29. Luella
Chapter 29
Luella
T he rhythmic hum of tires on asphalt is my constant companion as I drive through the night. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel, eyes darting between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. Every set of headlights in the distance sends a jolt of panic through me.
Is it Colton? Xavier?
I’ve been driving for hours, taking random turns and backroads, desperate to put as much distance as possible between myself and the bunker. The adrenaline that fueled my escape is starting to fade, leaving exhaustion in its wake. My eyelids feel heavy, and I know I need to stop soon.
As if on cue, a sign for a small motel appears on the roadside. It’s one of those rundown places that probably rents by the hour, perfect for someone trying to stay off the grid. I pull into the parking lot, kill the engine, and sit for a moment, trying to steady my breathing.
Y ou can do this. One step at a time.
I grab the cash and shove it in my pocket. It’s enough for a few nights, enough to keep moving. The gun in my waistband digs into my side, a cold reminder of how far I’ve come. Scanning the area, I spot a secluded spot behind some overgrown bushes. I carefully maneuver the SUV into the hiding place, making sure it’s well-concealed from the road. With the car hidden, I feel a small sense of relief. At least now I won’t have to worry about it being easily spotted.
A yellow, musty light illuminates the motel office, which reeks of stale cigarettes and mold.
Gross.
A bored-looking man sits behind the counter, barely glancing up from his phone as I approach.
“Room for one,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just for tonight.”
He grunts, punching something into an ancient-looking computer. “Cash or card?”
“Cash,” I reply, sliding some bills across the counter.
He doesn't ask for ID, doesn’t even look at me properly. Just hands me a key with a plastic tag attached. “Room 12. Check-out is at 11.”
I nod my thanks and hurry out, relief washing over me. No questions, no suspicion. Just another nameless face passing through.
The room is exactly what I expected: cheap, musty, with faded floral wallpaper peeling at the corners. But right now, it looks like heaven. I double-check the locks on the door and windows before collapsing onto the bed.
My mind races, replaying the events of the past few hours. Colton’s face when he told me about Xavier, the sound of the fire extinguisher connecting with his skull, the panic as I fled. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block it all out. What if I killed him?
Focus, Luella. What’s next?
I need to change my appearance, that’s for sure. My short blonde hair is too recognizable. And I need new clothes, something that doesn’t scream ‘escaped captive.’ I make a mental list of supplies: hair dye, scissors, some cheap clothes from a thrift store.
But first, sleep. I set the gun on the nightstand, within easy reach, and curl up on top of the scratchy comforter. Despite my exhaustion, sleep doesn’t come easily. Every creak and noise from outside has me jolting awake, heart pounding.
When I finally drift off, my dreams are a twisted mess of memories and fears. Sophia’s face, contorted in pain. My father’s cruel laugh. Xavier’s cold eyes. And Colton...Colton’s hands on my skin, his voice in my ear.
I wake with a start, gasping for air. Sunlight is streaming through the thin curtains, and for a moment, I’m disoriented. Then it all comes flooding back.
I’m free. I’m alone. But I’m hunted.
Why am I always on the run? I’m exhausted from constantly looking over my shoulder, trying to stay one step ahead. This endless cycle of running and hiding is starting to wear me down. I’m sick of living in fear, always searching for the next hiding place. There has to be another way, a chance to finally stand my ground and face what’s coming head-on.
I force myself out of bed, wincing at the various aches and pains from yesterday’s escape. A quick shower in the damp bathroom helps clear my head, and I study my reflection in the foggy mirror. The girl staring back at me looks haunted, dark circles under her eyes, lips chapped and bitten.
Time for a change, Luella.
I dress quickly and gather my meager belongings. It’s time to become someone new, someone Xavier and Colton won’t recognize. As I step out into the bright morning sun, I feel a flicker of hope beneath the fear and uncertainty.
I’m not stupid. I know that I can’t change my appearance enough to not be recognized by them, and I don’t have long enough to do it. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next. A simple change of appearance won’t be enough to throw off Colton and Xavier. They’re too resourceful, too determined. I need a more drastic plan.
First things first, ditch the SUV. It’s too easily traceable. I drive it to a busy parking lot in town, wiping down the surfaces for prints before abandoning it. From there, I walk to a cheap diner, my senses on high alert. Over a greasy breakfast, I consider my options.
I could try to disappear completely—new identity, new life. But that takes resources I don’t have. And deep down, I know I can’t run forever. The desire for justice—for revenge—still burns inside me.
No, I need to face this. But on my terms.
An idea starts to form. It’s risky, possibly suicidal. But it might be my only shot.
I finish my breakfast before ducking into an internet café, my eyes scanning the street before I enter. Is anyone watching?
I can’t shake the feeling of being followed, though the faces around me blur into strangers. Once inside, I search frantically—police stations, FBI, local news. Every click of the mouse feels like a ticking clock, counting down to the moment Xavier finds me. With shaking hands, I start drafting emails to law enforcement, to journalists. I detail Xavier’s crimes, the abuse, the trafficking ring. I include dates, names, anything I can remember from my time in his house. It’s not enough for a conviction, but it’s enough to start an investigation.
Before I hit send, I pause. This will put a target on my back.
So?
Still, I don’t send it just yet. I save it to my drafts.
I head outside, standing frozen in front of the cafe, feeling like a rabbit in headlights. The neon sign flickers above me, casting an eerie glow on the empty parking lot. My legs ache from walking for hours after abandoning the car, paranoia convincing me it could be traced.
A figure steps from the shadows, too close. My hand twitches toward my waistband. He’s mid-thirties, with kind eyes—but I’ve learned not to trust appearances.
“You alright, miss?” His smile feels forced, the way his eyes flicker over me makes my skin crawl.
