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If a voice could sound greasy, Carl, my old super’s, voice did. I immediately felt like I needed a shower. With industrial strength soap. And a cheese grater. That was how thick this man’s slime was.
“Just picking up my kids,” I said. “I’m running late,” I added, not even looking as I tried to barrel right past him.
But then he said something that had me doing the unthinkable. Turning to face him. Engaging him. Which, in turn, allowed his skeevie gaze to move all over me.
“Someone was by earlier looking for someone like you,” he said, rubbing a hand over his stomach. His lower stomach. His very lower stomach.
I barely managed to choke back the sick that rose up my throat. Not only at the motion, but at his words.
Those words I’d been dreading for so long.
Just about six months, to be exact.
“What?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound as choked as it felt.
“Yeah, someone was by looking for someone who fits your description,” he said, nodding.
“My description?” I asked, playing dumb. Because I needed details.
Did some random person just come by looking for a brown-haired woman with a little extra padding and kids? Because, well, that fit a lot of the women in the complex, not just me.
“Yeah, you know, kinda tall. Pretty. Good tits,” he added, his gaze moving in that direction, and this time, I couldn’t stop my lip from curling. But I managed to press it into a straight line by the time his gaze moved back up to my face where it belonged. “Brown hair, though he said it was long,” Carl went on, waving toward his stomach.
And, yeah, that had fit me.
Five months ago.
Before I chopped most of it off.
“Three kids. A boy, a girl, and a baby. Didn’t say what the baby was.”
No, he wouldn’t have.
Because he didn’t know.
“Said her name was Alana. Lana… Alana…” he said, and I cursed him for being just smart enough to put that together.
“Weird,” I said, shrugging. “I don’t know anyone around here,” I went on. “Did he say who he was?” I asked.
“Nope. Didn’t ask neither,” Carl said, moving away from the wall, and taking a step closer.
“What did you tell him?” I asked, trying for casual. Even if my heart felt like it was thrashing against the confines of my ribcage, and my stomach had flipped over on itself.
“Well, that’s a lot of questions,” Carl said, this time rubbing a hand across the white wifebeater covering his chest. Well, calling it white was generous. It had taken on that greige tone that came from many wears and washings, and there were yellow stains under the arms, and some sort of red stain on the chest. Ketchup? Sauce? Something like that. “Without giving me anything,” he added, getting closer.
A cold sweat spread across the surface of my skin at his suggestion, but also knowing that he wouldn’t give me anything else without my cooperation.
“Maybe if you give me a little something in return, I can tell you all you want to know,” he said, now towering over me. Close enough that I could feel a trace of sweat, too spicy cologne, and what the hell was that? Sauerkraut? Something like that.
“Eh, it doesn’t matter,” I said, finally taking a step back, playing it off. “I’m sure they weren’t looking for me. I have to get my kids,” I added, turning, and walking with purpose to the elevator while saying a prayer that he didn’t follow.
When he didn’t, I threw myself in, jabbing my finger into the button until the doors slid closed and I felt safe again.
Safe enough to have an epic, short-lived, panic attack between floors.
Because, while I would never admit it to Carl, they were looking for me.
My name was Alana.
I had cut my hair.
And I did flee.
But I thought I’d done well, damnit. I kept our names out of every system I could.
Except, of course, it wasn’t entirely possible. Not when you had children. Who needed check-ups and boosters and dental cleanings and all that shit that made you a good, responsible mom.
Hell, I myself had needed to go to postpartum appointments.
But I’d set those up way, way away from Navesink Bank. The kids, though, I couldn’t throw them in the car for hours to go to get their teeth cleaned or their wellness visits done.
“Fuck,” I hissed, slamming my head against the wall of the elevator cart, feeling like the pain helped me focus.
I wasn’t going to run.
Not yet.
We didn’t live here anymore.
If we did, I would have grabbed the kids, the dog, and fled, not slowing down until we were several states away.
But we didn’t.
I just had to grab the kids right now, get in the car, and take a joy ride around the entire fucking county until I was absolutely, positively sure that no one was following me.
