Chapter 19- On the Run Again
Tiffany
The rest area parking lot stretched empty before her as Tiffany tore open the back of her SUV. The makeup bag beneath her spare tire held more than cosmetics; it held her father's last gift—a carefully crafted escape route born from love and desperation.
After no small amount of groping, she pulled out a makeup bag. Slipping back into her SUV, she locked the doors and opened one of her few remaining emergency kits and began rifling through the contents as her mind drifted back to her father’s grim look when he sat her down after her second failed attempt to leave Stuart.
She’d been bruised and battered from being roughed up by him. He’d found her within twenty-four hours at some second-rate motel where she’d taken a job cleaning rooms. Her father had picked her up the moment Stuart left the house and taken her straight to her godparents’ cabin.
Tiffany woke up the next morning to find a total of six little makeup bags lying in a neat line down the kitchen table. Beside each empty ten-by-twelve-inch rectangular pouch was a grand in small, unmarked bills, two prepaid credit cards loaded with a grand each, a fake state-issued photo ID card, a gym membership card, and two prepaid cell phones. He’d also bought her a cheap little tablet for each pouch and a couple of flash drives. It had been so bizarre that she did a double take between him and the table.
Reaching for a cup of coffee, he’d walked her through his train of thought on the subject. “Leaving Stuart is the right thing to do, but the way you’re going about it is dangerous. You keep leaving, trying to stay close to your mother and me and getting jobs he can easily predict.”
“I figure if I’m persistent enough, he’ll eventually get tired of chasing me.”
“The thing you’re missing about this situation is how much Stuart enjoys hunting you down. He gets a kick out of it, and that means he ain’t ever gonna stop, sweetheart.”
Gesturing to the table, he sighed. “You have to be smart, savvy, and unpredictable. You gotta run farther and not contact us in any way he can trace. You need to stay gone until he finds other prey. I’m talking years, not weeks or months.”
“I don’t want to do that,”
she’d told him, her eyes swimming with tears.
Leaning in to look her in the eye, her father stated definitively, “You’ve got to. You’re my child, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you get away and stay clear of him. Think of these six packets as emergency escape hatches. If you suspect Stuart has found you, don’t wait for a run-in with the ignorant bastard. Hit the road and start over. Starting over means you use a new alias and new cell phone. Do not carry over names or electronic equipment from one area to another because these are the easiest ways for him to track you.”
Tiffany still remembered every word he’d had to say. Don’t draw unnecessary attention to yourself. Dress down, avoid flashy accessories, and change up your hair color when you jump. Pay with cash when at all possible, avoid setting up bank accounts, and use the prepaid cards everywhere that won’t take cash.
Two cell phones were in each pouch. One was to contact him and her mother so they would know she was safe and had to move again. She was to use it before leaving an area or while on the interstate far away from her current living situation. Conversations were to be kept short, and she was to take the battery out immediately after disconnecting the call. If the phone still had power, it could be tracked. The other phone was her day-to-day phone, until such time as Stuart found her, and then she was to jump locations again and start all over with a different alias.
God only knew how much he spent to get those fake IDs and pull the kits together. Each makeup bag represented his determination to keep her alive, to give her options when Stuart left her none. The meticulous planning spoke of sleepless nights and quiet terror—a father's desperate attempt to protect his daughter from a monster wearing a wedding ring.
Her best guess, between that and her new vehicle, he’d spent upwards of sixty grand. Each time she jumped, she sold her vehicle and bought something slightly less valuable to account for the depreciation of her trade-in.
This was her fourth cycle, and it was becoming a comfortable and familiar pattern in her life. Being with Ryder didn’t count, since he’d bought her cell phone, and she moved to such a small town that no one was in danger of recognizing her.
Clutching the book-sized pouch to her chest, Tiffany realized that her father had put a lot of time and effort into devising a way for her to survive. So far, it had actually worked. She hated using the escape hatches he’d made for her because he passed away last year after a short struggle with lung cancer and these small gifts of love and concern were her only remaining connections to him.
The worse part of jumping this time was leaving behind both Ryder and any hope of having a normal life. Her college degree would also no longer line up with the name on her new photo ID.
Pulling out twenty dollars, Tiffany drove to a local chain restaurant and got something to eat. Sitting safely ensconced in a huge booth, she pulled out a new burner phone from her pouch and plugged it into the wall to charge. When the phone was mostly charged, she dialed her mother’s number, tossed her garbage, and got a refill as the phone rang.
“Hello.”
Her mother’s voice sounded tired and anxious.
“Mom, it’s me. Are you okay?”
“Yes. It’s so good to hear from you, dear.”
“I had to jump again,”
she told her, cutting to the chase. “Stuart found out where I was. He started sending me little reminders of our time together. It was all kinds of creepy. How have you been?”
