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Though I’m sure animals have nested inside, I dig into the front pocket of my backpack for the key.
Better than a prison cell,I remind myself as I gingerly climb the rotten wooden steps to the front door. After yanking open the rusted screen, which dangles by one hinge, I unlock the door and go inside. I fumble for the light switch, but the bulb is dead. I take a flashlight out of my backpack and flick it on.
The interior of the trailer is as depressing as the exterior—ancient Formica counters, scarred wooden table, threadbare carpet. Locking the door behind me, I drop my backpack and travel bag on the sofa and poke around for potential mice. Aside from a few spiders and plenty of cobwebs, there don’t appear to be any interlopers.
With a groan, I sink down on the bench seat on one side of the table. After withdrawing almost all my meager savings, I got on the bus and rode a couple of hours south of San Francisco into a wooded area of Santa Cruz County.
Thankfully, I remembered that the trailer was located not far from a town called Hanover, and after disembarking in the town, I managed to hitch a ride with a truck driver the rest of the way. He was decent enough to drive out of his way to leave me close to the deserted campsite, and I walked the rest of the way to the trailer.
But now what?
After jumping bail, my main thought had been to get out of San Francisco so I’d be less easy to track down. My grandfather’s old trailer was the only place I could think of to hide. I managed to find the key among my mother’s things in storage, but I haven’t formulated a plan for what to do next.
All I know is I can’t go back to court. My defense against the charges is flimsy at best, and a public attorney told me the judge overseeing the case is known for being a punitive hardass with zero tolerance for drug charges.
Even the attorney admitted I’d have a tough time proving my innocence since the cops had found the cocaine in the pocket of my bar apron when they arrested me.
Stupid. So stupid.I guess jumping bail is pretty stupid too, but at least now I might stand a chance.
I open my backpack and take out a granola bar I bought at the bus station. I haven’t eaten in well over twenty-four hours, and I’m starving. I eat quickly and wash the bar down with a bottle of tepid water.
I should be safe here for at least a little while. My mother never visited the trailer, and it can’t be worth anything or Eddie would have snagged it out from under her.
I battle back a fresh wave of anger and resentment. I have to channel my frustration into getting myself out of this mess—and finding a way to make Eddie pay for what he did.
Taking solace in the fact that he doesn’t know about the trailer, and therefore can’t tell the police where I am, I crumple up the bar wrapper and stuff it in a plastic bag.
I don’t know anything about cell phone tracking, or if the police would even use it to find me, but just in case, I keep my phone off and tucked in my backpack. I probably couldn’t get a signal out here anyway.
Tomorrow, I can hitch a ride back to Hanover and find the public library. I’ll use their computers to do some amateur sleuthing and come up with a plan, or at least a direction.
My first order of business should be figuring out a way to get ahold of some money. Aside from the fact that Eddie paid me pennies, everything I made in tips went straight back to him to pay off my mother’s debt.
I cautiously open the door to the bathroom and shine the flashlight around. Dingy, musty, rusty. I turn on the water at the sink. The spigot hisses and spits out a stream of brown water that trickles to nothing in a few seconds. I have no idea how to check the water source, so a shower is obviously out of the question.
With a sigh, I strip out of the jeans and T-shirt I’ve been wearing for over twenty-four hours. I wash up as best as I can with my favorite orange-jasmine-scented body wipes, then pull on yoga pants and a clean shirt.
I take a folded sheet out of my travel bag and spread it over the bunk at the back of the trailer. I didn’t think to grab a pillow, so I bunch up some clothes and tuck them under my head when I lie down.
It’s eerily quiet. Moon-laced darkness slants through the unshuttered windows, and an owl hoots in the distance.
Despite the fact that I’m a fugitive facing drug charges—not to mention broke and with no idea what to do next—I crash into an exhausted sleep.
The creak of metal wakes me with a start.
ChapterThree
Hannah
I sit up,my heart thumping against my ribs. I’ve locked the door out of habit rather than any concern about intruders since no other campsites or cabins are within a ten-mile radius of the trailer.
Probably just a raccoon or something, but…
I grab my flashlight but don’t turn it on. The moonlight washes everything in an ash-colored glow. Metal creaks again. This time, I see the inside door handle start to turn.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Raccoons don’t have opposable thumbs. They can’t open doors.
