Everyone seemed to be more in a rush to leave than to visit. The sound of my heartbeat was loud in my ears. How could they not hear it? I managed to smile back politely
Damn, I really should have thought up a backstory. Panic tied my stomach up in knots as I turned away from them and took in my surroundings. Maybe if I didn’t make eye contact, they’d end up ignoring me.
The boat had Crescendo Falls written across the side. It was the same one I arrived on.
The wooden dock didn’t feel very steady. A strong gust of wind would cause us to end up in the sea. I wrapped my arms around my waist and shivered.
I'm not going to miss this place.
Captain Hawes was a middle-aged man, greying at the temples. Dark brown waterproof clothes and a hooded mac shielded him from the worst of the elements. I'd met him before. I held my breath as he looked over the small group of people that waited to get on. His gaze passed straight over me, and I slowly let out the breath I’d been holding.
That's one hurdle overcome.
"Everyone get on. Sea's a bit unsettled, so I hope you haven't had breakfast."
***
I’d never been a great fan of travelling. Six hours stuck on a train? There had been a time that would have been the worst thing I could imagine. It wasn’t just the trapped feeling. which I admit played a big part. I couldn’t relax. Restless energy flooded every part of me to the point my fingers tingled and I tapped my foot against the floor. I wanted to be in London already. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about my brother. He was always on my mind, a constant presence like an itch I couldn’t scratch, but to know he was still alive and somewhere familiar, more or less? All I needed to do was find him.
I watched the world wake up through the train window. The dark sky turned to a rich orange shade before it finally gave away to the blue skies of the day. Next, the hills gave away too much flatter lands. The train hadn’t had many people on it when I’d stepped on, but by the time I needed to get off and onto another train the morning commuters had boarded.
As I made my way from one platform to another, I managed to grab some sandwiches and crisps before I jumped onto the last train. I also brought a book called Hotels A-Z from one of the small shops near the tracks. I had no idea how long I'd be in the city, but I needed to stay somewhere cheap. I doubted that I’d be able to earn any more money than what I had in my bag.
The train pulled into the station about six o’clock. A whole day had passed on the train. The blue sky was made up of shades of orange and red. Flipping open the book, I glanced down at the tiny map. My best bet was a hostel or motel.
Someone passed in front of me. Startled, I looked up. The sight of a man with pointy ears and dressed in green latex greeted me.
There must be a convention in town or something. Damn, I hope it doesn't mean these guys have taken up all the rooms.
Rose Hill Motel was the first name on a very short list of affordable hostels. I’d missed it completely the first time I’d studied the list of names since the author had put it in a sidebar.
The beige paint on the front of the house was peeling, and the small light in the top corner of the green door highlighted that it needed more than a fresh lick of paint to bring it up to code. The garden was filled with half-dead weeds, and the tree in the center was a hollowed-out husk, burnt from the inside out.
I walked up the mismatched stone slabs up to the door and took a deep breath. I’d escaped from Scotland and had made it to London without any real problem, but I didn’t like the place. The snap judgment didn’t surprise me, but my options were nonexistent. Should I knock on the door of a house that looked as if it belonged to a serial killer?
I paused on the doorstep, indecision stopping my hand from knocking.
Rachel, you don’t have any choice. It’s cheap, and you’re close to the center of the city. This is the best place for you to find Michael. I knocked. The noise echoed. Suddenly, the dark hallway was bathed in light, and a blurred figure shuffled towards me.
Great, Rachel. I don’t think I need to worry about a serial killer when it looks as if the house belongs to a zombie.
"Hello?" a small voice came from the other side.
The woman sounded old, so I didn’t rule out the zombie theory. "Hello." I edged closer to the door. "Do you have any rooms available?"
She paused briefly. "I'm sorry, but I don't have anything to do with the motel. It belongs to my son."
"Is he in?"
After a short pause, she answered, "Well, if he was, dear, he would be answering the door."
So the old woman has a bit of life to her.
"I'm sorry. It's been a long day. I just need somewhere to stay for the next couple of weeks."
"You're not part of that convention, are you? I've seen my fill of Elven Gods today." The woman shuffled closer to the door.
"Nope, no Elven Gods here. Just me." I managed to stop the smile creeping across my face.
The door opened a crack, and I saw a flash of silver that meant she had a security lock on the door. A woman about half my size, with glasses that took up the majority of her face, peered through the gap.
Smiling, I tried to appear as harmless as possible. That wasn’t hard. I was sixteen after all. I wouldn’t have described myself as intimating in the slightest, and she smiled slightly.
