Chapter 7
With no phone for navigation and no car to make a getaway, I walk the few blocks to the library with my suitcase in tow. People cast me sidelong glances, but I can’t bring myself to care. The freedom of movement feels surreal after so many hours confined to sterile hospital walls.
My steps quicken despite the weight of the suitcase as it rumbles behind me, its wheels catching on sidewalk cracks. Each block I put between myself and the house eases the pressure on my chest, though my gaze stays trained on the roads as I keep a look out for cop cars.
The public library comes into view, a solid brick building with wide windows. As soon as I step inside, I breathe a sigh of relief. The library has always been a sanctuary, and I hadn’t realized how much I needed it until this moment.
I find an empty computer station in the far corner, positioning myself with my back to the wall, eyes constantly darting to the entrance.
Joel wouldn't think to look for me here, and he won’t know I’m missing for hours, but the fear has become an instinct.
The irrational part of my mind never stops churning with unlikely scenarios—what if he saw me on the street and saw me walk in here? What if he thwarts my plans of escape?
No. I can’t even allow myself to consider the possibility. I will make my getaway.
My bandaged wrists make typing awkward, the gauze catching on the keyboard's edge. The librarian at the desk keeps casting glances my way, and I attempt to ignore the concern in her expression.
It would’ve been ideal for me to run away without encountering others, considering the fact that my bandaged arms make me stand out from the crowd everywhere I go, but it’s not like I have many options.
I have no phone, no car, and very little money.
Even if I did have my car, I wouldn’t be surprised if Joel had installed a secret tracker inside it.
I lay the small slip of paper out on the shiny wooden desk and copy the address into Google maps.
It pinpoints a spot deep in the Appalachian mountains, a tiny dot on the map surrounded by nothing but green forest and winding roads.
When I try to look at the house from the street view, all I can make out is a twisty gravel driveway past a metal gate.
Otherwise, it’s forest in every direction.
Well, that makes this more difficult.
I open another tab and check the train routes, but there isn’t one that goes in the direction I need. Next, I check bus routes, and I manage to find one that gets me within twenty miles of where I need to go.
I’m not sure how I’ll get to the address once I’m at the bus stop, but I’m sure I could convince someone to call me an Uber or something. Even though I don’t have a phone, I do have cash.
After paying the librarian the ten cents for printing, I pull up the driving directions from the destination bus stop to the address I’ve been obsessing over and say a silent prayer to whatever deity that will listen that this works out.
I print the directions, my fingers trembling as I pick up the still-warm paper and thank the librarian for her help before scrawling down the bus departure and arrival time. I have quite a few hours to go before the bus leaves.
The small map at the top of the paper shows a ribbon of highway cutting through the mountains, then smaller roads branching off like veins, growing thinner and more twisted as they climb. Beneath that are the directions to the house. At least, I’m assuming it’s a house.
Seriously, what am I doing? Following an address left by someone who’s been stalking me is undoubtedly the dumbest thing I could ever do.
My rational mind screams how dangerous this is, but something pulls me forward, something beyond logic or reason.
Maybe it’s curiosity, or maybe it’s desperation to live any life but the one I have now.
I’m fully aware that I’m not only being stupid but reckless, but it’s much easier to make rash decisions when I don’t value my life to begin with.
I decide to browse the bookshelves for a while, preferring to stay in the air conditioning as long as possible before making my way the mile and a half across town to the bus station.
I’m not looking for anything in particular, so I pull books out at random, reading the back and sometimes flipping through the pages before putting them back on the shelf.
It’s an hour later when I find one that draws me in from the first page, and I glance at the clock before deciding I probably have time to finish half the book before I really need to leave.
So, that’s what I do. I settle into a chair in the corner of the room with the book in my lap and my bags at my side, and I read.
I get lost in the story of magic and destiny and fated love, until I glance up and see that two hours have passed.
Still, I don’t need to be on the bus for another couple hours, so I continue reading until I’m just past the halfway point.
Wanting to know the ending of the story but not wanting to go through the process of checking it out—because that would require providing my library card, which could lead Joel to me—I discreetly slip the book into my backpack before standing.
It feels wrong to steal from a library, but I do it despite the guilt gnawing at my stomach. Maybe I’ll mail the book back when I finish it.
With that justification in my mind, I double check that my paper with directions is in the same place I had put it in my backpack. Then, I head back out into the sticky, suffocating August heat and walk to the bus station.
The outside of the bus station smells faintly of gasoline, and I walk past a couple smoking cigarettes before finding a seat in the small, air-conditioned building. Outside, a train rattles over the tracks as it speeds past, and the Charlotte skyline towers ahead.
I purchase a ticket for the four o’ clock bus with cash, sliding the bills through the slot to a bored attendant who barely looks up. Once I have the ticket in hand, I settle onto one of the hard metal benches and wait.
Soon, I’ll be headed northwest, away from the city and into the mountains somewhere deep in rural Appalachia.
As I wait for the bus to arrive, I pull out the book I’d taken from the library, but the echo of noise in this small building drowns out the words on the page.
I can’t focus. So instead, I watch the other occupants.
A mother rocks a fussing infant. An elderly man snores softly with his chin tucked to his chest. A teenager with headphones taps her foot to whatever music she’s listening to.
All normal people with normal lives. I wonder if I'll ever be one of them.
When the bus finally pulls in, I hand my suitcase to the worker loading them and choose a window seat near the back. The engine rumbles beneath us, vibrations traveling up through the floor, and as we pull away from the station, I press my forehead against the cool glass and watch the city pass me.
After a while, the buildings grow sparse and traffic thins.
The landscape transforms as we lumber down the highway, with low, rolling hills gradually coming into view.
Kudzu crawls over the dense vegetation on the side of the highway, smothering the trees until they loom like phantoms. Every few miles, garish, dirty yellow billboards pronounce “Jesus Saves” and “REPENT” other vaguely ominous religious messages.
I wonder offhandedly what their purpose is besides self-important proclamations of faith.
I manage to read another hundred pages of my book to distract myself from my growing anxiety before giving up again.
I’d guess there’s only an hour left of this drive, and I have no clue what awaits me.
In one hour, I’ll be getting off the bus in a town I’ve never been to meet a man I’ve never truly met, with no alternative plan and enough money to maybe cover a couple nights in a cheap motel if things go terribly wrong.
Fuck.
My forearms throb with a dull ache, as if reminding me of my alternative if everything goes to shit. I try not to think about it.
The sun is sinking lower in the sky as I stare out the window.
We’re in the mountains now, but the highway cuts right through them.
Even with the modern roadways and cities, though, the Appalachian mountains have a presence that’s impossible to ignore.
They’re ancient, foreboding, and in the fading light of day, it seems as if anything could be hiding in the thickets of kudzu that climb across the trees and undergrowth.
We pull off the highway, and I know we’re getting close to our destination as the driver navigates the winding roads toward the town.
The yellow signs—why are there so many yellow signs in the rural south?
—for Waffle House and Dollar General shine like beacons for the nearest town in the fading daylight.
It’s close to 8 p.m. Joel will be looking for me by now, wondering where the hell I’ve run off to.
I’m sure he’s in a fit of rage, probably punching holes in the drywall or breaking things.
The thought makes my chest seize with fear until I realize, I never have to go back.
I don’t know what my life will look like in the coming weeks, days, or even hours, but I do know that he’ll never lay a hand on me again.
I wonder if he’ll report me as missing, or if his ego will be too massive to admit that his wife ran from him.
Thirty minutes later, I’m exiting the bus behind a short line of people. My entire body thrums with anxiety, fear of the unknown coupled with exhilaration for the potential of what could happen.