Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1

by Amy Cook

  “I’m Amiel Hilden. I have an appointment with Nacey Johnson?” The teller motioned for her to wait as she went in back. Almost immediately the teller reemerged with a tall, beautiful but demure woman in her forties. Extending her hand for Amiel, she shook it stiffly.

  “Miss Hilden, pleasure to meet you. Please follow me.” She led Amiel to a wall lined with windowless doors. Placing her finger on the pad on the wall, it scanned her print and the sleek door slid open without so much as a squeak. Leading her inside, Nacey shut the door behind them causing Amiel to jump slightly when it locked.

  “Do not be alarmed, Miss Hilden. These are the safety measures we use to ensure our more esteemed clients are safe while handling their investments at the bank. Please, have a seat.” Amiel sat at the table the woman motioned toward, though she found herself still on edge in the sterile room. She thought back to the rerun shows she had watched on TV of people being questioned in police stations. She thought it might feel very similar to how she was feeling at this moment. Swallowing hard, she forced her eyes to meet the banker’s with a small smile for extra measure.

  “What was it you wanted to discuss with me, Mrs. Johnson?” Amiel was pleased that she managed to hide the uncertainty in her voice fairly well.

  “I understand that your brother, Jaron Hilden, passed away recently.” She paused, as though waiting for confirmation. Amiel’s heart stuttered in her chest, not expecting this statement. Lifting her chin to pantomime a strength she didn’t feel, Amiel nodded silently.

  “I am most sorry to hear that. I knew Mr. Hilden from our monthly business dealings. He seemed a good man, and very fond of his sister.” Amiel’s brow furrowed in confusion.

  “My brother has been in Texas for the last seven years, ma’am. I am not sure what monthly business dealings you are referring to.”

  “You know nothing of his dealings with the bank then?” Mrs. Johnson watched her carefully, almost curiously.

  “No, ma’am, I’m afraid I do not.” The banker watched her a moment longer before nodding in seeming approval. Walking to the wall, she pressed her finger to one of the largest compartment doors there. Amiel assumed that was where they kept the more expensive investments. The door released with a quiet hiss of air, and Mrs. Johnson pulled out a large briefcase. Turning, she gingerly placed the brief case on the table in front of Amiel.

  “About five years ago, your brother approached me with a matter of great importance to him. He set up an account, to be released to you upon the event of his death, or at a time he deemed appropriate. As he has passed on, that time has come.” She leaned forward, motioning to the top of the case. “Press your hand to the pad on top of the case when you are ready to open it. I shall leave you for now. When you are ready to leave, or wish to speak with me again, simply press the red button on the table and I will be with you shortly.” With a curt nod, the woman left the room, the door locking soundly behind her. Amiel’s mind reeled, feeling the way she assumed a caged animal must feel. Her breathing accelerated and she became a bit light headed. Gripping the table she closed her eyes and began naming every animal she could think of.

  It was a game Jaron had come up with for her to play when they were kids. She used to get terrible panic attacks, and his game was the only thing that was able to keep her from going over the edge. When she finally felt calm enough to focus on something other than naming animals, she stared blankly down at the briefcase before her. Steeling herself she pressed her right hand down on the large pad, and bit her lip as it lit up like a scanner making a copy of her hand. She jumped, pressing a hand to her heart, as the locks on the case snapped open, echoing through the empty room.

  With a fortifying breath, Amiel opened the lid to the case and stared at its contents. A sealed manila envelope with her name written in Jaron’s hand lay inside on the velvet lining. Smiling, she softly ran her fingers across the writing before popping open the envelope and spilling the contents into the case. Another sealed letter envelope with her name on it fell out, along with two small black books, worn and creased along the edges. Opening the books, she realized they were Jaron’s journals. Clutching them close to her chest she smiled, grateful that she could have another small part of her brother with her always. Placing them to the side, she reached for the white envelope and ripped it open. A shiny black bank card with her name on it fell out in her hands along with a slip of paper. Placing the card on top of the journal, she unfolded the slip of paper.

