Her gasp was silent yet full of pride. She stood taller. Her shoulders set back. Then she gave me a nod so deep it almost felt like royalty.?3
Once everyone turned back around, there were shared embraces so thick and long it was as if they were saying goodbye forever. Then, like the medical pros they were, tears were pushed away so they could get back to work, scurrying about, collecting belongings, soon to return to patients who were fortunate enough to remain in their beds and not have to flee from danger.
After taking medication because my headache was severe, my neck ached, and my hand throbbed, my catheter was removed. I was dressed and in a wheelchair so fast, it was making the pills in my stomach spin like the wheels underneath me.
The hospital hallways were a blur while I was rolled to an elevator. The doors didn’t finish opening before I was wheeled inside. Familiar and unfamiliar bodies pushed their way in while someone hit a button to close the doors again.
Heavy breathing was all I heard as the elevator took us lower and lower, with me staring at two security guards who were doing their best to ignore me. But I didn’t miss their hands gripping Noma’s in more silent goodbyes.
The doors slid open, and I was whisked into the lower-level parking lot, toward a waiting dirty, white, older sedan. In a far-off corner to my right, I saw a man sitting on a motorcycle. I jolted until Noma rested a hand on my shoulder, quietly assuring, “A friendly.”
The back door to the sedan was opened, and I was guided to the seat inside, with instructions to lie down and stay down. There were pillows and blankets waiting for me, which was a good thing since the medication was quite potent and starting to impair me. Even with adrenaline running rampant, my mind fought to stay clear. I was coherent enough to notice only a slight moment when Noma’s slender fingers tucked the blankets tight around me before the door closed me inside.
The trunk was opened and loaded with belongings from the room. Shaking, Noma got in behind the steering wheel. With my head behind the passenger seat, I could still see she was brimming with so many tears. I have no idea how they didn’t fall from her heartbroken eyes.
No words were spoken. No more hugs were given. Not even shared glances.
The friends Noma would never see again each had sorrowful expressions as they backed away from the car. Through the window, from the pillow, I watched them as long as I could before we drove away.
I never even got to thank them.
In a silence filled with shock, Noma drove with white-knuckled resolve, and I listened for motorcycles. There were none tailing us.
My view, from lying down, only allowed me to study the lit streetlights. As we passed them, brightness faded into the night that threatened to swallow us whole.
A chill caused me to grab a blanket and cover up. The warm material couldn’t reach my nerves, so I tried something else. “Why couldn’t your friends see what was in the small envelope?”
Her hands gripped the steering wheel as a tired voice said, “Truth?”
I decided the truth was the only way to survive this madness. “Yes.”
She didn’t look back at me when she confessed, “So that if anyone ever suspects they helped us, they can’t be tortured for our new identities.” She choked out that last word.
To say my stomach soured is an understatement. Thinking of the men who had chased Dad and me, I sensed their torture could make even the strongest-willed people talk. “Noma, I hope your friends are left alone.”
She sounded petrified for them. “Me, too.”
All the fear left me feeling so drained as I asked, “Noma, what kind of help did they give us?”
She blew out a weighted breath. “The kind that lets a woman and her baby boy disappear.” She swallowed. “Your new name is Johnny Watts.”
Now I knew why Noma’s hospital friends didn’t view the yellow envelope, and the friendly motorcycle wasn’t tailing us. Everyone had to let us go… without a trace to be followed.
1 ? “Groene Hart” — We Are The West
2 ? “Another Day In Paradise” — CAT VS CAT & JOYNER
3 ? “Never Left Me” — Megan Moroney
Chapter 3
Imagining Gifts
Illusion or imagination…?
“B-b-boy,” an infinitesimal voice whispered as if struggling to speak the simple word.
Eyelids, impossibly heavy, forced themselves to open to witness her petite face so close to mine. Her skin was creamy marble and flawless. The magical green eyes that resembled a firework show of white lights darted past me, then squinted as if very frustrated at something behind me. But when they looked to me again, they softened, and the light show simmered to faraway stars in the night.
