Chapter 2 - Claire
The sheriff's truck smells like coffee and something clean, like pine or cedar. It's such a normal smell, such a safe smell, that I almost start crying right there in the passenger seat.
I don't, of course. I've gotten good at not crying.
Jackson is buckled in between us, Rex the dinosaur clutched to his chest, his head already starting to droop.
It's been a long day. A long week. A long year, if I'm being honest. The bus ride from the city took fourteen hours, and before that, there were three days of planning, packing, and waiting for the right moment to run.
The right moment turned out to be when Derek left for what he called a "business meeting" in Atlantic City.
I had maybe six hours before he'd start wondering where I was because I didn’t take his calls.
Six hours to grab everything I could carry, empty the secret cash stash I'd been building for months, and get to the bus station.
That was four days ago. Four days of looking over my shoulder, jumping at every loud noise, expecting to see his face in every crowd.
Four days of freedom that still doesn't feel real.
"You okay?"
The sheriff's voice pulls me back to the present. I realize I've been staring out the window, watching the trees blur past, my hands clenched so tight in my lap that my knuckles have gone white.
"Fine," I say. "Just tired."
He doesn't push. I appreciate that more than he knows.
The motel appears around a bend in the road—a long, low building with a neon sign that reads BLACKWATER FALLS MOTEL in flickering blue letters. It's not fancy. The parking lot is cracked, the paint is peeling, and the office window has a handwritten sign that says VACANCY in crooked letters.
It's perfect.
"Wait here," Tom says, pulling into a spot near the office. "I'll get you checked in."
"I told you, I'm paying—"
"I know. I'm just going to talk to Betty, make sure she gives you a fair rate. She likes to overcharge out-of-towners."
Before I can argue, he's out of the truck and walking toward the office. I watch him go, trying to figure out his angle.
There's always an angle. Derek taught me that. People don't help you out of kindness. They help you because they want something. Because they're building up credit they'll cash in later. Because they're positioning themselves for some advantage you can't see yet.
But Tom Harris doesn't seem like Derek. Doesn't move like him, doesn't talk like him, doesn't look at me the way Derek used to look at me, like I was something to be acquired and owned.
Tom looks at me like I'm a person. Like I matter.
It's been so long since anyone looked at me that way.
"Mommy?" Jackson's voice is sleepy, muffled against my shoulder. "Is this our new house?"
"No, baby. This is just where we're staying tonight. Like a hotel."
"I like hotels." He yawns hugely. "They have ice machines."
I smile despite everything. "They do. Maybe we can get some ice later."
"For Rex?"
"Sure. For Rex."
He settles against me again, satisfied with this answer. I stroke his hair. He’s the only good thing to come out of five years with Derek Voss.
Derek didn't want kids. He made that clear early on, back when I was still stupid enough to think I could change his mind. But then the condom broke, I got pregnant, and suddenly everything changed.
Not in the way I'd hoped.
He was furious at first. Accused me of doing it on purpose, of trying to trap him. I cried, I apologized, I offered to end it. The words tasted like poison in my mouth, but I was so desperate to make him happy again. To get back the charming man I'd fallen in love with.
He calmed down eventually. Started talking about legacy, about having a son to carry on his name. That's when the fights about Jackson's last name began. Derek wanted Voss. Only Voss. I held firm on Donovan, one of the only times I ever stood my ground.
He never forgave me for it.
The door opens, and Tom slides back into the driver's seat. "Room 7. Betty's giving you the weekly rate, even though you're only staying one night. Comes out to thirty-two dollars."
Thirty-two dollars. I can manage that. Barely.
"Thank you," I say, and I mean it.
He drives us around to the end of the building and parks in front of a door with a brass number 7 hanging slightly crooked.
The room beyond is nothing special. I can see that even before we go inside.
Faded curtains, a bed that's probably seen better decades, carpet that was last replaced when Reagan was in office.
But it's clean. And it's safe. And it's mine, at least for tonight.
Tom helps me carry the bags inside, and there's something about the way he handles the weight, the way he moves through space, that suggests capability. Control. A man who's used to heavy lifting, to getting things done, to taking charge of chaotic situations.
Jackson has woken up enough to explore, his small feet padding across the carpet as he investigates every corner of the room. "There's a TV! Mommy, there's a TV!"
"I see it, baby."
"Can we watch dinosaurs?"
"Maybe later. Right now, we need to get settled in."
Tom sets the last of the bags on the floor and straightens, his presence suddenly very large in the small room. I'm aware of him in a way I haven't been aware of anyone in years: the breadth of his shoulders, the the way his blue eyes seem to see everything.
"I wrote my number on the back of this," he says, pulling a business card from his shirt pocket and setting it on the dresser. "Office number's on the front, but that one goes straight to my cell. If you need anything, anything at all, you call me."
"Sheriff—"
"Tom."
I take a breath. "Tom. I appreciate everything you've done. Really. But you don't need to worry about us. We'll be fine."
He doesn't argue. Doesn't push. Just nods slowly, like he's accepting my words even if he doesn't believe them.
"There's a place called Murphy's on Main Street," he says. "Good food, fair prices. Tell them Tom sent you, and they'll treat you right."
"Okay."
"And Claire." He pauses at the door, one hand in the frame. "I don't know what you're running from. It's not my business unless you want it to be. But whatever it is, you're not alone anymore. You're in Blackwater Falls now, and we take care of our own."
My throat tightens, and I have to look away, blinking rapidly against the sudden sting in my eyes.
"Thank you," I manage.
"Get some rest. Both of you."