  Baby Girl.

  Did you enjoy the brief case bit? I found it in an abandoned military base on one of our missions and knew I had to get it for you. Technically, the print scanner is busted and it would have opened for anyone, but I thought you might get a kick outta being all James Bond-like.

  Now, onto the serious stuff. If you are reading this, it means that I am dead. (I always wanted to say that…you know, except for the whole having to be dead to say it part.)

  This bank account is all yours. It’s not millions of dollars or anything, but it will get you started. Used to be more, but I had to spend some of it getting a couple of Cutthroat bullets yanked outta my butt the other day. Stupid health care being non-existent now days and being cut off from the family mooch pot and all. Ha-ha. But what’s left is more than enough for a new start. You can ditch the stuffy crowd setting, go to college if you want, though you and I both know college doesn’t count for crap anymore. You can become an emo artist in Paris, (if there’s anything left of it), or a female version of The Heff, whatever you want to do. Well, maybe not The Heff…but hey, you know what, forget that. It’s your money, your choice, your life. And Heff seemed like a cool guy. Being my sister makes you equally as awesome as me, so I’m sure the female version of Heff would rock. Okay, that was off the subject a bit. I blame the butt drugs.

  Anyways, just live your own life Amiel. Oh, and think of me and my sheer awesomeness as you spend every cent of this. And I mean every cent. Just spend it wisely, you don’t wanna end up back home with MOM again, right? *insert evil grin* Love ya, Squirt. Have fun.

  P.S. Keep the books. Read them. I hope you’ll never need them, but they might come in handy.

  Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, as her shaky hands held the letter to her chest. Pressing the button on the table, she wiped away the tears and pulled herself together just as the banker walked through the door. Nacey’s eyes softened as their gazes met, and Amiel knew she must look a mess.

  “My brother…he set up this account just for me?” She sought confirmation of what Jaron had written. The banker nodded, folding her hands in front of her.

  “Yes. Your mother has no legal claims to the account. All $80,000 is yours to choose what you will do with it.” Amiel’s jaw dropped in shock.

  “Eighty…what?” she sputtered.

  “It’s $80,000 in cash, gold, silver, along with other various investments.”

  “What! That has to be a mistake. How the heckadoodle did he get that much money saved up? And what kind of investments are we talking about?” she muttered to herself, remembering he had said there had been even more before his medical expenses. It boggled her mind to think. Apparently the banker thought the question had been addressed to her, as she answered.

  “From what I gather, information of the investments will be released to you at a set time of which I know little about. I am certain when the time has come your brother’s lawyers will be in touch.” Amiel’s eye scrunched. Jaron had lawyers? He hated lawyers.

  “As far as the source of the income, all I can say is there were two sources that the money came to us from. The first was your brother. The second was anonymous. Either it was simply a separate account of your brother’s, or someone your brother trusted enough to give your account information to. Aside from the one withdrawal your brother made a few months ago, there has never been any money taken out, only deposited.” Amiel stared down at the card on the table. It would make sense that there was a second income being put toward her account. She knew th
ere was no way Jaron could be saving aside that much money on his military income. Yet it made no sense that someone else felt the need to give her any money at all, much less this vast amount. Who would want to do that, especially in today’s world?

  “Could someone else have accidentally given you the wrong number for their account?”

  “We looked into it. Your brother knew of the second source, and told us only that it was a confidential matter in which the other depositor preferred to stay anonymous. We left it at that. We here at Berlintine Bank are careful to give our clients their…privacy,” Nacey replied with a slight, barely noticeable quirk to her lips. Amiel’s brow rose, but she remained silent, gaze shifting back to the card in her hand. Who could this other person be, and why would they want to help her? Mrs. Johnson cleared her throat, and Amiel looked up absently, still caught in thought.

