Blood and Bone(18)

     



 

My feet hardly make a sound as I creep into the garage. I lift the door  handles on the cars parked in there until one makes a clicking sound  that is like angels singing to me. I sit in the driver's seat and look  at the steering wheel, running my hands up and down it. Nothing comes  back to me. I remember the movies I've seen and look around the car,  flipping the visor and feeling around the different places, but there is  no key. I sigh and glance down where there should be a keyhole, but  there isn't one. Instead, there's a strange button with the word  "start." I press the button and the engine starts, making me almost jump  out as I look around for the owner of the car. After a minute with no  one coming, I back the car out of its space and down the quiet street,  assuming it's a remote starter of sorts.

I look down at the starter button, shaking my head. What moron puts a push start in an unlocked car?

The question is answered a mile down the road when the car randomly  stops. It must have a radius it can run in but stops when the key is no  longer in range.

I run along the streets of the residential area, lifting the door  handles on every car I pass until I come across one that opens. I climb  in, letting my mind go blank, and reach down, tearing the wiring and  spark-starting it like a criminal. Wait-that's not the term for it.  Hot-wiring. I can hot-wire!

Jesus!

I drive as far as the car will go, four hours out of Seattle. The car  runs out of gas in the city limits of Spokane. I leave it on the side of  the road and start the trek to the city. I am exhausted and starving  again by the time I get within a few blocks of the downtown area.

I have no money, no food, no clothes, and no shoes. I am on the run, but I'm not sure what I'm running from or to.

I bite my lip and look around the street, catching a glimpse of myself  in the window of the store I am next to. My image distorts, and I see  her, the blonde. She smiles at me, dangling a cherry from her lips. She  takes a bite of it. It's seductive and ballsy. Neither of which I am.

I need to go back. I don't even know where back is, but I need to go  there. She was trying to tell me something. I pull my phone from my  pocket and dial 911. It's the only option I can reasonably think of.

"Miss me already?" I can see the smug-ass grin on his face just by hearing his voice.

"Rory, I'm in trouble."

He scoffs. "I coulda told ya that." He chuckles, but I can tell it's an exhausted laugh. "Sam, where are ya?"

"Spokane."

"I'll be there in three hours. Can you hold tight? Meet me at the bus  station, and ditch that phone. He's tracking it for sure." He hangs up,  leaving me there with that. Nothing, really.

He won't be here for hours, and I'm stuck in a city with no food.

But I'm not the feeble girl I was a week ago.

I'm a survivor.

I turn and drop the phone off the bridge I'm on and walk up a street  called S Coeur Dalene St. It's a bit dodgy at the bottom near the  bridge, but as I climb the hill it gets better. When the concrete  changes to red bricks, the houses become a mixture of stunning and  estate-like or small family homes. The area looks like it once was older  but now is being upgraded with newer and bigger homes. I find a house  with no cars out front and no people walking about, making shadows  inside. I don't look around like I'm guilty. I just walk into the  backyard like this is my house or I have directions from the owners. The  backyard is immaculate, much like those of the other houses in the  neighborhood would be.

I walk to the small patio and open the door. Of course it opens. It's a  smaller city, with trusting people. I hurry to the kitchen, making no  noise in my slippers. The fridge is filled with all kinds of options,  making me nearly giggle as I take the first bite of the apple I steal.  The juice bursts in my mouth. I don't know the last time I ate so I fill  up on pepperoni, cheese slices, and yogurt cups. I drink from the juice  jug like a savage, spilling the orange juice down my face a little.

My stomach is overly full when I put everything back and wipe down the  cupboards and floor where I spilled. I hurry, exploring the house  silently but stopping when I find the mudroom and open the dryer, taking  a pair of yoga pants out. They're a bit big, but it doesn't matter. I  drag them on with a T-shirt and a sweater and pull on socks before  closing the dryer. Holding my dirty clothes, I contemplate bringing them  before I shrug and place them in the hamper.