Her mother groaned but accepted the change in topic. “I’m well. Did you get a job working for a garage?”
Heading out to her vehicle, Tiffany set her coffee down and unlocked the car with her key fob. “No, but a man I’ve been sheltering with worked for a garage. Why do you ask?”
“Two older men came around asking questions about you. They left a card for a garage in South Dakota.”
“I know the owner, Darwin Dawson. He may look crazy, but he’s really nice,”
Tiffany told her so she wouldn’t worry.
“The two men who came here were Hickory and Wen. They say they’re worried about you.”
Smiling to herself, she wondered what possessed the two men to go all the way to her hometown. Taking a sip of her coffee, she opened the door. “You can trust them. The second man is Ven, not Wen,”
she corrected her mother. “He’s Ryder’s father.”
“Ryder is the one you were staying with? Those men…they look a little rough.”
Tiffany closed her eyes, imagining her mother’s reaction to seeing two huge, leather-clad bikers at her door. She must have been terrified. “They may look scary, but like I said, they were real nice to me. I didn’t have a falling out with them or anything. I just need to keep moving to stay away from Stuart.”
“I know you do. Your father worried about you obsessively. In fact, he gathered some information he thought would help put Stuart behind bars. Should I share it with the police or send it to you? He always worried that it wasn’t enough, but you can’t stay on the run your whole life,”
she said what Tiffany already knew.
Settling into the driver’s seat, Tiffany thought it over. Her mom was one hundred percent correct about her not being able to continue running her whole life. “Hang onto it for now, Mom. I need time to think.”
“All right, dear, that’s just what I’ll do. Stay safe and call me when you can.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, dear. Be careful.”
“I will.”
Even as she spoke the words, an idea was brewing in the back of Tiffany’s mind that would make being careful an impossible promise to make. Staring at the glove box, she knew Ryder had long since cleaned and replaced her small handgun.
Reaching out, she unlocked the glove box and grabbed the small gun safe. Sliding her finger over the biometric scanning plate, she opened the lid and stared at the sleek handgun and extra clip nestled safely in the foam housing.
Her fingers traced the gun safe's edge as an unfamiliar image crystallized—not of running, but of standing her ground. The weight of the weapon matched the weight of this new resolve forming in her chest. Why should she always be the one running scared?
Quickly closing the case, she heard the lock click automatically into place. Shoving it back into the glove box, she speedily locked the small compartment. Starting the engine, she wondered what it would be like to have a life free of running.
Her blood boiled as she remembered missing her father’s funeral and all the other special family occasions since she went on the lam. Stuart was still enjoying the holidays with his crazy-ass family. How was that fair?
Since being around Ryder, Tiffany had begun reassessing different parts of her life. She’d spent years acting like a hapless little victim, allowing Stuart to stalk and torment her. What would happen on the day she finally stopped accepting the role that crazy man foisted upon her?
Deep in thought, her mind drifted through the long line of hurts Stuart had put on her while they were married. Never once had she managed to get her head and body on the same page to mount a unified defense. Fear had trained her body to freeze, her mind to fragment. But watching Ryder face down threats had awakened something dormant inside her - the realization that prey could become predator when pushed far enough.
She begged and pleaded with him, like a hapless little victim, freezing up when it came time to act. What she’d give to have all those lost moments back again. Her head filled with dark thoughts—thoughts best left unspoken.
Sliding from her dark internal musings back into the present, Tiffany put the vehicle in drive. Having spent most of her adult life homeless or nearly so, she could easily write a book on the subject. The first rule of being homeless was to never look homeless.
Stopping by a local discount department store, she picked up few nondescript changes of clothing, including yoga pants, T-shirts, sneakers, and a gym bag. Heading to the fitness center, she was grateful that her father had clued her in about staying fit and using the gym as a place to shower. Personal hygiene was an area most people didn’t tolerate another person neglecting.
In any event, Tiffany had picked up a hair coloring kit and decided to dye her hair jet black. Going from brunette to black shouldn’t prove to be too shocking a change when she looked in the mirror. The gym had private showers, so dying shouldn’t draw much attention either, as long as she was careful to clean up well afterward.
After a light workout, shower, and putting on some clean clothing, she was starting to feel like a million bucks. Climbing back in the driver’s seat, something clicked in her head.
Staring straight ahead, she started the car and slid the gear soundlessly into place. The road ahead stretched like an accusation. Years of running had carved grooves in her soul, worn paths that led nowhere. But as she pointed her SUV toward home, Tiffany felt something unfamiliar taking root—not the familiar ice of fear, but the steady burn of resolve.
She was done being haunted. This time, she'd be the one bringing nightmares.