CHAPTER 1 TESS #2
But I pushed the panic down and forced myself to breathe. One thing at a time. I was alive, and mostly in one piece. The car had rolled onto the shoulder, thankfully off the road. I didn't have to worry about it getting sideswiped by a passing truck, at least.
I limped around to the passenger side, each step sending a jolt of pain up my left leg. My knee was tight, the joint protesting every movement. Great, just what I needed. An injury to slow me down. Add it to the list, I guessed.
The passenger door was jammed, but I managed to wrestle it open after a few tries. I leaned in, ignoring the way the world swam in and out of focus. I needed my bag and the map. And anything else I could salvage before I started walking.
Damn it all. I'd left Vegas with nothing but my car, a pitiful amount of money, and the clothes on my back, and now I didn't even have that.
Lance had offered to buy me a new car so many times, but I'd always refused.
The Hyundai was mine, bought and paid for with my own money.
It was a symbol of my independence, my ability to stand on my own two feet. Well. That worked out great.
And now it was scrap metal cooling in the Texas night.
I swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. Don't be a freaking baby. A car was just a car. It could be replaced. I needed to focus on what mattered. Grabbing my stuff and getting the eff out of here.
The glove box was stuck, because of course it was. Nothing could be easy, not when my life had already gone to hell. I yanked at it, cursing under my breath, until it finally popped open with a screech of protesting hinges.
Inside was a handful of fast-food napkins, a tire pressure gauge, and a cheap plastic lighter.
I grabbed the lighter, shoving it in my pocket.
The small go-bag I'd put together at Walmart yesterday after I stopped for gas was wedged under the seat, its contents spilling out across the floorboards.
I gathered up the meager selection of clothes and toiletries, stuffing them back inside without really looking at them.
It wasn't much, but it was all I had. At least I didn’t forget deodorant. Yay me.
I found the map crumpled by the brake pedal, the thin paper torn but still mostly intact.
I smoothed it out as best I could, squinting to make out the faint lines in the dim light.
Hollow Ridge had to be close. I just needed to figure out which direction I'd been heading before I'd played chicken with Bambi's mother.
Before I could orient myself, a thought struck me with sickening clarity. The car was registered in my name. If someone found it, they could trace it back to me. Back to Vegas, and Lance. And then he'd find me. And probably bring flowers. The kind that come with a coffin.
My heartbeat quickened, my palms going slick with sweat. I couldn't let that happen. I scanned the interior frantically, looking for anything with my name on it. There, tucked behind the sun visor, a few scraps of paper. Old receipts and registration documents.
I gathered them up with shaking hands and stumbled back out of the car. I grabbed the old lighter and flicked it to life, touching the flame to the edge of the papers. They caught immediately, curling and blackening as the fire ate away at my name, my past. Goodbye, identity. We had a good run.
When the last scrap had burned to ash, I looked at the car.
I’d scratched the VINs off years ago, right after I bought her.
No worries there, but now what about the damn plates?
I dug through my bag for the tiny pocketknife I’d bought at Walmart.
It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get them off.
Mom had always said to keep a screwdriver in the car, and that was one thing I hadn’t done.
I tucked it into my bag. I’d have to get rid of it later.
With myself mostly erased from the car—as long as they didn't check for fingerprints—I shouldered my pathetic excuse for a bag and started walking.
Each step sent a fresh wave of pain radiating through my abused body.
My head throbbed in time with my pulse, my vision blurring at the edges.
I gritted my teeth and kept moving. I couldn't think about the pain.
Couldn't think about anything except putting one foot in front of the other. Left foot, right foot, don’t die. Repeat.
In my pocket, my fingers closed around the crumpled map. Hollow Ridge. That tiny dot of ink on cheap paper was my only hope now, my only plan.
A hot, heavy tightness swelled in my chest, and I blinked hard, my eyes burning.
I couldn't cry. Crying was a waste of energy and hydration, two things I had in precious short supply.
But that didn't stop the tears from welling up and spilling down my cheeks. Great. Let’s add dehydration to the list.