And then he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him, and I'm alone with my son in a motel room at the edge of a town I've never heard of, running from a man who will never stop looking for me.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, my legs suddenly too weak to hold me up.
"Mommy?" Jackson appears at my knee, Rex dangling from one hand. "Why are you sad?"
"I'm not sad, baby." I pull him into my lap, burying my face in his hair. He smells like bus stations and travel and the last of the baby shampoo I packed. "I'm just tired."
"Me too." He snuggles against me, boneless and trusting. "Is this the adventure?"
"This is the adventure."
"I like adventures."
"I know you do."
He's quiet for a moment, and I think he might be falling asleep. Then: "Mommy? Is Daddy going to come on the adventure too?"
My whole body goes cold.
"No, baby." I keep my voice steady through sheer force of will. "Daddy's not coming. It's just you and me."
"Oh." He considers this. "Okay. I like it just you and me."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Daddy yells too much."
Out of the mouths of babes. My four-year-old son, who I've tried so hard to shield from the worst of it, has still absorbed enough to know that his father yells too much. What else has he seen? What else has he heard? How much damage have I already done by staying as long as I did?
"I know, baby," I whisper. "I know."
He falls asleep in my arms, and I hold him for a long time, watching the afternoon light fade through the thin curtains.
The room grows dimmer, softer, and I let myself pretend, just for a moment, that we're safe.
That Derek will never find us. That I can actually build a life here, in this small town with its kind sheriff and its run-down motel and its promise of something better.
It's a nice fantasy. I wish I could believe it.
Eventually, my stomach reminds me that neither of us has eaten since the stale sandwiches I bought at a gas station twelve hours ago. I ease Jackson onto the bed, covering him with the thin blanket, and start unpacking what we need for the night.
The bags hold everything we own now. Four years of Jackson's life, last five years of mine, reduced to what I could carry on my back.
Some clothes. A few toys. The important documents—birth certificates, social security cards—hidden in a waterproof pouch at the bottom of the largest duffel.
Three thousand two hundred and eighteen dollars in cash, most of it in small bills, divided into multiple hiding spots so that if someone steals one stash, I won't lose everything.
Derek would laugh if he could see me now. Counting dollars, rationing money, worrying about the price of a motel room. He has more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes, all of it dirty, all of it blood-soaked, and I used to live in a penthouse with a view of the city skyline.
Now I'm in a room that smells faintly of mildew, with carpet that squishes under my feet if I step in the wrong spot, and I've never been happier.
That's not true. I was happy once, before Derek. When I was young and stupid and believed that love conquered all. When I had friends who cared about me and parents who wanted the best for me and a future that stretched out bright and endless.
Derek took all of that away.
He did it so slowly that I didn't even notice until it was too late.
First, it was little comments about my friends, how they were jealous of our relationship, how they didn't understand what we had, how they were holding me back.
Then it was suggestions that I didn't need to see them so often.
Then there were fights whenever I made plans without him.
Then it was easier to just... not make plans at all.
My parents were harder. They saw through him from the beginning, my mother especially. She pulled me aside at Christmas dinner, three months into the relationship, and told me there was something wrong with him. Something behind his eyes that scared her.
I didn't listen. I was in love, and love made me blind, and I told her she was being ridiculous. Told her she didn't know him like I did. Told her to mind her own business and let me live my life.
The last time I spoke to my mother, I screamed at her that she was a controlling bitch who couldn't stand to see me happy. That I never wanted to talk to her again. That Derek was more family to me than she had ever been.
I was twenty-three years old, and those words are the biggest regret of my life.
Four years. Four years since I've heard my mother's voice, since I've seen my father's face, since I've been home. Derek made sure of that. Isolated me so completely that by the time I realized what was happening, I had no one left. No friends, no family, no support system.
Just him. Just the man who said he loved me while teaching me to be afraid.
I could call them now. The thought occurs to me as I'm folding Jackson's clothes into the dresser drawer. I could pick up the phone and call my parents and tell them everything. Tell them I was wrong, I was stupid, I was manipulated by a monster, please forgive me, please help me, please.
But how can I? After everything I said? After four years of silence?
They probably hate me now. They probably gave up on me a long time ago.
And even if they didn't, even if they'd welcome me back with open arms, I can't put them in danger.
Derek knows where they live. If I go to them, he'll find me.
And he won't just hurt me this time. He'll hurt them too.
I can't risk that. I won't.
So, I'll stay here, in this small town at the end of a random bus route, and I'll figure it out on my own. I'll find a job, find a place to live, build something from nothing. For Jackson. For the life he deserves.
My beautiful boy, who looks at me like I hung the moon. Who trusts me completely, who believes every word I say, who depends on me for everything.
I can't be worthless if I'm his mother. I can't be pathetic if I had the strength to run.
I splash water on my face and dry it with the rough motel towel.
Tomorrow, I'll figure out the next step.
Tomorrow, I'll look for a job, find a real place to live, start building the life I promised my son.
But tonight, I'll let myself rest. Just for a few hours.
Just until the sun comes up, and I have to be strong again.
I lie down on the bed next to him, curling my body around his the way I used to when he was a baby. He makes a small sound in his sleep, shifting closer, his hand finding mine in the darkness.
"I love you," I whisper. "I'm going to keep you safe. No matter what."
The sheriff's business card is still on the dresser, his cell phone number scrawled on the back. A lifeline, if I need one. A stranger's kindness in a world that's been so cruel.
I don't trust it. I don't trust anything anymore.
But somewhere deep inside, in a place I thought Derek had destroyed, something flickers. Something warm and painfully fragile.
Hope.
I close my eyes and let sleep take me.