by Krystle Able
I burst into Candace's empty bedroom. She was a sewer and Barb allowed her to have a sewing machine in her room. They never let me have personal things like that, but Candace was the favorite because she had a nice, sharp pair of scissors.
I grabbed the long fabric scissors and took a deep breath as I pushed open her window, the one that overlooked the front porch. I climbed through the open window and sat with my feet on the ledge. The scissors trembled in my hand as I positioned them in the cutting position. I worried the blades wouldn’t cut through the rubbery material of the ankle bracelet, but it was the only shot I had. I held my breath and cut the band clean in half just as the grocery deliverer rounded the porch and grabbed the last bag of groceries.
The bracelet fell to the ground. Ten seconds were already gone. The signal would’ve transmitted by now, and police were on the way. I slid down the angular porch roof and jumped the last seven feet to the ground then bolted for the back of the grocery van that was still open. I scrambled into the back and sighed with relief when I saw the large boxes of bulk paper towels stacked in the corner. I maneuvered them in seconds and hid behind them as the driver slammed the back door shut. A few seconds later the engine roared to life, and the van was pulling out of the driveway. I crawled from behind the stack of paper products and peeked through the window of the back door.
I smiled knowing the chaos that had to have been erupting inside Lochnar House. Sirens suddenly came blaring into earshot, and the van pulled to the side to allow them to pass. Two cop cars, followed by an unmarked police van, and K-9 unit vehicle, all sped down the block towards the house I had just escaped. I held my breath again and waited for one of the cars to abruptly turn around and pull the delivery driver over.
I exhaled slowly as the driver pulled back onto the road and continued through the lights that were now green down the street. We were free and clear. I got out; I did it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay aboard the van to the grocery store. The cops would figure it out soon that I had hitched the ride with the delivery boy unbeknownst to him, but for just a few more seconds I wanted to revel in the glory of my spontaneity working out for once in my life.
I stretched my neck and cracked my knuckles before gripping my purse firmly to my side. As the van slowly turned into a subdivision and slowed for a speed bump, I pushed open the back door and hopped out with ease. I didn’t bother closing the door—the driver would think it popped open going over the speed bump anyway.
A half-open garage on the corner caught my eye. I took a quick look around and didn’t spot anyone outside, so I casually walked up the driveway as though it were as natural as sin for me to be there. I ducked under the half up garage door where my ticket to freedom sat waiting for me, keys already in the ignition.
The blue four-door family car was as nondescript as a car could be which was what I needed, but I knew the owner would be back within seconds. There was no time for hesitation; I needed to be long gone before the cops tracked the delivery van into the subdivision. The car handle gave way quickly, and I slipped into the driver seat. The garage door opener was clipped to the visor, and I pushed the button to open the door the rest of the way as I put the sedan in reverse. I backed the car silently down the driveway, and though my heart was in my throat waiting for the front door of the house to burst open, nothing happened, and within seconds I was jolted over the speed bump and driving out of the subdivision.
The road was empty ahead of me except for a minivan and bicyclists. No cops came from the direction of Lochnar House, the man walking his dog paid me no attention, and as I put my foot to the gas to merge onto Main Street and head to the highway, I breathed a sigh of relief as hysterical laughter erupted from my throat and tears streamed down my face.
I had done it. I was going home, and no one was stopping me.
Chapter Six
The highway stretched ahead mercilessly, and I prayed I was still headed in the right direction. I had ditched the cell phone on the highway exit heading out of town so the police couldn't track me. I was fairly certain the car didn't have a built-in emergency GPS, but I knew I would have to ditch the car before long, just in case.
I had been on the road for an hour, and while I had yet to see signs of being tailed by the authorities, the fact that I hadn't heard an alert on the radio was even more concerning. Did they not know I was gone? Did they not care? Was no one looking for me? Surely escaping Lochnar House and violating my parole would have someone after me?
I glanced in the review mirror again, but I was all alone on the long stretch of highway. I knew better than to let my guard down for even one second, yet as the forest grew denser along the winding road, I couldn't help but let my memories drift back to my first Autumn in Cedarville.
The squawking of a large bird startled me from my memories, and I jerked the wheel, sending the sedan across the highway. I yanked the wheel the other way and veered back into my lane. My heart raced as I pulled the car over to the gravelly shoulder and parked.
I breathed deeply and squeezed my eyes shut, just as Dr. Neumann had taught me, and tried to calm my heart. There were no other cars on the highway thankfully, but I knew I couldn’t waste any time sitting on the side of the road. My eyes fluttered open and my gaze settled on a field of cars just up ahead on the right. I sat up straight and stared ahead at the answer I was needing. I mused at all the good luck I was having that day and pulled back onto the highway with the rural car dealership in my sights.
I took the exit where the car dealership—Carz R Us, was situated immediately to the right. The lot was surrounded by a chain link fence, and there were large light posts situated around where the cars were parked, but none of them seemed to be working or turned on even though the sun was setting. I glanced at the dashboard clock—7:30 pm. The dealership was probably closed now. I could wait until the sun was set completely and sneak in under the shroud of darkness which was probably the safest scenario if I wanted to get away with it; however, Darrin or the police, or Barb, might have already been on my tail, and I didn’t know it.
