“Are you okay?” I heard. I stayed quiet, but relief washed over me that it wasn’t Damien.
“I can see you, your hiding skills are shit.” It was a man who had spoken, but I held still and closed my eyes.
“Do you need help?” I heard, close enough to have me open my eyes and squeal.
Standing in front of me was a brown-haired guy, older than me, for sure. His hair was plastered to his head; rainwater ran in rivulets down his face. He had startling light hazel eyes, framed by long lashes that caught the drips and that any girl would die for. Yet there was hardness to his features that contradicted his kind eyes.
“Well?”
I shook my head, not able to find my voice. “So you’re happy to stand out here, in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain?”
I nodded, hoping that he’d give up and leave. He shrugged his shoulders and turned to walk away. I hadn’t realized how tight I’d held my body until my shoulders relaxed, and I slumped against the tree. I dropped the backpack at my feet and before I could reach down, he’d returned and picked it up. I reached forward to grab it from him.
“If you don’t want my help, that’s fine. I don’t have time for this, really. But at least sit in the truck until the rain passes.” He walked away, carrying all my worldly goods.
I ran after him and as I reached out, he opened the passenger door and threw in my backpack. He took a step back and beckoned with his arm for me to join it. My mind was in a whirl, turmoil, and yet again, anxiety flowed through me.
“I…”
“Just get in until the rain passes,” he said, a little softer than he’d spoken before.
He left the door open and walked around to the driver’s side. I watched the rain begin to soak the soft leather tan seat, and it was more guilt for ruining his vehicle than need, that had me climb in. I closed the door behind me and was immediately thankful for the heated air warming my feet.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, reaching behind to something on the rear seat.
Before I could answer, he’d handed me a small hand towel. I watched as he rubbed one over his head and face, and then he turned up the heat. Immediately the windows started to steam. Part of me was thankful, I couldn’t be seen from outside, part of me was terrified as I felt closed in. I bought myself some time by wiping my face, running the towel over my head and down my hair.
“I’m heading into town,” I said, quietly.
“What town?”
I stared at him. His lips twitched and creases formed around his eyes in amusement at my statement.
“The next one.”
“The next one, huh? Then it’s lucky for you, that’s where I’m headed to.”
“I don’t need a ride, thank you.” I didn’t want to sound rude, but I didn’t want to be in a stranger’s truck, either.
“Then you have a fucking long walk. The next town is about sixty-odd miles from here.”
I wanted to cry. Perhaps the anguish on my face had been evident. The guy put the truck into gear and pulled out on the road without waiting for my consent. I kept as close to the door as possible, with one hand on the handle and the other on my backpack. For a while we sat in silence, it was only when I saw a beat up car approaching us that I let out a sound, involuntarily. I slid down in the seat until it passed, not entirely sure whether it was Damien or not. I knew nothing about cars other than Damien drove a beat up vehicle of the same color.
I saw him glance at me quickly before focusing on the road ahead.
“Thank you, I guess I need help,” I said. Without looking at me, he smiled.
“I don’t generally pick up women standing in the rain, but you don’t look like you dressed for this weather.”
“The rain caught me off guard, for sure.”
He didn’t ask why I was hiding beside the road, and I appreciated that.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked.
“I’m getting there, thank you.”
He took one hand from the steering wheel and reached behind him again. He fumbled around until he drew forward a hooded sweatshirt.
“Here, put this on,” he said. “Although you’ll have to let go of the door handle first. Perhaps you should know, you can’t open the door while the vehicle is moving anyway.”
I felt the blush at having been caught, creep up my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, I’m…”
“I don’t need an explanation, you’re running from something, or someone, and you’re soaked through. So, just put the sweatshirt on.” He hadn’t looked at me while he spoke.
I pulled the gray hoodie over my head, immediately welcoming the soft fleece inside warming my skin. Whether it was the gentle rumble of the truck as we drove down the road, the warmth of the heater, or the sweatshirt, but I found myself drifting into sleep. I welcomed the dreams of a brighter future.
A gentle tap to my arm woke me. The rain has eased into a gentle drizzle and it took a moment for me to get my bearings. My mind was foggy, as if I’d woken from the deepest, longest sleep, yet it could have only been an hour at most.
I straightened myself in the seat and looked around. We had parked on a main street, typical of a small town, I guessed. Beside me was a gun store; behind the barred window I saw rifles and handguns.
“We’re here,” he said. I slowly nodded and started to remove his hoodie.
“Keep it.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that. And thank you for the ride. I don’t have much but can I…” I started to open my backpack to find my money tin.
“I don’t want anything. Can’t say you’ve been riveting company, but it was my pleasure.” His lips curled into a smirk.
I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or serious. “I’m sorry, and…thank you, again.”
I opened the door and climbed from the truck. Immediately the sneakers that had dried on the journey were immersed in a puddle of water. I sighed as I closed the door. He gave me a nod before the truck rolled forward and he drove away. I hadn’t asked him his name.