  “Are you finished, Miss Hilden, or would you like me to leave you again?”

  “Oh!” She may have suddenly found herself with quite the nest egg, but she definitely didn’t want to be locked up in this little room again. “No, thank you. I am quite finished. I really appreciate you contacting me and offering your time to explain.”

  “The pleasure was mine, Miss Hilden.” The banker nodded courteously. Amiel gathered her precious materials into the manila envelope and strode toward the door. She wished she could bring along the briefcase, but it would be impossible to hide away. As it was, she would have to find a suitable place to hide the items cradled in her arms. Malinda had a nasty habit of searching Amiel’s room, and she wanted to avoid arousing any suspicions that would bring about another verbal torture session with her mother.

  “Oh, there’s one more thing, Miss Hilden,” Nacey said, halting Amiel’s escape. “This is the access number for your card.” Amiel took the small slip of paper proffered to her, and smiled at what was written there. It was the secret code they had come up with as kids while playing spy around the house. “I suggest that you destroy that with a shredder or flame as soon as you’ve memorized it. You wouldn’t want anyone else getting their hands on your money.”

  The woman’s inflection left no doubt for Amiel that the banker was talking about more than just a common thief. Apparently the dislike Malinda felt for Berlintine was held mutually. Amiel knew all too well that her mother would love to sink her greedy fingers into Jaron’s money, so she had absolutely no problem agreeing with the banker’s suggestion. Nodding to the woman, Amiel stuffed the paper in her pocket and left the bank to return to the car still waiting outside. Once inside she sunk into the leather seats with a weary sigh, clutching the envelope to her chest.

  “Where to, Miss Hilden?” the chauffeur’s voice came over the limo’s intercom in a bored but polite tone. She stared at the floor for a long moment.

  “Can we just sit here for a few moments, Grant? I need to think.”

  “Of course, Miss.” Without a pause, Amiel slid the partition between their seats into place. Grant was one of her mother’s more loyal servants and a notorious gossip. Dumping the contents of the envelope out onto her lap again, she reread Jaron’s letter. Five times to be exact. The tears tracked down her cheeks the first few times, but the last few readings brought with them that euphoric feeling of bravery and determination. Jaron wanted her to live her life away from her mother’s pushy interference. In truth, it’s what he had always wanted, for the both of them. It was one of the reasons Jaron had joined up in the first place, after all. But what could she do? She truly doubted she had the strength and tenacity to join up, as Jaron had, no matter how much of a temper she was gaining. And he was certainly right about college being a waste of time and money. In today’s world, the educated man could become poisoned or infected just as easily as the uneducated man. Colleges remained open as a way to drain money from those rich, bored, and self-important enough to feel the need to still attend. Yet, what kind of life did she have to look forward to should she decide to stay with her mother? Suddenly Jeller’s words from that morning rang in her ears.

  “It’s a bit hard for a bird to learn to fly when its wings are clipped and it’s caged its whole life.”

  That was it then. She needed to leave. And with her mother gone for the week, now was the perfect chance. Feeling a burst of excitement, she pressed the intercom before she could second guess herself.

  “Grant, will you please drive me down the main stretch?”

  “Of course, Miss Hilden, anything you wish. Where am I stopping?”

  “Nowhere. I would just like you to drive up and down a few times. It helps me think. Thank you.” There was a confused silence, before the car pulled forward into traffic.

  “Very well, Miss,” he replied morosely. Grant was an elderly gentleman, bored and with a keen ear for gossip. Not knowing what she was doing must be driving him crazy. Amiel smirked and turned her attention to the outside world.

  As they drove up and down the main streets, her eyes meandered over the car dealerships they passed. She needed transportation if she were going to get out of here quickly. But her mother had her fingers dipped in just about every store and dealership in this town. Any purchase she made would be run through for her mother’s approval via phone, whether she used the family money or not. People recognized Amiel and knew of Malinda’s strict spending diet for her daughter. They were also always thirsting for a way to stay in Malinda’s good graces, even if it meant outing their neighbors or associates. Therefore each of them would ask her mother for approval first, alerting Malinda to her daughter’s intentions. Not acceptable.