I couldn’t get caught. It was now or never, and I had no idea how many more opportunities to steal a car would be in front of me. I pulled the car over to the side of the road and parked it mostly in the ditch. There was a town further down the highway according to all the mile markers, but the car dealership was surrounded by nothing but newly harvested fields.
I pulled the sweater back over my head and fixed my ponytail to make it more secure then slipped the black winter gloves I had stashed away in my purse over my hands. I pushed the car door open, tossed the keys on the seat and tucked my bag under my arm. I was never more thankful to have decided to wear jeans that day. The setting sun was causing the temperature to drop fast, and the chilly autumn air breezed through my sweater which it turned out was not as thick as I believed.
I crossed the grassy area between the highway and the fence in less than three minutes. The chain link fence was only six feet high, and my narrow-toed boots made scaling the fence easy. When I reached the top, I took a deep breath and looked around. A car whizzed by several hundred yards away on the overpass as I jumped down onto the grass below. I looked up and watched it take the exit and drive past the car I had left on the side of the road. They didn’t even slow down as they passed the car and I breathed a sigh of relief.
The cars were lined up with barely two feet between them on a gravel lot. There was a mix of small trucks, out of production station wagons, rusted out minivans, and small cars that were at least as old as I was. No one would miss one of those old beaters.
The gravel crunched under my boots as I approached the first car, a beat-up old neon. I tried the handle, locked. I tried a few more with the same outcome. There were probably fifty or sixty cars in the lot, and I wasn’t going to waste my time trying every single handle. Some of them I knew I wouldn’t be able to hotwire anyway.
A small brick building stood at the front of the car lot. The roof was painted
with the car dealership name and logo so that everyone on the highway overpass could see that there was a car dealership stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. I examined the towering light poles for cameras as I approached the building. I didn’t see anything that would indicate a security system and relaxed a bit. Perhaps this wouldn’t be too hard after all.
The front of the little building was a window and a white door. Blinds covered the inside of the window making it impossible for me to peek inside. I grasped the cold, brass doorknob and turned it hard—it was locked just like the cars, but the door gave a bit, and I could tell it wasn’t secured with a deadbolt.
I picked a bobby pin from underneath my ponytail and knelt in front of the door. Picking locks were one of the first tricks I learned after running away from foster home number six after being yanked out of the McCourt’s home. The skill had proven useful time and time again as a great way to get out of trouble, get inside somewhere warm to sleep or get a bite to eat.
Within seconds, the knob turned easily, and the door was creaking open. The dealership office was sparsely decorated with a large fern just inside the doorway, a large empty water dispenser with paper cups shared a wall with four black metal folding chairs that awaited customers and a large beige metal desk on the other side of the half wall with bulletproof glass.
I approached the divide and peered through the glass. A metal box hung on the wall just behind the desk. I knew the car keys were all kept locked inside, but no one had locked up the box that day, it seemed. The door was not closed completely, and I could see the little white tags hanging off the dozens of sets inside — another stroke of fantastic luck.
I pushed through the door labeled "employees only," and slid over the top of the large metal desk. I stood in front of the metal box and grabbed the first set of keys that had an alarm on the key fob then slid right back over the desk. I jogged out of the office and held the key fob up as soon as I stepped outside. The sun had set, and I expected to see headlight blinking on and off as I pushed the alarm button. Instead, there were only crows cawing on the power lines that ran alongside the highway.
Fuck.
A cop car was parked next to the car I had stolen. The door was open, and I could see the cop bent over searching inside. I turned and ran back inside the office and burst into the back room again and scrambled over the desk. This time I grabbed a handful of keys and took them all outside with me. I knew I couldn't set the alarms off, but the lights should blink when I pressed the lock button. I could push the buttons quickly to find the matching vehicles without drawing much attention I hoped.
My third set of keys I tried made the headlights of a rusty blue minivan flash. The mom-car wouldn't have been my first choice, but it was parked in a front row, and I didn't have any more time to waste. I ran across the lot dropping the other sets of keys as I sprinted to the van. I pressed the key fob again to unlock the doors and yanked the door open without hesitation. A few minutes later the minivan was started, and I was pulling onto the gravel drive that led out of the car dealership and up to the access road.
I came to the gate which was locked with a chain and padlock and parked the van. I nervously looked over my shoulder and up towards the highway. The cop was sitting in his car now, and the abandoned vehicle was dark inside. I didn't have any chain cutters, and if I rammed the gates the cop would hear it, and I would be caught red-handed again.
A small body shop was connected to the office, and I figured there had to be something I could use to cut through the chain on the gate. My heart raced, and cold sweat beaded my forehead. I had to keep moving, or I'd get caught again. I climbed out of the minivan and raced back down the gravel road to the shop. The rolling garage door was partly open. I slowed my pace a bit so that if anyone were to be inside after-hours, they wouldn’t hear me.