I looked up and down the main street. On the opposite side was a small diner, that might be a good start. I could sit with a coffee; maybe get something to eat while I decided what on earth I was going to do next. I needed somewhere to sleep, perhaps a job to build a little money before I moved on again. I knew enough about surviving to be sure I couldn’t stay in one place too long. Before I did anything, I had a call to make.
I entered the diner and immediately headed for the telephone I’d spotted from outside. I’d never used a public telephone before, in fact, I’d only ever used a cell a handful of times. I picked up the handset and held it to the side of my face. My finger hesitated over the number nine. I owed it to Philip I silently told myself. I dialed nine-one-one.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“A man has been murdered,” I then rattled off the address.
“Okay, can you give me your name?”
“No, did you get that address?”
“I did, ma’am, but I need a little more information.”
“His name was Philip,” I said, giving the address again before replacing the handset.
Because I hadn’t given my name, I wasn’t sure how seriously they would have taken me, but I prayed they’d at least be curious enough to visit Philip’s house. He had a large house, surrounded by a high wall and metal gates. I’d been impressed when I’d first visited, enamored, in awe even. He hadn’t bragged about any wealth, nor shared his surname even. I knew nothing about him, other than his address and his first name.
I wiped my hand down the front of my jeans, not entirely sure why I felt the need to clean my palm as if I’d done, or touched, something dirty. I looked around and although the diner was fairly empty, I took the booth the furthest from the door. A waitress immediately approached, she was an older woman. She smiled then licked the end of a pencil.
“What can I get for you?” she said, holding the pencil poised above her pad.
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“A coffee, with cream, would be great, thank you.”
“Did you get caught in the rain?” she asked, as she scribbled on her pad.
“I did. I imagine I look a real mess.” I ran my fingers through my hair.
She chuckled, “Sweetie, you look lovely, just a little…tousled.”
I wanted to laugh. I’d spoken the most in the past couple of hours than I had in months, but I wasn’t sure I could extend the face muscles into a laugh. I did smile, though.
She left a menu on the table then went to fetch my coffee. Using the sleeve of the hoodie I wiped some steam from the window and looked out onto the street. I wanted to find something that would tell me exactly where I was. I’d buy a map so I could plot a route to wherever I was going after I’d drunk my coffee and had a bite to eat. I was conscious of the little money I had, so scanned the menu for the cheapest item.
My mouth watered at the description of a burger, the T-bone steak and fries. Instead, I settled for an omelet. A plain cheese omelet was soon placed in front of me with a steaming mug of hot coffee. I hadn’t had proper coffee for a long time. Once Damien had taken his ‘fee’ from my earnings, there wasn’t much left for luxuries like fresh coffee.
Just the thought of his name had me slink in my seat a little. I know he’d often said that if I ran, he’d not only find me, but I’d be wishing I were dead instead of the alternative. I never asked what the alternative was, and knowing how sadistic he could be, I didn’t want to know. It was just after he’d made that threat, that he’d killed the stray dog. I shuddered at the memory.
I sipped on my coffee and ate every mouthful as slowly as I could. I watched people come and go, some sat and ordered, some just wanted a coffee to go. I overheard the woman being called by her name, Rose. I smiled, it was a pretty name and so far her nature seemed to match. She greeted most by name and always with a broad smile. She reminded me of my grandmother and a pang of hurt jolted me back to my reality.
I’d finished my omelet and Rose came to clear the plate.
“Another coffee, on the house?” she asked. I nodded grateful for anything free and hot.
“Do you know of any places to stay locally, cheap if possible?” I asked.
She thought for a moment. “There’s a motel but I think for cheap, you might want to check out Cecelia Mercier, she rents out rooms. Lives in the big white house on Grace Street. If you take a left out of here, you’ll find Grace Street across the road, three corners down.”
“That’s great, thank you.”
“You might want to get there early, lots of people passing by call on her in the evening when the motel is booked up.”
“I will, as soon as I’ve drunk this wonderful coffee I’ll wander down there.”
She smiled and left the bill for the one cup of coffee and the omelet. I counted out my money and left it on the table. I drained my cup and with another ‘Thank you,’ I left the diner.
I found the big white house on Grace Street easily enough. Big seemed to be an understatement. The house was as large as Philip’s but not necessarily as well kept. The front yard could have done with a mow, a little weeding, and the fencing needed some repair. My nerves kicked in as I walked the stone path to a sun deck and an imposing black front door. Before I’d reached out to knock, it was opened. A small elderly woman smiled at me.
“Rose sent you, yes?” she said, with an accent I couldn’t place.
“She did, how did you know?”
“She just called, told me to look out for you. Come in.” She stepped to one side and held open the door for me.
I walked into a wide hallway, its walls were lined with portraits, old and, I guessed, of family members.
“My father,” she explained, pointing to a gentleman in military uniform and with a back so stiff he must have been in pain for that sitting.
“He looks…”
“Uncomfortable?” She laughed when she spoke, and for the first time in a long while, I laughed with her.
“I was going to say, very formal.”
“So, how long?” she asked.
