But there was zero way out without bringing his roommate.
Rocco’s new mission would be to show his mother she had reason to get help. He stripped off his prison shirt. “Give me my clothes.”
Both of them tossed their uniforms in the tunnel, and Bear ripped into the plastic bag. The bigger clothes went to Bear.
Rocco’s lean body meant his stolen clothes sagged, but Bear grunted as he pulled his on and said, “My jeans are tight.”
They fit, and that was all that mattered. Rocco went to the manhole cover that was half propped off and gazed up and down the road.
No police cars. No alarms. Just black tar, parked cars and street lights. His muscles tightened. “Better than orange.”
“True enough.” Bear glanced out beside him. In seconds he’d count, they parted. In any second, police might arrive.
He’d never see, hear, smell, or listen to Bear, ever again.
No one would swear at him in the middle of the night for no reason.
Most importantly, he’d see his mother.
He pushed open the cap and slipped out onto the wet pavement.
It must have rained.
He reached down to help Bear as he’d helped in the mission and he’d not leave any man behind.
Bear took his hand despite the fact he was a hundred pounds heavier with muscles.
Once he wiped his hands clean and wished he could ditch the sewer below smell, he checked the side street. He’d chosen this spot after researching the original sewer designs as it was two blocks away from the prison with houses to cover their escape. The houses behind fences all had their lights out as they both silently put the lid back on.
Someone would have to search the sewers to find the orange jumpers.
He shook his escape partner’s hand.
“Don’t walk. Run,” Bear said. Truer words hadn’t been so obvious. Two years as cell mates, finished. “Good luck, Rock.”
“You too,” Rock said, while Bear mock-saluted him for a final time before darting off into the dark shadows.
Rocco headed toward the main street with his hands in his pockets as his stolen sneakers still squeaked.
Bear claimed that this was the part of Rocco's plan that became stupid.
But Rocco’s brain was sharp.
If he thought like a police officer or prison guard, they would assume escaped men would run like rats.
Rocco’s deceased brother would have planned a scatter, so he did the opposite.
Sirens pierced the air and Rocco’s mind became hyperaware.
Maybe this would be a mistake, and he'd get a one-way ticket back to spend the next twenty years inside the barb-wired prison.
His mother would have tears in her eyes when she opened the door. He held out his hand and hailed a passing gray sedan with decals in the side window.
The vehicle with Utah license plates stopped, but he wasn’t sure how he’d pay. He didn’t have a phone or an account and his little cash weren’t going to get him far.
Police zoomed down the street and for one second he stood, frozen, in the shadow the building.
But the police cruiser continued down the street, right past him.
The driver just stared at him like he’d stopped to take a hitchhiker. Rocco cleared his throat. “Are you taking passengers, sir?”
The man’s eyes widened and he pointed to the signs. “This is an Uber or a Lyft, for whatever app you use to call it in.”
App. On the television shows that meant something on phones. Rocco politely and quietly said, “I lost my phone, sir.”
The man tapped his steering wheel. “Tell you what, give me fifty bucks and I’ll take you wherever you want.”
Fifty might as well be five thousand as it was currently impossible.
Rocco gave him a smile and said, “Thanks anyhow. It’s a good offer but I only have twenty in cash.”
Another two police cars headed toward him.
Rocco’s body tightened and his mind screamed for him to run.
He remained by the gray sedan as the driver said, “I take electronic transfers.”
Flashing blue and red sirens raced past them.
The lack of a phone or an account wasn’t going to stop him now. Rocco’s heart beat fast but he met the man's gaze with a tired smile. “I don’t have my phone. It’s been a rough day, sir.”
The man’s expression eased. He unlocked his doors and pointed to the back. “You look worn out. I’ll take you to the bus station that’s on my way and you can make your way from there.”
This must be his grandmother in heaven shining a light on him.
Soon he’d get to his mother, somehow. He opened the backdoor and said, “Thanks, man.”
Another police car zoomed past and his entire body tightened. He needed to get to Miami and convince his mother her health was important and if he looked her in the eye, she’d keep her word. He knew her.
The driver signaled with his lights that he was going onto the street. “Seems like the police are out in force tonight.”
He had no idea. At all. All of this was because of him. Adrenaline rushed in his veins but he met the polite stare of the man helping him and said, “They are just doing their job. Probably going to break up a local bar brawl.”
In the mirror, Rocco noticed that the man’s eyes widened. “Well, they are focusing in the other direction, if that’s the bar you mean.”
“Yeah, I don’t work that street for a reason.”
Neither one of them said anything else.
The man pulled over two minutes later near the bus station.
And he hadn’t had to risk walking in the open at all. The man waved as Rocco stepped out and said, “Have a nice night.”
Should he ask the man’s name? If he was polite, he would exchange information. Rocco patted him on the back as he got out and hoped he didn’t smell like the garbage he'd waded through. He quickly lifted his hand. “Thanks again, sir.”
