Hiding for the Holidays

Chapter 1

Rosalie

Silence surrounds me as I pull yet another piece of tinsel from between a row of seats. I sigh, wondering if taking this job was a wise decision after all.

It’s not that I mind the work; cleaning a three-car train wasn’t the worst thing I’d done for money. It was the fact that I had to do it during the night.

The Christmas decorations completely covered the train, and during the day, it ran between Silent Pines, where I’m currently living, and three other small rural towns that surrounded Blackpine Mountain.

They played non-stop Christmas music, served eggnog and gingerbread cookies and even passed multiple impressive holiday displays as the train ran the circuit.

At least, that’s what the brochure said.

I certainly couldn’t afford a ticket to experience it myself.

I just worked as the night cleaner every fourth night while it was parked in Silent Pines.

At least this way I could almost pretend it was a normal Christmas.

That I was getting ready to go bake cookies with my mom instead of hiding under a fake name in a town I’d never even heard of before I stumbled into it a week ago.

Choosing to use the name Clara Wolf blended my love of Christmas and my favorite movie, The Tenth Kingdom.

A creak further down the car has me freezing from where I’m on my hands and knees, scrubbing at the floor between two rows of seats.

I wait, fear coursing through my body, and when I hear nothing else, I push up to my feet and peek between the seats. When I don't see any movement, I stand up and scan the train car.

Nothing.

I let out a breath of relief. I never used to be so jumpy, but he had changed everything.

I grab my cleaning supplies and walk to the car, doing one last inspection to make sure I haven’t missed anything.

Pleased with what I see, I move to the back of the train and store my supplies in the utility closet before grabbing my jacket and exiting into the small train yard, locking the door behind me.

I pull my jacket tight around me, a chill running through me as my eyes dance around the darkness, looking for any signs of him.

When I ran, I grabbed the only jacket I had hanging by the front door. My only goal was getting out of there before he woke up. That meant I left all my clothes, including my winter jacket.

Something wet touches my nose, and I tilt my head up. Snow.

I glance at my watch. Four fifteen in the morning, which makes it December fourth. Seems a bit late for the first snowfall of the season, but I’ve only been here a week; it may have snowed already.

Where I’m from, we often had several small snowfalls that didn’t last more than a few hours, or a few days at most, before late December.

Of course, snow on Christmas Eve was what I always hoped for.

The fluffy white powder coating the world in a layer of Christmas magic made the day so much better.

I wasn’t sure I wanted that this year. I had no snow gear. No boots, no gloves and no hat. And with only working every fourth night, I didn’t have an extra dollar to my name.

When I finally make it to the sidewalk, it feels like the temperature has dropped a few more degrees. I shove my icy hands into my pockets and try to dip my chin into the collar of my coat to keep it warm as I trudge home.

The room I rented wasn’t exactly home, but it was all I could afford.

Silent Pines is a relatively small town and doesn’t seem to have many options for rental accommodations.

When I arrived at the bus station, I checked out the bulletin board, as I do in every town.

Among the ads for apartment rentals, I saw one ad for a single room to rent.

The price seemed too good to be true, and I had enough cash in my pocket for the first month’s rent.

After getting directions from the bus station clerk, I arrived there an hour later, exhausted and frozen. The landlord, Janet Ross, was easy to find, and when she showed me the building and the room, I knew I looked disappointed.

It was essentially a crack house. She knew it; I knew it, but we both knew I couldn’t afford anything better, why else would I have walked an hour to get there without even calling first?

So I took the room, which is comprised of an old twin mattress, a desk and chair, and literally nothing else. There was a shared bathroom down the hall that looked so dirty I wasn't sure I’d ever feel clean after showering in it.

But I was lacking options, and Janet didn’t ask for a background or credit check. She didn’t even ask to see my ID.

And since all I had was a mediocre forged one I’d gotten two cities ago, I knew the room was my only choice if I didn’t want to be sleeping on the streets anymore.

I’d been traveling non-stop since I left Parker Heights a few weeks ago, always grabbing naps on the bus as I traveled around the country, looking for somewhere to stay.

Now I’m wishing I ended up somewhere warmer, where it didn’t snow, but I didn’t exactly plan this out. I just couldn’t stay there any longer.

