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But I’d decided that was the last time he would ever kick me.
I was done.
So I dug into the wet, loamy soil. I dug and dug, one foot down, then another several inches. Until I came to the hard metal cash box. I pulled it up by its handle.
The rain continued to fall, making a mess of the mud and dirt. The box was waterproof, and everything inside double-bagged in ziplock bags, so I ran over to the hose off the side of the house and washed it clean of the clinging wet dirt.
My clothes and shoes were a mess by the time I ran to the back porch and rather than trying to clean them, I just kicked off my shoes and disrobed down to my underwear before stepping back into the house.
I moved fast now. If Jeff came home… The thought stopped my breath. There was almost a thousand dollars in the box, squirreled away bit by bit in varyingly daring bids to build a war chest. Plus other items that couldn’t be easily explained away. Wigs, hair dye…
There was no reason for him to come home, though. I tried to breathe and think rationally.
Still, I got quickly ready, blowing out my hair again. I’d already had makeup on for breakfast—Jeff said he wanted to look at something pretty in the morning, that was how he put it, “something pretty,” so I always woke up two hours before he did to get ready and make breakfast.
I pulled on a dress, the only sort of thing I really owned besides the gardening clothes.
Plus, putting on a show was important for this leg of the journey. I slid my feet into high heels. Then I shoved the bags from the cash box into some of Jeff’s luggage, called for a taxi, and waited with bated breath in the foyer until the cab pulled up ten minutes later.
Chapter Two
I had the cabbie drop me off at a motel half an hour south. I waited for him to drive off before hurrying down to the nearest bus stop. Two local bus exchanges later, I was finally at the central Greyhound terminal in San Jose. Buses going all over the country departed from here.
My heartbeat thrummed a hundred miles a minute. Was Jeff onto me yet? Was he… here?
I swallowed hard as I waited in line and finally got to the front of the ticketing window. I was still wearing my Penelope Chambers disguise and the guy behind the counter perked up.
Penelope Chambers always turned heads. Jeff had crafted me into the perfect wife, after all. At least from afar. But I’d felt less and less connected to the caricature he’d crafted me into. Big blonde hair, tight dresses, high heels. I’m sure he would have had me get implants if I hadn’t had C cups to start with.
I hadn’t felt connected to this shell in a long time and now less so than ever. But it was useful. This one last time I had to be her. Perform her.
I didn’t smile though.
There were cameras and this was a performance. Penelope Chambers was beautiful, but she was not brave. She was scared. Furtive.
Jeff would absolutely, one hundred percent be watching this video from their cameras at some point. This performance was all for him. As much as I hated it, this was who I want him to think he’d made me.
Cowering. Terrified.
Someone acting on fear and impulse who would be sloppy and not make it very far.
“C-could I please get a ticket to Chicago?” I asked. My voice was so quiet and tentative that the clerk had to ask me to repeat myself.
“Chicago. I- I’d like a ticket to Chicago please. Cash.” I flattened a bunch of crumpled bills onto the counter, along with my ID.
Jeff liked to call me mouse. It fit well into his predator/prey worldview.
I was the food you fed to snakes, in his mind.
Who would I be after today? I had no freaking clue. Surviving this was all I could think about first.
The attendant handed me the ticket. “You have a nice day, Miss.”
I dropped my head, hiding my face from him and any cameras pointed my way. And only then, curtained by my hair did I allow a small, secretly thrilled smile.
First part down. Holy shit, I was actually doing this. I erased the smile from my face and lifted my head back up. Okay, one last walk for the cameras.
My heartbeat, already ringing in my ears, got even louder and more frantic.
