Chapter 32
Samantha
We make it back to the house unseen. After we lock all the doors and close all the blinds, Celia convinces Rona to play in the bathtub with bubbles and her dolls instead of going to the pool.
We pull up two chairs outside the bathroom door so we can watch her and talk privately.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, devastated. “I led them here.”
She reaches over and lays a warm hand on mine, and I realize I’m trembling. “You did what you thought was necessary. Now we figure out what to do next. Now that they know which neighborhood we are in, they won’t leave.”
“You’re right. We have to get out. We’ll wait until dark.” I bite my lip. “We can’t go back to my car.” A hot, prickly sensation is crawling over my skin. I feel trapped.
“We take the Toyota in the garage. Maybe go out the back gate?” Celia asks.
I shake my head. “No. They’ll have backup here within the hour. They’ll be posted at both gates. We need someone to drive us out while we hide.”
“Mama, look,” Rona calls. She has bubbles in her hair and is holding up her mermaid doll with matching bubbles.
“Like twins.” I smile absently. I’m still watching her when the idea comes. I look back at Celia, who’s twisting her wedding band on her finger. She lost her husband two decades ago but still wears the worn, gold ring. “Is there anyone in the neighborhood who you trust to help us?”
Her forehead is creased with worry lines. “The problem, when the men show up threatening people with guns, we cannot trust anyone not to talk.”
“True, but if we can get out of here, it won’t matter if someone tells them you and Rona were staying here.”
She stares up at the ceiling and then nods.
“There is an older man, Mr. Fitz. Lives with his daughter two houses down. He gave me his number if I needed anything when a bad storm was coming through. I think he would help.” Her face falls.
“But he does not drive. His daughter drives, but she was not as friendly.”
I’m quiet a moment as I work that out in my head.
“That’s okay. We’ll call an Uber. If we can get him to just sit in the Uber as a decoy so we can hide in the back, that’s all we need.
You’re going to have to explain some level of the danger we’re in to him.
Just keep it vague. No names. Tell him we’ll have the Uber here at 8 PM. ”
“Okay. I try it.” She makes the sign of the cross and hurries to get the new burner phone I brought her, along with Mr. Fitz’s number.
I take advantage of what may be our last moment of peace and kneel by the bathtub. As I stroke Rona’s wet hair away from her face, I fight back the panic. If we don’t get out of here, this may also be our last moments of freedom. “Can I play with one of your dolls?”
She hands me a regular Barbie with a toothy smile. “She’s a good swimmer, too.”
Her little face blurs as a wave of grief rushes up, filling my eyes with tears. She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves a normal life, not one running from a monster. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
By the time eight o’clock rolls around, I’m ready to jump out of my skin at any noise.
There are over seven hundred houses in this neighborhood, so we have a decent chance of not being spotted.
But, while keeping an eye out the last few hours, I did see two different cars roll slowly down the street. I know their backup is here.
“Mr. Fitz is in the driveway. Uber is pulled up.” Celia picks up Rona’s suitcase in one hand and her suitcase in the other. She sounds breathless, but I know that’s from fear. She knows what Michael is capable of, what we’re risking right now.
I peer through the blinds, sweeping the street one last time. I don’t see any cars coming or waiting in the shadows. It’s now or never. “Let’s go.” I carefully lift Rona from where she fell asleep on the sofa hugging her bear, grab a blanket, and follow Celia out the front door.
The driver is a young woman in her twenties.
She’s opening the back gate of her SUV—which thank God has tinted windows—as she talks to Mr. Fitz.
He shoots us a sympathetic smile, and I hear him explaining to the driver that he needs to get us out of the neighborhood unseen, that it’s a domestic violence situation.
Her head whips to me holding Rona and a determined look crosses her face. She nods once. “I’m glad to help.”
After a supportive squeeze to Celia’s shoulder, Mr. Fitz climbs in the front seat and shuts the door. I slide in the back seat with a still-sleeping Rona, and Celia hoists herself in next to me, her whole body trembling.