"You have a name?"
So many glib remarks could have rolled off my tongue, but I want her to like me. "It's Rachel."
She nodded and reminded me of one of those bobble-head dogs found in the back of cars. She gave me the once-over before the door closed. After the grind of metal, it finally opened all the way.
"We have some rooms still available upstairs."
Breathing a sigh of relief, I readjusted the bag on my shoulder. "Thank you."
She snorted. "I wouldn't thank me yet. Colin will be back in the morning. He'll be able to say if you can stay. Close and lock the door behind you," she ordered as she shuffled back off into the motel.
The hallway was uncarpeted and the sound of my footsteps are impossibly loud in the confined space. What a strange woman. I slid the locks back into place.
"How old are you?"
"Eighteen." I bit my bottom lip.
"Really?" She sounded surprised, but she didn’t turn to look at me. "Well, come on, dear. I might as well show you the room."
Following her over the tiled floor and toward the stairs, I noticed her clothes. She wore a long beige skirt, and the bottom of it pooled slightly around her feet. An oversized knitted cardigan draped over her skinny frame, and her hair looked as if she’d stuck her finger into a plug socket and reminded me of a wire brush.
"The room at the end of the corridor is free. Clean bedding is in the wardrobe." She retrieved a large metal hoop with several keys attached to it from a pocket on her cardigan.
With the utmost care, she sorted through them until she finally detached a large silver key that barely fitted into my palm.
"There's a kitchen downstairs. Help yourself to tea and coffee, but if you want food, you have to get your own."
"Thank you." I shrugged my bag off my shoulder and started to root around in it for my purse.
She coughed, interrupting me mid-search. "Let's not worry about that now. We'll sort it out when Colin gets back."
I dropped my bag onto the bed and fought against the urge to collapse onto the bare mattress next to it.
"If you can stay, I'll give you a key to the front door. I warn you, though, as soon as it hits ten, I put the security lock on."
She sounded serious, and I didn’t bother to question her. The best time for me to search for Michael was during the day anyway. "You didn't tell me your name."
"It's Rose, Rose Hill. The motel’s named after me. I’ll see you in the morning" She turned around and headed back downstairs.
The sound of a door closing made me wonder how busy the motel was. Nobody had come out to say hello. So I shook my head and locked the door. I felt safer but retrieved a chair and wedged it under the handle too. Better safe than a statistic.
I kicked my shoes off and opened the large wooden wardrobe to get the bedsheets and set about making the bed. They were worn but clean, and the faint smell of lavender lingered around the room as I laid them out.
The room was bare, except the wardrobe, bed, and a bedside cabinet. It reminded me a lot of the one I’d left behind in Scotland. How long would it take for them to notice that I was mi
ssing? How long before they called my parents? They knew where I thought Michael was, so would they come to find me? How long did I have before they came to drag me either back home or to another boarding school?
I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. It had been a long day. When I was sure that my brain wasn’t going to explode with all the unanswered questions, I unclipped the buckles on the rucksack and started pulling out my clothes and placing them in the small cabinet. On top of it, I placed my phone, which I’d turned off to preserve the battery and a hairbrush. Besides the basics, I didn’t have much. I touched the small gold heart necklace that hung around my neck. In the six years, I'd had it, I’d only taken it off because I’d been worried Mother Superior would take it from me and I’d never see it again.
I wouldn’t be taking it off again.
Chapter Four
The beam of light on my face woke me, and for a brief second, I didn’t know where I was, and then everything rushed back to me in a wild flood. I was in London, miles and miles from where I was supposed to be. The motel I’d managed to get a room in was run by the mysterious Colin and his mother, the one who reminded me of a zombie.
A low hum of activity seemed to come from somewhere downstairs. I scrambled to my feet and pulled some clothes out of my bag. I really needed to find somewhere I could buy new ones. A charity shop would do. It could be my good deed for the day. I tugged a blue dress with no sleeves out and slipped it on over my head. I retrieved my shoes and stepped into them, at least the outfit kind of looked nice. I carefully ran my fingers through my short hair, trying to tame it a little before I pulled the wig back on.
The wig was still as heavy as I remembered, but I didn’t have much choice. If the nuns or my parents sent a description of me to the police, people would be searching for a blonde, not a brunette. The nuns had probably already reported me missing, so how long did I have before my parents came looking for me?
The plan for the day was simple. Find a place to photocopy Michael's graduation picture, then head to Trafalgar Square to hand them out. I also needed to add my number to the back, that way it made it easier for people to get in contact with me if they remembered something.
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