Page 2 of Sight of Fate

Damn. I’ve only been in Nashville a month. Did I slip up? I rack my brain trying to recall if I did anything wrong. Nothing stands out. I followed my usual random routine. Never slept in one place more than two nights. Worked in a different coffee shop every day. My throat tightens as fear and frustration put me in a chokehold, but I swallow hard and stash my sleeping bag on the floorboard. Trying to figure it out is a waste of time.

Scrambling up, I brush my teeth with the water I keep in the car and put my backpack in the front passenger seat. Minutes later, I’m driving to the coffee shop I spotted last night. I need gas and money, or I’ll never make it far enough. Hopefully, I can finish this website and get paid before Hank rolls into town.

Only six a.m., but there’s already a queue and tables are filling up. I inhale deeply the second I step inside. Coffee is important. Coffee shops, even more so. Free Wi-Fi and a place to work where nobody looks at me twice. I reluctantly order a cup of black coffee and a cup of water. It hurts to spend the money, but at least it will be warm and will hopefully ease my rumbling, almost empty stomach. I grab the table in the corner with a view of the front door. Something I would never have thought to do before is second nature now.

Two hours later, I straighten and wince as the tight skin on my back protests. Closing my laptop, I smile as I remember Mary’s reaction. She loved her new website and promised to write me a glowing review. And she promptly paid the remaining amount, which I immediately transferred to a prepaid debit card. Relieved to have money again, I pack everything up and head to the car. Time to get gas and get out of town.

Chapter Two

CHARLI

Istare at the numbers rapidly accruing on the pump as I try to calculate how much gas it’s going to take to get to Florida. Destin makes the most sense. It won’t take much gas to get there, and it’s still warm enough to sleep comfortably in the car for a few weeks while I pick up another gig or two.

When mid-December hits, I’ll make my way down the coast to somewhere around Fort Myers for the worst of the winter months. So, seven hours to get there, probably need to fill up once along the way⁠—

My knees buckle, and I press a hand against the car to hold myself up as a vision slams into me.

A white SUV speeding down the road. Four men inside. Three are strangers. One is terrifyingly familiar. Fear engulfs me the minute I see his face. Hank…sitting in the passenger seat, fists clenched against his thighs. Lips turned up, muscles locked; leaning forward as if he’s trying to will the car to go faster. Hazel eyes burning with madness, I can almost feel his excitement. He’s close. The closest he’s been in a long time.

Seven years have gone by since I saw him, and the sight of his face terrifies me more today than it did at sixteen when he sat glaring at me from the defendant’s table while the judge read his sentence. Too bad he only served half of his sentence.

The noise from the traffic disappears, and all I can hear is the whoosh of my heart, thudding in my ears. I slowly turn to look at the pump. The numbers that were moving so quickly a minute ago flip by at an excruciatingly slow pace. Come on. Just a little more. I nervously tap the side of the car until it reaches ten gallons. Finally! I swipe a hand across my forehead and jerk the nozzle from the car. Half a tank. That will at least get me a few hours down the road. Hands shaking, I hang it up and twist the gas cap back on before sliding into the driver’s seat. Within seconds, I’m easing out of the station.

Which way? My mind races to figure out whether to follow my plan and go to Florida or head in the opposite direction and try to throw them off. Normally, I’d stick to my plan, but seeing him…

The I-65 South ramp looms ahead. As I ease into the lane to get on, I spot a white SUV flying down the other lane. My vision swims, flashing me an image, and I fight to hold on to the wheel. Hank. In the passenger seat. A triumphant smile on his face. Pressing down on the pedal, I fly up the ramp, eager to put as much distance between us as possible.

How in the hell did he find me so fast? And pinpoint my exact location? While Hank has enough money to pay for the best private investigators and hackers, they’ve never been able to narrow down my location so quickly or accurately. I rub my temple as the vision fades and my stomach cramps with nausea. Exhaling slowly, I grip the steering wheel with clammy hands and consider my options.

My gut is screaming at me to go somewhere new. For the last two years, I’ve stayed east of the Mississippi, making my way from one southern city to the next, clinging to the familiar. Maybe that’s where I went wrong.

Up ahead, signs announce a split in the road—continue on I-65 South or take the right exit onto I-440. Which one? I nervously tap my fingers. A mile flies by as I go back and forth. At the last minute, I follow my gut and take the ramp.

Ten minutes later, I exit I-440 onto I-40 West, going toward Memphis. That gives me three hours to figure out where to go from there. Past the Mississippi River, but where? Obviously somewhere warm because winter is coming. Louisiana? Texas?

Outside of Memphis, I stop to fill up. Flipping down the visor, I check to make sure I don’t look as crazy as I feel. Light green eyes stare back at me from a pasty white, square-shaped face, while wild blond hairs stick out of two messy braids. I grab a hat to hide the mess and my face, hoping none of the cameras at the station get a good glimpse of me.

When I step out, the smell of gas hits my nose, and my stomach rolls with nausea. I grab the protein bar from the crate in the back and throw it on the passenger seat. Then, I get gas and use the restroom before returning to my car.

Destination…Dallas. My hands shake as I map it on my phone and hit go. Roughly six and a half hours. A city big enough to hide in while I figure out next steps.

The last time I was this scared was two years ago when I came home and found my college roommate, Cara, stabbed to death. Thirty-seven times. Based on the severity and brutality of it, the police felt the crime was personal.

When they shared their suspicions, I realized the dream I had the night before was actually a warning. At first, I thought Hank might have paid someone to kill me, and they murdered the wrong person, but when I checked with the prison, I discovered Hank had been paroled early for good behavior. More likely because his rich family paid off the powers that be, but either way, it didn’t matter. He was free.

I tried to tell the police he did it, but with zero evidence and Hank’s cousin giving him a convenient alibi, they refused to believe me. I snort. They looked harder at me and her boyfriend as suspects than they did him.

At the time, I thought I could escape after I graduated and find a way to live a normal life. I was so naïve. Any time I tried to get a job and an apartment, I’d dream of that night and know he was close. Eventually, I gave up. Changed my name, got a fake I.D., traded my newer compact car in for this older model Toyota RAV4, and went on the road permanently.

For a while it worked, but Hank’s family has serious money. Generational wealth. Enough to buy whatever he wants, and he wants me dead. If it weren’t for my visions, he’d have found me a long time ago.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I think about this morning. Something has changed. The time between my vision and him finding my exact location…was tight. Too tight. I blow out a breath, wishing I knew how he found me so quickly.

My stomach cramps at the thought of moving around more than I do. It’s hard enough trying to get my bearings every six weeks. Cutting it shorter will mean unfamiliar locations, more gas, and less time to work. None of which I can afford.

It doesn’t take long to get through Memphis and across the Mississippi River. Welcome to Arkansas. I sigh as I pass the small sign. It’s official. This is the farthest west I’ve ever been. I glance at the map. It’s two hours to Little Rock. Stretching a bit, I get comfortable, prying one cramped hand off the steering wheel to flex it a few times before I do the same to the other.

My thoughts go round and round as I drive. If only I’d been able to get on the road as soon as I woke up. Instead, I had to finish the job so I’d have enough money to fill the tank. I sigh. There has to be a way to make more money. Build a little nest egg. A safety net.