I crept around the corner of the shop and dropped into a crouch as I tried to steady my breathing. No sound came from inside the garage. I peeked my head around the edge of the door and glanced around. No one seemed to be inside, so I slipped underneath the rolling door silently. When I stood up, I was shoved up against the garage door. The cold metal clanged loudly as my head bounced off. I slumped to the floor and tried to scramble back under the door, but a hand grabbed onto my ankle, then another, and I was yanked back into the garage and sent sprawling across the concrete floor.
Panic set in as my hands roamed the floor trying to find a weapon. There had to be a tool lying around the shop floor somewhere, but I couldn't find anything but a layer of dust and cracks in the concrete. A tall, broad shadow loomed over me in the dark. My eyes began to adjust, and I could tell it was a man.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?!" He finally yelled at me. "You're a woman? Are you fucking kidding me?"
A click and then faint buzzing sound came as the halogen lamps above the garage door began to warm up and brighten. I closed my eyes against the glare to let my eyes adjust and covered my face with my hands. I had backed up against a wall with nowhere to go, and I prayed I could find a way out of the mess I was in before the guy had the sense to call the police.
He stomped towards me shaking his head. He was heavy set and as the lamps turned on completely I could he was young, maybe my age or just a little older. His eyes were downcast in a glare, but he was already huffing and puffing, out of breath from our brief scramble at the garage door. He had shaggy hair that he kept blowing out of his eyes and a long, heavy flashlight like the kind the police use, hung from his belt. I was sure of each step I needed to take as he reached down and grabbed my shoulders to yank me upwards.
I used the momentum of his yank to bring my knee up quickly and hard into his pudgy midsection. His greasy, long hair was in my fists, and I yanked sideways as hard as I could. He yelped and tumbled over, releasing me from his grip. As soon as I steadied myself, I brought my boot down onto his face. He screamed and brought his hands up to cover his face, and I used the opportunity to reach down and grab the flashlight from his belt. I knew I had to get out of here and I couldn’t let garage guy call the police. The thought of killing him hadn’t even fully formed my mind before I was bringing the large, metal flashlight down onto his skull. Again. And Again.
Everything was quiet, and neither of us moved. The blood pooled around my boots as I held my breath and waited to see which one of us would inhale first. My eyes were trained to his chest. I didn’t want to look at the mess I had made of his face and head; although I knew it wasn’t anything, I would soon forget.
A worn nametag patch on his blue mechanic’s shirt said his name was Rudy. I had a feeling Rudy was dead. I had never killed anyone before. I had come close once when I was 17 but knowing that this time, I had completed what I started, a sense of shock and awe came over me. I knelt and placed two fingers on his neck where his pulse was supposed to be. His blood was still warm, and bits of flesh mixed in with it, sliding down his neck onto the floor.
Nothing.
I wiped his sticky blood off my hands with the hem of his uniform shirt then stood up. I stared down at his body for a few minutes and tried to survey my emotions as Dr. Neumann taught me in one of our first sessions. I wasn’t in tune with my emotions, they said. I tried to tell them I didn’t have any. At least, not the ones they wanted me to have. I was only focused on one thing: Finding my family. If it didn’t have to do with that goal, I didn’t care about it. Once again, I felt nothing.
I did feel something—relief. I was relieved that I could get out of the dealership with any car I wanted without anyone getting in my way now. I could relax and take my time as long as the police didn’t come back to the car. I smiled. There. I did what they wanted. I felt something.
I turned away from Rudy’s body and paced around the garage, scanning the shelves and counters for valuables that would fit in my pocket or purse. All I saw were some wrenches, nuts, and bolts, and other car shop things I had no use for. Just as I was about to walk out and head back to the minivan, I saw the ga
s cans in the corner. There were three five-gallon plastic gas containers, and they were all full. Luck had struck again. The van was mostly full, and another 15 gallons would hopefully be enough to get to Cedarville without having to stop at a gas station. Another one of my problems solved. Fate was obviously on my side.
Chapter Seven
I blew a kiss to the little blue sedan that still sat parked on the highway shoulder as I passed it and pulled onto the exit to get back on track. The big green highway sign read “Cedarville 350 miles,” and butterflies erupted in my stomach. That sign was the first indication I had seen that I was heading in the right direction. Carter always mused about how lucky I was. He didn’t understand I was only lucky because of him. He was my good luck charm and the more luck I had, the closer I was to him. The rope that bound me to him was getting stronger. He had to feel it too, the tension was undeniable.
I drove for hours down the highway in the dark contemplating if Carter would recognize me. Twelve years had passed quickly, but I didn’t believe I looked much different from the ten-year-old little girl that was stolen from him.
My eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. Rudy's blood left splatters on my face. I used the back of my sleeve to wipe away the smears closest to my mouth and near my eyes. I tried to remember when the lines at the corner of my eyes had developed. Probably around the same time my sky-blue eyes turned grey. Not the same color they were the last time Carter saw me.
I frowned, decided to leave the blood on my cheeks, and trained my eyes back on the road. The yellow lines down the center of the highway blurred together as I pressed my foot on the gas, trying to make up for lost time. I was just a few more hours away, but my eyes were already weighing heavy. The evening had been exhausting, but my desperation to get back to my home trumped any discomfort I was feeling.