The closet has a dozen jackets, all for a woman a touch larger than me,  but it's perfect for the extra layers. I put on a coat and hiking boots;  at least they fit perfectly. I leave through the garage next to the  mudroom and out the side door into the front yard.         

     



 

I don't know how long it'll take me to walk to the downtown area; not  knowing Spokane well is a bit of a hindrance. We've come here twice  since moving to Seattle. But I believe I know where the bus station is,  having seen it once. We parked our car behind a building across the  street from it.

I head down the hill, back to the overpass and bridge area. The traffic  is slower than when I arrived, as midmorning has hit and the rush is  over. The sidewalk on Sunset Boulevard is cracked and broken. It isn't  at all like the other Sunset Boulevard I've walked on. It's a bit  sketchy, and I'm glad it's midmorning and not late at night. West Sunset  isn't much of an improvement. It's all very underdeveloped and messy.  It makes me miss Seattle.

I miss me. I miss being blind.

When I get onto West Second, the street becomes a touch more inviting.  My heart races a bit less as I make my way into what feels more like the  start of the downtown area.

No matter how unfamiliar and foreign the place is to me, I hate that I  feel his eyes on me at every turn. I don't know if I will ever feel safe  again. Seeing the pictures of me, I realize he won't ever stop looking  for me. If I want this to end I have to kill him or bring him in, but I  don't think I can do either. So my only other option is to run, even  when I want to go back so badly it hurts.

There is a sick longing for him inside me, but I run my fingers along  the scar on my head and remind myself of the lengths he went to in  making me his. Not to mention the frightened look in my eyes on the  video. Something was very wrong there. Worst-case scenario, in his drive  to be with me, I have to assume there may be a possibility he would  murder me to prevent me from leaving.

I don't understand why I am here. Why Samantha Barnes would have ever  chosen this as a fate. Why she would have ever agreed to a near  lobotomy. There is a chance Samantha Barnes didn't agree to any of it. I  have to see that.

But any way I try to solve it, the only way to the answers is in going back.

The bus station takes me a half hour to get to. It's easy to find when  you spot the bus drivers in their uniforms walking about, to and from  work.

I lean against the wall in an obscure corner of the bus station, like a  panhandler, and wait. My eyes never stop looking for him. The conflict  of his finding me is too much for one person to struggle with. I want  him to and I don't. It's not an even tie. The rational side of my brain  agrees he's insane and I am on borrowed time as far as being with him is  concerned. But the hopeless, feeble dipshit I was with him wants him  back. I want to be loved and protected. It was easy with him, always.

And he had a point when he said that his actions for years should have outweighed the words spoken against him.

If he is sick, his disease is clearly managed by his work with the CIA.  Unless he's been killing people Rory doesn't know about. It's scary that  he obviously thinks he needs to kill people, but it's even scarier that  I'm trying to look past it. Yet he has never done anything but love me.

My butt aches nearly as badly as my mind and heart do, but I don't move.  I just watch as people come and go in hordes. Boarding and departing  buses and trams. It's a crowded place.

A man comes and sits next to me, grinning broadly. "Hey, Jane!"

I almost smile when I see Antoine in a hoodie and sweats. He looks gangsta but he's still sexy as sin on a stick.

"Ready to get out of here?"

I nod, getting up and following him out into the crowd. My legs are  cramped and aching, but it feels good to be moving. He walks to a small  black SUV with tinted windows. The back door opens as we near it. I  climb in to find Rory sitting in the backseat.

"Hello, love."

I scowl, not completely convinced he's the right person to be trusting.  He offers me a bag with donuts in it. I stuff a whole one in my mouth,  savoring the sweetness of the glaze as I devour it.

Antoine gets into the driver's seat, starting and driving off. I turn to  the right to look out the window and see Derek standing in the doorway I  have just come from, watching me. He wanted me to see him, or I  wouldn't have. I don't say a word, just swallow my lumping mouthful and  force my aching heart to shut the hell up, even if my brain won't.

He followed me the entire way. Was he protecting me?