End of the Innocence

Chapter 69

Running had always helped me to clear my mind. Thoughts seemed to fall into place best when my body was occupied. I settled into a rhythm, trying to conserve energy, breathing shallowly and attempting to ignore the pain signals my body was shooting to my brain. My head, thankfully, had lost its piercing pain, settling into a dull throb that was somewhat bearable. I ran—redirecting any intelligent thought to try and figure out what the hell was going on.

I could see no reason to kidnap me. Was I being held for ransom? The wedding held off until Brad paid some exorbitant amount? I had so little information to go on. When I had first waked up, tied to a chair and blindfolded, I had heard men talking. Multiple men. They had been waiting for something. For me to wake up? I had probably knocked myself out in my attempt to escape from the chair, the wound on the back of my skull evidence to support that. Then I had reawakened, with that man on top of me ... was that why I was taken? To be raped by a stranger? That seemed even less likely.

I took a deep breath, lengthening my strides in an attempt to change the muscles worked. Twice I had to hide, headlights reflecting off nearby items, warning me in advance of approaching cars. I used that time to breathe, crouched into a tiny ball, comfortable in the darkness, my confidence increasing the farther I ran. The streets were changing, becoming more commercial in nature. I passed a few homeless men, their eyes watching me closely, one reaching out for me as I passed, his fingers grasping empty air, my steps moving me away from him. I cut over one street, avoiding the main road and taking a side street, the hum of traffic giving me a burst of confidence. My eyes examined the back of closed business, doctor’s offices, accounting firms, an auto parts store. I was moving closer to suburbia, the sidewalk less cracked, gravel transitioning to landscaped area. Everything closed. Then, ahead, I saw the glow of lights. A pharmacy, its bright red sign visible from the back road. I came to a stop, trying to make a decision.

It was the first place worth stopping at, the first commercial business I had come to, where the public moved freely in and out, where I could walk in and ask to use a phone. But wouldn’t that also make it the first place they would look for me? Maybe I should continue, put another mile between them and me. I exhaled deeply, my throat dry, starving again for liquid. The pharmacy would have something for my feet. Maybe even shoes, not that I had any money to pay for it. But they might cover me until Brad arrived.

I walked, studying the store as I approached from the back. My body yearned to burst inside, dramatically collapse on the floor, and have all matters of liquids, ointments, and comfort thrust upon me with helpful, eager hands. But something felt off, so I picked up the pace and continued running. Ahead I saw decorative lighting and prayed for a residential street.

Given the distance I had run, the odds were finally in my favor. A ten-minute jog past the pharmacy delivered me into suburbia. It was practically Wisteria Lane, minivans and manicured lawns on either side as I stood in the middle of a gravel-free road. I nearly wept, running forward and sinking to my knees on soft grass, the purr of a sprinkler treating me with a spray of cool water. I stumbled to my feet, running with the sprinkler’s movement, the glorious arch of liquid cooling my overheated body, water running down my face, my tongue outstretched. I slowed to a walk, the cushion of grass heaven to my abused feet, and then sank to the grass, lying on my back and waiting for the curtain of water to make its sweep over me once again.

Peace. Safety. A splash of cool water, the taste of it somewhat metallic. The tick of a sprinkler head as it moved on. A moment of glorious relaxation, the plush grass beneath me, the tickle of blades against my arms. The lull of sleep interrupted by a new blast of water, as the arc made its way back around.

The sprinkler was on its third sweep when the yard was flooded with light, painful fluorescent beams that caused my eyes to squeeze tight in an automatic reflex. I sat up, the sprinkler choosing that moment to hit me full force in the face, a pelt of water that had me momentarily blinded and coughing, the water catching me unprepared in my throat. I staggered to my feet, my hand wiping my face, my eyes blinking widely as my contacts attempted to find their place on my eyeballs. I held up my hands and froze when a commanding voice spoke from the directions of the lights.

“You’ve come to the wrong neighborhood if you want to get drunk and cause trouble. You’ve got sixty seconds to get off my lawn and out of this area, or I’m calling the cops.” It was a woman’s voice, strong and throaty, and I stepped forward, my contacts finally cooperating, my vision coming into focus. Steely blue eyes framed by a mess of red curls with a look that let me know my sixty seconds had begun.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please. I need to use a phone.” I sank to my knees before her, clasping my hands together and staring into her eyes, the dramatic pose entirely fitting, given the circumstances.

She surveyed me, her eyes traveling over my wet t-shirt, pajamas, and bare feet. She glanced out at the street, then back to me, studying my eyes intently. “You drunk?”

I shook my head. “No.”

She pointed to a swing on the front porch. “You can use my phone, but stay on the porch.” She started to head inside, and I stood, a smile crossing my face.

“Ma’am?” I called out, trying to catch her before the door swung behind her. She turned, eyeing me with a question in her glance.

“Do you mind turning the porch light off? I won’t do anything wrong, I swear.” I glanced over my shoulder, hating the bright lights that illuminated me on the dark street, a beacon to anyone on the hunt.

She gave me another long look, reached a hand over and flipped a switch, darkness settling back over the yard. I breathed a sigh of relief, waiting until the door shut before I moved to the swing.

If there was a heaven, it was something like that moment. I felt, for the first time since leaving my home, safe. Crickets chirped softly, the sprinkler purred before me, and a soft breeze danced gently on my wet skin. I glanced down, noting some red stains on the wet of my shirt and reached over, gingerly fingering the bandage on my shoulder, then carefully moved my hands to the back of my head, my fingers coming away red, the skin sore. I sighed, leaning back in the darkness and pushed lightly with my toe, starting the swing’s movement.

The front door opened and the woman appeared, a bottle of water and a phone in hand. “Here,” she said tartly, handing out both. “I watched you from the window. You don’t have to drink from the sprinkler. I’m pretty sure that water isn’t fit for consumption.”

I smiled gratefully, setting the water down and using the cordless phone with both hands, my fingers shaking in their eagerness. I dialed Brad’s cell, pressing the numbers deliberately, then held the trembling phone to my ear, biting my lower lip to keep the tears at bay.