The driver waved him off and Rocco checked all the doors visually.
Six entrances and exits with no one going in our out.
Inside the door, he saw long benches and ticket counters and overhead display TV’s.
No police were in sight and he headed into toward the counters on the far end, passing the good court.
The food court had a burger place, a coffee counter with the longest line, a fried food vendor, and a pretzel shop.
The smell of the oil for the burgers was the strongest.
The white floricent lights meant there were no shadows anywhere as Families milled around together and groups in the coffee and food lines.
The bright lights in this building almost blinded his retinas.
Prison never shone with this many watts.
But he approached the end for the ticket sales where the sellers sat behind windows with gold bars like a bank teller.
He headed toward one and saw an older man with a white moustache. He reached into his pocket that held every penny he’d socked away when money wasn’t a normal form of compensation in prison.
Rocco had dreamed of escape for two years of his five year sentence, but the dream turned into a plan of action once his mother had sent him a letter that she was dying. Roger, his brother’s death, and Harry’s who followed their brother right to his grave, had her reeling and it’s only been a few months since that happened.
No letter he could write would convince Mary Hellsworth to change her mind.
Nothing would except him, in person.
Rocco had always been the good son, her reason to live, until Roger robbed that bank and set Rocco up to take the rap.
Rocco ignored how his stomach was in knots at being out in public again when for years he’d been secluded and smiled at the older man with wrinkles and astute brown eyes. “One ticket please.”
“You look awful.” The man’s nose twitched.
Rocco lowered his body and leaned against the counter as he searched for a fast answer. “I h
ad my phone and wallet stolen.”
His gaze softened and he scooted his chair forward. “That’s too bad, son.” He said while he counted blank white tickets and put them back in a pile. “So, where to?”
Good question. Rocco hadn’t planned on answering so many questions. He’d planned a walk to the bus station, but here he was. He had been friendly in his previous life. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Doug,” the man replied with a nod.
The announcer said bus 782 to Tucson was departing in two minutes. People headed in from the terminal side and right toward the six front doors. Rocco’s ears heard every footstep like they echoed, but then Rocco then turned to see the door open in the station and two officers walking together.
His pulse quickened but he said, “Doug, I need to start over. Where does the next bus go?”
“Denver,” Doug said. “It’s a nice place to start over.”
“I’ll take your advice then.” Rocco kept his head down, and hopefully unnoticed as he continued, “I’ve always wanted to see the Mile High City.”
“That will be one hundred and twenty dollars,” Doug said.
That price tag was out of his budget. Prison didn’t work on a cash system. His muscles flexed, prepared to fight his way out of the station as the officers came closer. “How far will twenty bucks get me?”
The older man let out a sigh and asked, “That’s all you got?”
Rocco had intended to walk and hide and work whatever odd job he could to continue this journey. So far he’d ridden on luck so he kept up his story. “Until I get to my bank, sir.”
Doug printed something under the counter. “Most people aren’t as polite as you. You sound like you were in the military.”
Rocco stared at Doug and swore he saw a halo about the man’s head, which was impossible. Angels didn’t exist in the real world. “Marines. Ten years, sir.”
The man reached beneath the counter. Rocco froze, half afraid he’d sounded the alarm, but then Doug handed over a small white receipt. “I could tell. Look, we have a military discount. Have fun in Denver and good luck with starting over.”
Tears formed in his eyes when he never cried. Doug politely ignored as Rocco blinked away his tears. And then tried to give his small amount of cash to Doug as he said, “Here-”
“No, you keep that,” Doug shoved it back. “This is the least we can do for a Marine and your service.”
That had been years ago. Rocco composed himself as the police officers in the corner laughed with each other. Rocco’s spine tingled but he pocketed his money and ticket while he said, “Thank you sir. I’ll repay you when I can.”
Doug then laughed and said, “Well if you were a bad guy, half the town would shoot you straight between the eyes without blinking.”
Rocco’s adrenaline spiked but he nodded, “I understand, sir, and thank you.”
Without another word, Rocco kept his head down but walked briskly out the back door, away from the officers, and toward the endless lines of buses.
The smell of diesel was almost sweet.
He checked his ticket and continued toward Bus 24, Denver bound.Rocco climbed on. Some seats were filled, but half were likely to head into the prison he’d come from soon judging from the shifty expressions.
He spoke to no one and took a seat in an empty row.
No one joined him.
After a few minutes, the bus driver honked and pulled out of the station.
As they headed onto the highway, Rocco’s mind raced at his good fortune. He’d expected to hide in bushes during the day and go through a battlefield until he made it to Miami.
And his mother.
Denver was north and west instead of east and south, but it was far from the prison. He could get a few odd jobs in the city, and earn enough money, change his appearance, and a faster ticket home.
The brown with occasional trees passed on the street until the scene changed to more trees and the distant mountains. His mind reeled. He’d never call anyone he ever knew, and getting to his mother would be hard. The cops would keep her under constant surveillance.