At first I didn’t understand what she meant. “How long would you like a room for?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, erm, how much are they? I only need a real basic room.”
“For you, ten dollars a night and you share a bathroom.”
I had no idea if ten dollars was a good deal or not, but I needed somewhere to stay until I could plan.
“Thank you, I have the money here.” I reached for the backpack.
“A cup of tea first, then we do the paperwork,” she said, striding off.
I stood where I was, not sure if she wanted me to follow until she stopped in a doorway and beckoned me.
Her rustic styled kitchen was large with a wooden table set in the middle. She waved her arm, indicating toward a chair. I placed my bag on the floor and sat, mindful not to drag the chair across the tiled floor. The kitchen, although way larger, reminded me of my grandmother’s. She’d loved to bake, everything from bread to cakes, every day. It looked like Cecelia did as well. On the side were jars of ingredients, scales, and utensils hung from a rack above the stove. Cecelia busied herself with making tea; I’d never drunk tea before.
“Where are you from, originally?” I asked, wondering if that was a rude question.
“France. My parents brought me here when I was a young woman. Not here, exactly, a couple of towns over. How do you take your tea?”
“I’ve never had it,” I said, trying to look apologetic.
“See, Americans, and the French to be fair, drink too much coffee. Leave it to me.”
It was a few minutes later that she placed a cup and saucer on the table, a pot, and a jug of milk. She poured the milk first, stirred the contents of the pot, and then used a small sieve to catch the tealeaves when she poured.
I took a sip. “Mmm, I like it,” I said.
“I have that flown in from England. It’s my favorite tea, and since it’s nearly three in the afternoon, the perfect time for a cup.”
I hadn’t realized the time. As much as I tried to stifle it, I yawned, covering my mouth and then apologizing immediately after.
“Why don’t you bring your tea and I’ll show you the room. I think you’ll find it quite comfortable. Before we do, I need to know your name, the rest we can do later.”
I swallowed, unsure whether to be honest. I decided to be.
“My name is Charlotte.”
The nickname that usually followed whenever Damien used my name nearly slipped off my tongue.
“Well, Charlotte, come with me.”
I followed her to a wide wooden staircase and then along a corridor. She opened a white painted door into a small room and I fell in love. The walls were painted a soft cream, a bed slightly larger than the single I’d had in the trailer was against one wall. A large picture window looked out over a yard and then onto fields. It was the comforter that had me feeling nostalgic. It was similar to the quilt I had bunched up in the backpack. I ran my hand over the soft cotton.
“This is perfect,” I said, as I placed my teacup on the small cabinet beside the bed.
“The bathroom is just next door, be sure to lock the door when you use it. I only have a couple of guests, so hopefully you won’t be disturbed. Why not get some rest? And I’d like it if you joined me for dinner, shall I give you call if you’ve not come back down?”
“I… Thank you, I’d love to.” I hadn’t thought about dinner, assuming I’d have to find a store and buy something ready-made.
Cecelia closed the door behind her and I placed my bag on the bed. I unpacked the few items I had, smoothing out the quilt over the comforter. I hadn’t thought about toiletries, nor did I have a towel, but I made my way to the bathroom in need of a warm shower.
On a shelf was a bottle of body wash. I hoped whomever it belonged to wouldn’t mind if I used just a drop to wash my hair and myself. Hanging over a rail were a selection of towels for gues
t use, I hoped. I locked the door and stripped off my clothing while the shower heated up. I stood for ages letting the warm water run over my body, washing away the miserable day, and life. I wanted to emerge a new person. Perhaps I should have given Cecelia a fake name, start completely afresh with a new identity.
I thought up surnames, trying hard to remember any family names I’d heard my grandmother use. Nothing came to mind. I didn’t have any friends so couldn’t use theirs. Instead, I stared at the bottle of body wash and decided Johnson would have to do. While I dried myself and then cursed because I hadn’t brought fresh clothes into the bathroom with me, I thought of a reason why I’d ended up in this town. I didn’t want an elaborate lie, just something I could easily remember. I’d also have to adjust my age. I looked much older than my nineteen years but I didn’t want to stretch it too far. I knew I should be in college, and I had attended school for a while until Damien decided ‘school was for idiots.’
I pulled on the worn t-shirt and jeans and opened the bathroom door. I was thankful that the bedroom was just next door; I didn’t want to meet anyone in the hallway. I surveyed my range of pitiful clothing, deciding which ones looked less like the charity box finds they were. I’d left the slutty work clothes back in the trailer; those were the only new clothes I owned, and of course, bought by Damien. Why he thought the black, fake leather mini-skirt and the low cut, Gypsy tops were attractive to men was beyond me.
Dressed in a relatively clean pair of jeans and a slightly crumpled black t-shirt, I lay down on top of the bed. I sighed as my head sank into feather pillows and I turned on my side to look out the window. The view soothed me, for miles it was just farmland, trees, and in my mind, it represented freedom. I lay and just daydreamed, creating my fantasy life and feeling hopeful that it might not be a fantasy anymore.
Harlot Page 2