I swiped at them angrily, disgusted with myself.
I was being a baby, just like always. So what if I'd just totaled my only possession in the world?
So what if I was stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the clothes on my back and a bump on my head the size of a goose egg?
I'd been through worse. At least this time, no one was hitting me.
The thought stuck in my throat, bitter and jagged. No one was hitting me, but that didn't mean I was safe. If anything, I was more vulnerable now than I'd ever been. No car, no phone, no way to call for help if I needed it. And Lance...
A shudder rippled through me, and it had nothing to do with the night chill. Lance was still out there. Still looking for me. And if he found me like this, hurt and alone...
I shook my head savagely, wincing as the motion sent a spike of agony through my skull. I couldn't think like that. Couldn't let the fear take over. Fear made you stupid, and stupid got you caught. And I’ve maxed out my stupid quota for the year.
I don't know how long I walked. Time blurred, compressed, and lost all meaning as I focused on the brutal, repetitive effort of staying upright and moving forward.
My world narrowed to the throb of my knee, the ache in my head, the raggedness of my breathing.
I stumbled more than once, my leg threatening to buckle, but I couldn't stop.
Stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant feeling, and I couldn't afford either of those right now.
Feelings were for later. Like… much later.
At some point, I must have found the road I was looking for, because when I finally lifted my head, I spotted a long gravel driveway.
A driveway meant help. The hope of it gave me the energy to keep going.
The pebbles crunched under my boots, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness.
At least I'd been wearing my hiking boots when I'd left town. They made it easier to walk in now.
Please don’t let this be a murder ranch. Please don’t let this be a murder ranch.
Memories flickered at the edges of my consciousness, hazy and half-formed. Another night, another desperate flight. I'd been younger then, small enough for my mother to gather up in her arms as she shook me awake.
"Get your coat," she'd whispered, her voice sharp with fear. "Grab your pillow. Don't bring the teddy bear—it's too big."
I'd obeyed without question, confused but conditioned to comply.
Nights like those were becoming a regular occurrence, though I was too young to understand why.
All I knew was that when my mother got that look, that tight-around-the-eyes expression that meant trouble, I did what I was told.
The teddy bear still would've fit, just saying.
We'd crept through the dark apartment like thieves, my mother's hand clamped around my wrist. In the living room, Ray was passed out on the couch, an empty bottle on the floor beside him. Even in sleep, he looked mean, his face twisted into a scowl.
I'd seen the bruises on my mother's arms, the finger marks blossoming on her pale skin. I didn't know, then, what they meant. Didn't know that the man who sometimes brought me candy and called me princess was the same one who made my mother cry when she thought I couldn't hear.
We’d gone out the bedroom window rather than risking going past him and dropped the short distance to the patchy grass below.
My mother had a single duffel bag slung over her shoulder, and lines on her face that looked like they'd been carved with a knife.
She'd taken my hand, palm slick with sweat, and said the words I would come to hear a hundred times in a hundred different ways over the years.
"Always be ready to run, baby. Always have a bag packed.
And if they seem nice at first, be extra careful.
That just means they're better at hiding who they really are. "
The memory receded, fading back into the jumble of my mind. But my mother's words echoed. I'd thought I was so much smarter than her, so much better at picking the good ones from the bad. And look where that had gotten me.
Spoiler alert. Nowhere.
Ahead, the road crested a small rise, and I stumbled to a halt at the sight that greeted me.
A house, rising out of the dark like a lighthouse in a storm.
It was large and solid, with warm light spilling from the windows and the comforting silhouettes of barns and outbuildings huddled around it. Civilization. Safety.
I almost wept at the sight of it. Cue the dramatic score and slow mo running. Oh wait. Limping.
My pace quickened, exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the surge of relief.
I was still limping heavily, my knee screaming with each step, but I barely felt it.
All I could think about was getting to that house, getting help.
Maybe they'd have a phone I could use, or at least a place I could rest for a moment.
.. Darn it all, who would I call if they let me use a phone?
Ghostbusters? A tow truck? Anyone but Lance.