He watched everyone from his seat as he didn’t move a muscle. Perhaps he’d find a way to call his mother.
Though he understood talking wasn’t going to convince her to help herself.
Hours passed and up ahead he saw a sign for Colorado. He was almost out of Utah. Good.
Cars slowed at the state border, then stopped in a line.
His heart raced as the bus driver announced on the intercom, “The police are doing a car search. Seems there was a prison break and they are checking IDs.”
They knew.
The entire busload of people groaned like they were annoyed. Rocco saw the blue lights and his mind blurred—he had to disappear. But where? He ignored his instinct to hide and walked over to the driver. “How often does this happen on the bus, sir?”
“They always find a reason. It’s usually the police or ICE these days.”
Two men straightened at the answer.
He let the sentence sit in the air.
The bus driver gave out a huff. “So we’ll be here a while as the police will check us all.”
He wouldn’t go back.
If his mother agreed, the two of them would head to Costa Rica if he found a fake ID and she’d join a retirement community of ex-pats there. In prison, he’d read about the American buildings that his mother might like.
Suddenly the bus lurched forward and the driver said, “They are waving us through.”
Again it was like he was blessed. His life was not normally this good. They neared the police officers and the bus driver slowed and opened the door to call out, “What happened?”
Rocco expected to be arrested or shot at. The officer stared right at him.
The second officer waved them forward. “We’ve found the escapees.”
Bear. They must have caught his roommate, not that he knew for sure. Escapees was plural and Bear and he separated.
Rocco had only involved him in the escape because it had been impossible to plan and dig without his cell mate seeing.
Rocco took his seat as they passed into Colorado.
Hours later, dawn broke out on the range. From his window he saw small purple and white flowers that bloomed from the sun.
Nothing was more beautiful. The air had a sweet smell that must be how freedom tasted.
The bus veered off the road to a gas station in front of a mountain pass with snow on the peeks of the mountain though not on the fields around them and the driver announced, “We’re stopping here for gas. Feel free to get out and stretch your legs. We have fifteen minutes.”
Rocco kept his head down so no one saw him as he headed out but near the driver he pointed toward a back road and asked, “What’s up that way?”
“Nothing but mountain,” the driver said. “And then another behind it.”
The best place to lie low was where no one expected to find him. He was from Miami. He had to speak with his mother and find out if she was surrounded or had her phone tapped, not that he quite knew how to tell that.
He would call from a number no one would be able to trace.
Once upon a time he’d been trained to hide his tracks and go behind enemy lines.
Now that enemy was the country he loved.
He picked up a free bottle of water the bus offered and pocketed it as he got off to stretch his legs.
Soon he’d disappear.
Fifteen minutes later, the driver called to everyone at the station, “All aboard.”
Rocco stepped behind the old cement building with four car pumps and waited.
No witnesses to see him.
Only once the bus was long gone did he head into the mountains.
Safety didn’t come from continually being lucky, not like today. And from this moment on, he’d be better prepared to avoid any officer, to avoid being taken back into custody.
2
Perhaps buyi
ng and remodeling this winter chalet but not renting it out was a waste of money—Michaela Murphy’s investors would certainly think so, if they knew it was ready, which is why she’d kept it under wraps.
She listened to her brother ask about the upcoming snow storm on the phone. The green trees and white snow were an escape for her and her infant son. She needed to be here to heal from her close encounter with death a few months ago, when she’d been poisoned. She’d almost lost her unborn baby. She’d almost lost her life.
But she’d survived.
“Raphael, we’re fine.” He was thousands of miles away.
Her son slept peacefully as the sun set outside her huge windows on the second floor. The cold from the mountain chill prompted her to get a sweater, even inside. It also meant she was still here, still walking, still breathing, and almost ready to be herself. She’d promised her board next year. She would be ready to take on her fulltime role as illionaires CEO, running her family’s hotel chains.
Since arriving with her infant a few weeks ago, she’d started to breathe.
No more fantasies where she married a foreign prince and lived happily-ever-after. That life was for the naive and she wasn’t that.
“You need to protect yourself from the storm sis.”
“I promise.”
Her brother huffed and said, “Mom said you and Jacob are not okay, and that you should go home.”
Their mother thought a woman needed a man to survive. She’d made Mica wear dresses and dream about fairy tales.
The illusion hadn’t included poison and near-death in a foreign country.
Her will to live was what had saved her and Jacob, and no one was going to steal that fire from her.
In fact, she was here to let the flames grow stronger. She would do anything to protect her son. Mica settled on the edge of her bed as night darkened. “I’m not going to live in their New York penthouse. Ali’s family would find us in a second there.”
Just saying that man’s name made her heart twist and her hands go into fists.
If she’d been a man, she’d have punched him.
But because she was a woman, he’d used her, almost married her, tried to murder her and take her stock holdings while he wed another.
Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology Page 82
