Chapter 5 Wren
CHAPTER FIVE
WREN
Right before I try to pull open the front door, I hear the lock click back in place and jump back in surprise. When nothing else happens, I frown, turning the bolt again, unlocking it. But it just clicks back over before I can pull the door open.
“Stupid technology,” I grumble, trying again, unsuccessfully, to escape this place. Why my brother had fancy locks on every door, I’ll never know.
Probably to keep you from leaving.
I shake that thought away, and before I can try to turn to the deadbolt again, all the lights inside turn off at once. The back of my neck starts to prickle in warning.
What is going on?
A single light turns on somewhere down the hall, grabbing my attention, and when I don’t hear any footsteps, I slowly creep my way toward it. I end up in the mudroom that leads into the attached garage.
I hear the lock click and jump back with a gasp as I wait to be caught. But nobody comes in. After another ten seconds of silence, I move to the door and very slowly turn the knob. When the door opens, I let out a small breath of relief and decide this could work as an escape route.
The garage is dark and silent as I make my way across it to the door on the far side. I believe it leads to the side of our property. I still need to make it to the front gate.
Then what? Are you gonna scale the twelve-foot-tall iron gates?
“Shut up,” I grumble to my internal pessimist. “I’ll figure it out.”
Luckily, the side door isn’t locked, and I’m able to step outside into the night. This side of the house has no lights, which makes it an ideal place for me to exit.
“Let’s just pretend this was plan A all along, and forget I ever tried the front door,” I whisper to myself.
Staring toward the edge of the property, I know there’s an eight-foot fence the whole way around, one I have no hope of climbing. Could there be a hole in it somewhere?
Deciding I have no choice but to look, I take a peek both ways, and when I see no guards, I run the hundred-foot distance to the side fence. Luckily, the fence line is hidden in about fifteen feet of trees and bushes. I slowly creep toward the back yard, praying for some way out of here.
“Is someone there?” A guard yells from behind me, and I freeze.
I’ve been spotted!
Suddenly, a loud alarm sounds from the house, startling me.
“What’s happening?” The same man asks.
I open my mouth, unsure what to answer, when I hear a reply over the radio.
“That’s the front door alarm; someone’s trying to break in.”
“On my way!” The man yells as his footsteps grow distant. Slowly, I turn just in time to see him disappear around the front of the house.
I use it as my chance to move and start jogging along the fence, keeping my eyes peeled for a way out. Maybe an animal dug a tunnel under it somewhere.
I make it all the way to the back before I see it—a gate.
I never knew this was here!
I grab the handle and am relieved when it opens easily. Seems like an easy way for someone to break in, but what do I know? It may be locked from the other side.
I close it behind me and move quickly through the trees. I have no idea where I’m going. Is this a forest? I’ve never seen anything beyond the trees during the day. As I move, light starts to shine through the trees, telling me there is something up ahead.
Soon, I find myself at the edge of a dark street, lit by the glow of street lights. There are houses close together on the other side, but none on the side I’m on. I glance up and down the street, wondering which way to go.
To my right, I can see a cross street and cars moving, so I decide that’s a better option. The first thing I need to do is get on a bus. I don’t care where it’s going, as long as it’s away from this town.
I keep looking over my shoulder, terrified the guards will realize I’m gone and come after me. But I make it to a busier area, with other people walking around, without incident.
I ask a couple of people to direct me to the bus station and am pleased I only have to walk two blocks to get there.
Stepping up to the ticket counter, I tell the man, “Good evening, sir. One ticket, please.”
“Where to?” he asks without looking at me.
“What are my options?”
He frowns, finally looking up at me. He takes a second to look over before he asks, “If you’re looking to get out of here quickly, that bus there leaves in five minutes and is heading to Albuquerque.”
“New Mexico? Do I need an ID to go to another state?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Okay, one ticket to Albuquerque, please.”
“That’ll be one eighty-seven.”
I dig into my bag for two of the hundred-dollar bills and hand them over. After pocketing the change and taking the ticket, I thank the nice man, then turn to leave the building. A small white van catches my eye, and I read United States Postal Service on the side.
My heart beats excitedly as I pull out my letter and rush over to the older man currently pulling a bag of mail from the mailbox.
“Excuse me, sir?” I ask tentatively as I approach him, stopping to give him a small curtsy.
Frowning at me, he drops the bag. “Yes?”
“Are you able to deliver this letter for me?” I ask, holding up the envelope.
He gives me a quick once-over before taking the envelope and looking at the front. He smiles at me and nods. “Sure, I’ll make sure it gets there.” He tosses it into the collection bag in front of him. “Have a nice day, miss.”
“You as well,” I give him another quick curtsy before turning and heading for the bus.
I find an empty seat near the back and settle in. I probably should have asked how long the ride is, but it doesn’t matter; I’m just happy to get away from Ivan, from Robert, and from the threat of being sold.
“Excuse me, miss?”
I bolt upright from my seat and look around, finding an older man looking at me from across the aisle.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just thought you might want to know we’re about to arrive at Albuquerque.”