  At the very least, they knew how much money Amiel’s family had access to therefore the prices would be insanely high for anything she bought. While she had a ton of money now, it wasn’t worth as much as it used to be, and it certainly wouldn’t last forever out there if she was paying for everything herself. And she was determined to never touch her mother’s money again. She’d need a form of transportation, to find a place to live, food to eat, gas to travel, and who knew how long it would take her to find a job. So, outrageous sums of money for transportation were out of the question.

  Besides, cars were meant for inner city travel and though it made Amiel’s stomach churn at the thought, the only freedom she would find lay on the other side of these city walls. The safest way to travel between cities of course was the train. Trains were heavily guarded and swift. It was uncommon for train travelers to come to harm, though nothing was entirely safe these days. Yet the train was also out of the question since her mother could easily track every move she made, know where she ended up. That would make it far too easy for Malinda to come take her home. Amiel needed to get far away, fast and under the radar; which only left her one option.

  As they often did, her meandering eyes fell on a motorcycle shop across the street, a couple blocks down from the library. Amiel often found herself furtively glancing over the motorcycles any time she was in town. Her mother, of course, had been appalled at the thought of a motorcycle shop opening in the center of ‘her’ town. Though she could do nothing to legally stop the owner from building, she had made her disapproval clear to him on more than one occasion. Her dislike of him was made even stronger when she realized he couldn’t be bought off or pushed around. Malinda was not use to being told no.

  As such, the bikes had naturally become something of a secret rebellious desire for Amiel. Her eyes tracked over the distant lettering on the sign above his shop- Mud Hogs Travel Agency. Yet another reason Malinda hated the man; he was a motorcycle travel agent, the lowest form of scum in her mother’s point of view. Hope rose in Amiel’s throat, nearly choking her. With the amount of enmity between the man and her mother maybe she could enlist his help without worrying he would rat her out. That or he would kick her out on her butt when he found out who she was. A dubious thought, indeed. Still, she was quickly running out of choices and time. Could she do it? Could she really take her new fortune and run from her mother? Was she brave enough to even step foot on the lo
t? Her eyes drifted back to the sign, heart racing with each word she silently repeated in her mind. Clearing her throat, she pressed the intercom.

  “Stop back by the bank for a moment, will you Grant?”

  “Of course, Miss.” The confused frustration was evident in Grant’s voice, but she barely noticed it. With a plan forming in her mind, the nagging urge to do something crazy was beginning to feel satiated. She still wasn’t sure where she was going, or what she would do when she got there, but she was taking everything one step at a time. One thing was certain. She was leaving and never coming back.

  Inside the bank she withdrew $15,000, half in cash, the other half in gold and silver. It made her heady and more than a little paranoid to be toting around so much money. But while most places in Malinda Hilden’s town still ran off of debit cards, Amiel had heard other places in the world had collapsed to the point that ATMs and debit machines were a thing of the past. The last thing she wanted was to be left somewhere high and dry with no money on hand. She could only hope the place she ended up still used money at all.

  Once at home, she rushed to her bedroom. First thing she did was light a candle and watch the slip of paper with her bank number wither away to ash. Satisfied, she grabbed the leather duffel that Jaron had given her last Christmas and tossed it on the bed.

  What exactly did one bring when planning to run away from home? The money was an easy item, and it was tossed inside immediately. She stared at the money, twisting a strand of hair as the rest of the empty space within the bag mocked her. She was completely out of her element here. Gnawing on her lip for a moment, she finally settled on random choices. Reaching deep within her closet, she began stuffing the duffel full of her favorite jeans and t-shirts, and then other random personal items she felt might be needed.