I tense, my hand instinctively moving towards the concealed gun. “I’m fine,” I lie, my voice hoarse.
He doesn’t look convinced. “You look like you could use some help. I’m Tom. Is there anything I can do? My wife is back home if you want to speak to a woman?”
His offer is tempting; I’m exhausted and desperate. But years of abuse has taught me to be wary of strangers, especially men offering help.
“That’s...very kind,” I say cautiously, “but I should get going.”
Tom nods, understanding. “At least let me buy you a coffee before you head out. It’s not safe for a young woman to be alone out here at night.”
I hesitate, weighing my options. A warm drink does sound good, and I could use a moment to gather my thoughts.
“I just had a coffee,” I respond with a tight smile. “But thank you.”
The man smiles. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just passing through.”
Tom nods, still concerned but not pushing further. “Well, if you change your mind, there’s a shelter a few blocks down. They take in people in need, no questions asked. It’s a safe place.”
I manage a small smile, genuinely grateful for his kindness. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He tips his hat and walks away, leaving me alone in the cold night air. I look back at the diner, the warmth and chatter inside contrasting sharply with the dark, empty street. I wrap my arms around myself, feeling the weight of the gun tucked into my waistband.
This is it. The point of no return.
I take a deep breath and step back into the diner, heading straight to the counter. “Can I use your phone?” I ask the waitress, trying to keep my voice casual.
She glances at me, then at the old rotary phone hanging on the wall. “Local calls only, hon.”
“It’s local,” I assure her, dialing the number for the nearest police station. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for the call to connect.
“Police Department,” a gruff voice booms.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s coming. “I have information about Xavier Blackwood. He’s involved in some serious crimes, and I can provide evidence.”
There’s a pause on the line, then the voice sharpens. “Who am I speaking to?”
“My name isn’t important,” I say, gripping the phone cord tightly. “What’s important is that Xavier Blackwood is a dangerous man, and he needs to be stopped.”
I hear the scratch of a pen on paper. “Alright, miss. I need you to come down to the station and give a statement. Can you do that?”
My heart races at the thought of walking into a police station, exposing myself like that. But it’s the only way. “Yes, I can do that. I’ll be there in an hour.”
I hang up the phone, my hands shaking. The waitress gives me a curious look, but I just nod my thanks and leave, stepping out into the night once more.
The walk to the police station is a blur. Every step feels like a march towards my own doom, but I keep moving, one foot in front of the other. When I finally reach the station, I stand outside for a moment, looking up at the imposing brick building.
This is it. The moment of truth.
I take a deep breath and step inside, approaching the desk sergeant. “I need to talk about Xavier Blackwood,” I say, my voice faltering.
The sergeant’s gaze sharpens. His pen hovers over his notepad, skeptical. His silence stretches, forcing me to speak again.
“He’s dangerous. I have evidence.”
He gestures to the plastic chairs with a slow nod. “Wait here.”
I sit down, my heart pounding in my chest. The minutes tick by like hours, each one stretching my nerves tighter. Just when I feel like I can’t take it anymore, a tall, broad-shouldered man approaches me.
“Miss, I’m Detective Martin. You have some information about Xavier Blackwood?”
I stand up, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Yes, I do. But I need protection. Xavier is looking for me, and he’ll stop at nothing to silence me.”
The detective’s expression doesn’t change, but I see a flicker of something in his eyes. Concern, maybe even belief. “Alright, let’s go somewhere private to talk. But I need to know your name before we proceed.”
I hesitate, the alias “Mary” on the tip of my tongue. But something stops me. I’m done hiding, done running. It’s time to face this head-on.
“Luella,” I say, my voice steady. “My name is Luella Watts.”
As I follow Detective Martin to an interview room, I feel a strange sense of calm wash over me. Whatever happens next, at least I’m finally taking a stand. I’m not just a victim, not just a girl on the run.
I’m Luella Watts, and I’m fighting back.
The interview room is stark and cold, a fluorescent light buzzing overhead. Detective Martin gestures for me to sit, taking a seat across from me. He pulls out a notepad and pen, his expression serious.
“Alright, Luella. Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me everything you know about Xavier Blackwood.”
And so, I do. I tell him about my sister, about my father, about the years of abuse and the brutal death of my mother. I tell him about Xavier’s involvement, about the horrors I witnessed in his house. I tell him about Colton, about the twisted relationship we had, about the bunker and my escape.
Detective Martin listens intently, taking notes and only interrupting to clarify a detail or ask a question. When I finish, he looks up from his notepad, his eyes meeting mine. “Luella, this is some serious stuff. We’re going to need more than just your testimony to build a case against Xavier. Do you have any evidence, anything that can corroborate your story?”
I nod, thinking of the emails I drafted earlier. “I have some things written down, dates, names, stuff I remember. And I can show you where the bunker is, where Colton took me. There might be evidence there.”
The detective nods, satisfied. “Good. We’ll start with that. But Luella, you need to understand something. If we move forward with this, you’re going to be in danger. Xavier Blackwood is a powerful man, and he won’t go down without a fight.”
I meet his gaze, unflinching. “I know. But I can’t keep running. I need to face this, whatever the cost.”
Detective Martin studies me for a moment, then nods. “Alright. But we’re going to need to put you in protective custody. At least until we can gather enough evidence to make an arrest.”
I agree, feeling a knot of fear in my stomach—but also, for the first time in a long time, a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I can finally bring Xavier to justice. Maybe I can find some peace.
As the detective starts making arrangements, I sit back in my chair, exhausted but determined. The road ahead will be long and dangerous, but I’m ready to walk it.
For Sophia. For my mother. For every girl who’s ever been a victim of men like Xavier.