I glance outside, but it doesn’t look too different from Arizona. I look up front and see that the interior sign does, in fact, say Albuquerque is the next stop.
“Thanks, Matthew,” I say, rubbing my lower back that’s sore and stiff. I’ve been on this bus for over fifteen hours, but the journey has taken much longer. Who knew buses had so many layovers?
Matthew boarded at a stop in Flagstaff and started telling me he was going to visit his son in a small town near Albuquerque. When he asked where I was going, I told him I hadn’t decided yet.
He told me about a few places he’d visited in the States, and I was debating where to go next. I was really intrigued by snow, but since it was August, I’d have to wait quite a few months to see it anywhere.
Colorado sounded beautiful, but moving further away from Stoney Creek made me pause. It doesn’t matter, though, I just need to get as far from home as possible.
When I get off the bus, I let the timetable decide for me and buy the first scheduled departure out of there that isn’t heading west.
“Colorado Springs, here I come!”
By the time I arrive, it’s seven p.m., and I’m exhausted and starving. I’ve only eaten a couple of chocolate bars since I left, however many days ago, and that was only by luck, as I saw a man stick a dollar bill into a machine and pull out a candy bar.
It only took me a couple of minutes to figure out how it worked, and it saved me from complete starvation. It was also the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten. But if I didn’t get some real food, real fast, I was gonna keel over.
Looking around the street from the edge of the bus station, I wonder where I can get a good salad. I also need to find somewhere to sleep. A bright sign down the road reads diner, and I make my way there, trying not to drag my feet from exhaustion as I hike my bag up on my hip.
When I step inside, I realize it’s pretty busy—people chattering, utensils dinging on plates, the grill sizzling—and it’s a bit of an assault on my senses.
What doesn’t escape my notice is that there are women here who aren’t wearing dresses.
I’d been noticing that ever since I first stepped foot in the bus terminal, and when a woman greets me and takes me to a booth, telling me her name is Martha and that she’s going to be my server, I bite my tongue, wondering what else Robert has told me is a lie.
Women can work. They can wear pants. It’s all I can do not to stare. As I drink my water and eat my salad, I try not to make it obvious I’m watching everyone. The women are all dressed differently, and even have different hairstyles. One woman's hair is shorter than Robert’s.
“Martha, is there a hotel nearby?” I ask when she brings me the bill. I pull out a fifty, and after hearing other people say, "Keep the change," I tell her the same.
Her eyes go wide as she stares at the money. “Are you sure, honey? My smile ain’t that good.”
I guess a thirty-dollar tip is too much, but I nod, pretending that wasn’t the first bill I’ve ever paid. “Of course, you clearly work hard here.”
She pockets the money and takes my empty plate.
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?
You’re looking for a place to stay? If you want cheap, there’s a motel down the block that way,” she tilts her head to the right.
“But if you’re looking for something a little safer, there’s a Holiday Inn, two blocks in the other direction. ”
“Thanks, Martha. Have a lovely evening,” I tell her, pulling my bag strap over my head as I move to stand up.
“You, too, honey.”
Safety is important to me right now, especially so I can get a good sleep. I just hope I have enough money after that accidentally large tip. It doesn’t take me too long to walk there, and I’m grateful for the well-lit parking lot and welcoming lobby.
Unfortunately, I didn’t realize you’d need an ID to rent a room. The receptionist was kind, at least, and suggested I try the motel, probably the same one Martha had suggested, back in the opposite direction.
It feels like I’ve been walking forever by the time I finally get to the dingy motel and can secure myself a room without any ID. I shove a broken chair under the door for extra security before changing and jumping into the firm bed.
It’s only then that I realize I never read the three other letters I got today, so I pull them out of my bag and read them. They bring tears to my eyes, knowing they are out there and that these are the last letters I’ll ever have from them.
The next morning, as I make my way across the parking lot, a guy around my age jumps out from behind a car, startling me.
“Stay back!” I yell, holding my palms out toward him as fear shoots through me.
He throws his hands up in surrender and takes a step back, calming my racing heart just a tiny bit. “Shit, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you. I just heard you mention you had no ID when you checked in last night.”
He looks around, as if to make sure nobody’s listening, before he steps closer and leans in to speak quietly. “If you’re looking for a fake ID, go to the Gravel and Grit and ask for Tony. It’s a bar on the outskirts of town. It’s closed until Friday, though.”
“Oh, um, thank you,” I tell him, taking a step back.
“No worries.” He spins and runs off so quickly; I’m not even sure where he went.
A fake ID, huh? That could be useful. I could stay at a place much nicer than this dump, and eventually use it for other things. Like, getting a job.
Deciding it’s a great idea, I stop at the lobby, securing the room for another few nights before I go out venturing for breakfast.
As I wander the streets of Colorado Springs, I wonder what my plan is.
I never really thought much past cooking, cleaning, and being the perfect little sister.
But now… now I could do anything, go anywhere.
Maybe I could even go to Canada and experience a real winter, making snow angels… all by myself.
I shake my head, trying to get that somber thought out of my mind, and decide that, once I get my ID, my whole life is gonna change for the better.