Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
"Are you sure?" I can see the sympathy in her eyes, but I don’t want it. I have to get out of here before my face makes the news as a missing person.
"I am. This is all I need." I take the envelope of money and leave. An idea comes to me, and I walk over to the teller and say, “Sorry, Marisa. There is something you can do for me.”
“Yes?” she smiles kindly. It almost makes me cry how nice some people can be when those closest to you couldn’t care less as long as you’re not an inconvenience to them.
“Can you please save this footage? Maybe print out an image of my face?” It’s probably a lot to ask, but if they report my disappearance, my father will look and then try to hide the footage of my black eye. I know it.
“I will,” she says.
“I might need it later. Thank you so much.”
“I have some family and friends in Montana if you’re looking for somewhere to hide out.” She writes down an address, and then slides the paper over to me.
“I won’t tell them who’s coming, but she’s my sister and a sweetheart. Take care.”
Thank you, I mouth. I slide my sunglasses on. I wait until I’m outside to look at the information. Even though it's only twenty degrees out, the sun beams down and is almost blinding, so I decide to check the note in the car. Walking back toward my vehicle, I see the beauty of Christmas all around. It's a shame that I can't stay.
Louisa Morrison 200 S. Maple Rd. Cunningham Falls, Montana.
Maybe I’ll make my way that way eventually. I don’t want her hospitality, but if she can help me find a job, I’d appreciate it. I'm extra careful in the parking garage just in case my dad has tracked me. I turned off the GPS in the car last night, and now, I leave my phone in the parking garage.
Jumping on the fifty-five, I take it to the eighty and drive out west. From the footage of the garage, it’s clear that I’m alone and left of my own free will, which isn’t illegal.
It’s just after rush hour, and since I’m heading out of the city I make great time, even with the icy roads. I'm halfway through Iowa when I need to rest and fill up on gas again. I do my best to stay out of the view of the cameras and pick up snacks. The worst part is using the restrooms that have seen better days, but I'm going to find a room when I get out far enough.
I've zigzagged through the state before heading toward Nebraska. I drop farther south and enjoy a couple nights on the road in the warmth. It feels good to be cozy when I sleep at a rest stop. Thankfully, it’s fully lit, but I can’t stay hidden here for long.
It's not the end of my trip because I'm headed north again. Three days of travel and I'm exhausted. I haven't heard anything on the news about my disappearance or sightings, which is incredibly good, but I’m afraid it’s not going to last. I bought a disposable phone for an emergency, but I have no intention of turning it on unless it's absolutely necessary.
Finally I reach Cunningham Falls, Montana. It's far north, colder than I want to be and definitely the last place they’d look for me. Anyone who knows me knows I hate the cold, so this is perfect for the time being. In three months, I’ll be twenty-two and my family inheritance will be mine.
There are no rooms available at the hotel so close to Christmas, so I'm stuck in my car. A part of me wants to contact the woman on the paper, but I’m too nervous. It’s foolish to travel this far north. Tomorrow, I'll have to move on. There's no way I'll survive this weather in my car. I pull off and find a spot that seems to have less wind and out of sight. Falling asleep is going to be difficult, but I keep my heat on and lights off as I pass out in my backseat.
I don't know how long I've been passed out when I startle at the knocking on the window. Oh God. Please tell me it's not my dad or his men. I peek out and see a man and woman younger than my dad, but at least a decade older than me.
I lower the window a crack to see what they want. "Sweetheart, have you no place to go?" the woman asks. I shake my head and answer, "No one has a room."
"You'll about die of hypothermia by morning. We're in for a storm soon. Follow us to our home. Is there anyone else with you?" I shouldn’t be this trusting, but she might be right.