The world is eerily quiet at this time of day. With the snow gently falling around me, I’d almost call it peaceful, except I couldn’t really find peace anymore. Constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if he’d tracked me down… it left me in a never-ending state of fear.

When I finally make it back to my apartment building, I find a flyer shoved into the door jamb.

I pull it out and push the door open, stepping into the slightly warmer interior.

I hate that the front door doesn’t lock.

I asked Janet about it, but she just said it’s on her list to get fixed.

Judging by the state of the entire building, that list only ever got bigger.

I walk down the hall to my room. It’s nice not having to climb the stairs, but being on the first floor felt dangerous.

Unlocking my bedroom door, I step inside, bolt the door and shove my desk chair under the handle for good measure. Kicking off my shoes, I place them beside the door.

Luckily, at this time of the day, the building was pretty quiet, so I might actually be able to get some sleep for a change.

A door slams shut somewhere in the building, causing me to jump, my eyes going wide in alarm. A minute later, a toilet flushes, and I relax. Nobody breaks in to use the washroom.

I shrug my jacket off and realize I’m still holding the flyer from the front door. It’s advertising Iron Oaks, a local gym.

I snort at the terrible flyer. There is no clear call to action, and I’m not even sure who they’re trying to target.

There’s a stock photo of a weight bench with some free weights and several starbursts highlight different offerings.

It might be my marketing diploma speaking, but the whole thing was a mess.

They didn’t even have a logo or website.

I place it on my bed and read it while slipping off my jeans and sweater as I shake my head at all the captions fighting for dominance on this cluttered flyer.

“Treadmills available, classes available, learn to fight, open most days, weights and dumbbells, self-defense classes.”

The last one has me pausing as I pick it up and read the fine print.

“Self-defense classes. First one’s free.”

The flyer is pretty bad, but a free self-defense class might be a good idea. I’m sure I couldn’t learn much in one class, but it might be worth a shot.

I don’t have a cell phone, as I couldn’t afford one and ditched my old one, so I‘d have to ask someone to look up the address for me.

Realizing I forgot to brush my teeth, I groan, pulling my jeans back on and throwing on the one t-shirt I have to sleep in. I move the chair from under the door, grab my small toiletries bag, and dash to the bathroom.

After getting ready for bed, I head back to my room, securing the chair under the door handle again. I slip off my jeans and bra, climb under my threadbare comforter and close my eyes.

I wish I could replace this secondhand comforter that Perry gave me. He lives across the hall and saw Janet giving me the key. He asked if I needed help with my stuff, and upon finding out I had nothing, he offered me his old bedding that he was about to throw out.

I could see why he was getting rid of it.

It’s full of holes, lumpy in some spots and almost transparent in others.

But it was far better than sleeping on a bare, dirty mattress, so I was grateful for his kindness.

It really said something about how far I’d fallen that I was taking leftover blankets from a meth-head.

If I could figure out a way to get a little more money, I could replace this comforter with a nicer one.

A soft banging comes through the wall, elevating my anxiety again. I pull the comforter over my head, grateful nobody can see my childish response to fear, as I try to steady my breathing.

After a couple of minutes, I finally clue in to what it is. It’s the sound of someone having sex. They must have woken up for an early-morning romp in the hay. I pull the blanket down and roll my eyes at my stupidity.

I try to sleep, but the banging and moaning keeps me awake for almost an hour.

“They can’t be having sex this whole time… can they?” I stare up at my ceiling with wide eyes. I’d had good sex before. But I don’t recall any encounters lasting longer than twenty minutes from start to finish.

“What are they doing?” I ask myself in confusion.

Finally, the sounds stop, and I turn on to my side and close my eyes.

It’s six in the morning now, and I really just want to get a few hours of sleep before it gets noisy.

But I’m not holding out hope, as the people who live in this building are anything but predictable.

Some were up early, some up late. There was always noise, whether it was from people having very loud sex, an argument in the hall, or a TV turned up excessively loud. It was never quiet here.

I sleep fitfully, my dreams filled with memories I’d sooner forget. When I finally wake, it’s to loud music and someone yelling right outside my door. Glancing at my clock, I see it’s ten am. I doubt I’ll be getting any more sleep today.

I groan, wondering how long I can keep living like this. Scared, alone and hiding from a man who, when he catches up to me, might just kill me.