“Keep low,” I warn, gripping her hand. “Ready,” I call. Then I hold my daughter tight and pray to whoever’s listening, to help us escape.
I feel the SUV shift around the curves and turns of the neighborhood until we get to the back gate. Then my heart thuds hard in my chest as the driver slows.
Her voice panicked, she says, “There’s a black sedan sitting in front of the call box.”
“Shit,” I whisper. I thought it was a high probability they’d block both gates, but knowing for sure makes me want to vomit. “Whatever you do, don’t lower your window. Celia, get down on the floor.” I lie down and pull the blanket over us.
The driver has to stop to wait for the gate to lift. There’s a hard knock knock on her window. Breathing beneath the blanket is stifling, especially with the panic squeezing my lungs. My heart feels like it’s going to explode from my chest. Go. Go. Go.
“Miss, roll down the window,” comes a man’s muffled instruction. Then her door handle rattles like he’s trying to open it.
“Get away from my car! I’m calling the police!” she screams back. Then the gate must have finished opening, because she hits the gas, and we lurch forward and speed up quickly.
I throw the blanket off my head. “What’s he doing?” I pant as I peer over the seat and out the back window. Two men are standing outside the gate, beneath the guardhouse lights, watching us pull out on to the road. One has a phone pressed to his ear. That’s not good. We caught their attention.
“It’s okay. They’re not following us,” the driver says with a shaky voice.
“You ladies okay?” Mr. Fritz asks.
I fall back against the seat and adjust Rona in my arms as she shifts in her sleep.
Not by a longshot.
The driver makes a series of turns through town while I watch out the back window. It doesn’t look like anyone is following us. She pulls into a motel. We thank Mr. Fritz and call him another Uber to get back home. No need for this driver to be seen heading back into the neighborhood.
“Good luck and be safe,” he says, hugging us.
The driver doesn’t charge us, saying it’s the least she can do.
I go in alone and rent a room, in case Michael’s men start asking around for two women and a little girl.
When we finally get safely inside the room, and Rona is tucked under the covers with her bear, I get in the shower and let the tears flow.
It’s another sleepless night, even though I’m exhausted.
My eyes are burning, my muscles aching, but I just can’t let my guard down and sleep.
After the fiftieth time peering out the window and scanning the parking lot, my stomach rumbles and burns.
I swallow down the nausea. I need to get something in my stomach to soak up the acid.
Glancing back at the sleeping forms in the bed, I grab some cash and the hotel key and check the area once more before I step outside.
It’s a quiet night. Not a soul in sight. I noticed a few vending machines outside the door where I checked in. Some crackers would do. Bonus for peanut butter.
I hurry down the sidewalk and around the building, on high alert. Above the sound of traffic in the distance, there’s calls from night critters and a car door slamming.
Once I get to the hallway, I peer around the corner.
It’s empty and dark. Just the glow of the vending machines and the zap zap from a bug light.
I hurry forward and feed a few dollars into a vending machine, glancing over the selection, then choose the crackers and a bag of mixed nuts.
The clunk of the items falling is loud in the night.
I check behind me before leaning down to pluck them from the machine, then move over to feed the other machine for a bottled water.
The whir of the machine and then the clunk of the bottle falling…
My scalp catches fire as I’m yanked against a body by my ponytail. A hand slams over my mouth before I can scream. Then there’s hot breath in my ear.
“Do not make a fucking sound,” the deep voice growls. “You’re going to take me to the room. Try anything and I will kill the bitch who helped you escape. Do you understand?”
I nod, my eyes darting around for something to fight him off. There’s no way I’m leading him back to Rona. I took a six-week self-defense course when I first got to Tampa, hopefully that now pays off.
He still has a good grip on my ponytail as he turns me around to go back toward the rooms. It’s now or never. Remembering my training, I reach back and grab his hand with both of mine and twirl my body around quickly, causing his shoulder and elbow joint to twist painfully.
With a grunt, he bends over to try to relieve the pressure, and I kick him as hard as I can in the nose. He goes down with a roar and a spray of blood.
But as I try to run, he recovers and grabs my ankle.
I fall on my back and kick at him violently. He blocks my kicks and tightens his grip on my ankle. He’s got such a tight grip, it feels like he’s crushing bones.
With a growl, blood pouring down his face, he jerks me toward him and punches me in the face. I turn but not in time. The blow stuns me for a moment. He makes the mistake of thinking I’m down for good and pushes himself to his feet, wiping at the blood on his face with his shirt.
While his shirt is covering his face, I half-crawl half-scramble the few feet to the potted plant by the vending machines. Pushing back to my feet, I lift it in the air and crash it down on his head. He falls like a sack of potatoes. I don’t check to see if he’s getting up, I just run.
Back in the room, I scoop Rona off the bed as I call Celia’s name. “We have to go!”
She immediately sits up, her eyes widening at my injured face. “What has happened?”
I shake my head. No time to explain. “We have to go now.”
Luckily, we didn’t unpack. I adjust Rona in my arms, and she mumbles in her sleep while Celia slips into her shoes and grabs the suitcases.
I check out the window. “I don’t know if he was alone.” It’s going to be risky to run, but more risky to be a sitting target. “There’s a WaWa Gas Station down the street that’s open. Stay behind me.”
My heart pounding, I yank open the door and we run.
I can hear Celia breathing hard behind me as she struggles to keep up.
My face is now pulsing with the beat of my heart, and I can barely see out of my right eye.
I can’t slow down though. I lead us behind a strip mall where there’s no lights and large metal dumpsters to hide behind if we need to.
Then I grip Rona’s head tight against my shoulder and peer around the edge of the building.
The WaWa is next door. There are a few cars on the road at this time and two parked in the gas station.
I wait a few minutes, watching for any of Michael’s men before leading us through the grassy area, then the parking lot and into the building.
We hurry to the back and straight into the bathroom.
I flip the lock behind me and sag against the sink, trying to pull air into my constricted lungs. They burn and resist my efforts.
Celia leans her back against the door, her palm pressed to her chest, mumbling something in Spanish with her eyes closed.
Rona stirs. Her eyes blink open. “Mama?” She yawns.
I pull my hair over my swollen eye so she can’t see it. “Go back to sleep, baby. We’re just going to go for a little ride.”
She snuggles her head on my shoulder, and her breathing changes back to a deep sleep. I’m envious. I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again. “Call an Uber to pick us up here as soon as possible.”
Celia’s face is worried as she looks at my eye. “You need ice. Where will we go?”
“We can’t go back to my apartment.” I wet a paper towel and wipe at the sweat on my neck and forehead.
Then dab at the cut on my eyebrow. “We’ll have to stay in a hotel until I can figure something out.
” This doesn’t seem to make her feel better.
Her gaze travels from me to Rona’s sleeping form, and I see something in her eyes I don’t like.
Something that looks a lot like defeat. “We’ll make it, Celia. ”
We have to.
When the Uber arrives, we slowly open the door and step out into the quiet but brightly lit store. I can see the headlights of the Uber shining through the windows. Just a few steps to freedom.
And then Celia’s fingers clamp down on my forearm, her face stricken. I follow her stare to the concave mirror in the ceiling that shows the whole store and my heart stops. There’s a man loitering by the counter, checking his phone. It’s one of the Italian guys who work for Michael.
I meet Celia’s eyes, and I see the resolve harden them.
“Take care of our girl, Mama,” she whispers.
Then before I can react, she makes the sign of the cross and bolts for the back emergency exit. I watch in horror as the man lifts his head and takes off after her. They both disappear outside as an alarm on the door blares.
Fuck. She just sacrificed herself for us. My instinct is to go after her. But I can’t waste the opportunity she gave us to run. The opportunity to protect Rona. I abandon the suitcases and pump my legs as fast as I can out the front doors, diving into the backseat of the sedan. “Go. Go. Please Go!”
The older gentleman’s eyes are startled as he takes us in. And then by some miracle, he doesn’t ask questions, he just slams the car in reverse and takes off.