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Focusing on the keys, I grab the one with the Audi emblem on the fob. There is only one Audi in here, so that takes the stress out of finding the car that matches the key. I hurry toward it, not bothered about being stealthy anymore. The urge to go fast pushes me. I know they’ll notice I’m gone soon, and then they’ll come for me, worried I’ll spill secrets about their precious Salem and the layout of this place. I want to be far away from here before that happens.
I throw my things in the back seat before climbing into the car, adjusting the seat, and starting it. Checking my mirrors, I pull out of the garage. I see two men talking near the main entrance of the house as I leave, but they are too far away for me to make out who they are. Thanks to the tinted glass, they can’t tell who’s driving, either. Neither of them runs toward me, so the Audi leaving isn’t triggering any alarms, thankfully. And on that note, I put my foot on the gas and hightail it out of there before my luck runs out.
My stupid tears start again the farther away I get. When I make it to the main road, I swear my breath stutters in my chest for a moment when I remember how damn proud of myself I was when I found the turn to the mysterious Apex ranch. Well, fuck them. Fuck them all. I wish Salem the best. Hopefully, she keeps her guard up because, despite everything, I truly don’t want anything to happen to her. But it’s time for me to go.
I’m not noble enough to stay here and be chained up like a dog on the off chance I might be in the right place at the right time to save a woman that probably won’t even miss me now that I’m gone.
“Jesus!” I hiss when I realize how jaded and bitter I sound. I don’t want to be this person. I worked too hard to beat back the demons that I spent years trying to drown in the bottom of a vodka bottle. I can’t help but be pissed that I let Jagger and Slade in enough to make me slip back into old habits. The feelings of worthlessness and of being used and ridiculed make themselves known once more—like old friends from another life you wish you could just forget about.
I shake my head, trying to displace my wayward thoughts, but my self-loathing has a grip on me that refuses to relent. I’m angry—so angry that I need a stronger word to describe how beyond angry I am. Not just with Slade and Jagger, but all of them. The person I’m pissed at most, though, is me. I knew better, but stupid girls make stupid decisions. Well, not anymore.
I pull up to the first ATM I come across and withdraw as much money as it allows before moving on to the next. I do it until I have a sizable wad of cash in my hand, thankful I have a high withdrawal limit from my bank. I drive to the small café that sits at the start of a hiking trail I passed on the way here that’s apparently popular with tourists this time of year. I order a few sandwiches and a couple of bottles of water to go before making light conversation about how I’m going to wander the trails.
The waitress looks at my face and frowns. I have a feeling this woman can see right through my bullshit. “You okay? The trails can be dangerous if you’re not familiar with them. I’m not sure I’m comfortable letting you wander around on your own, especially when it looks like your heart might have taken a beating. Broken hearts make it easy to get caught up in your head, and that’s when you look up and find yourself lost.”
I shake my head sadly at her. “I’m already lost. But I promise I won’t go far. I just need to be alone for a little while.”
She looks at me skeptically. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”
I shake my head. “I think I’ve reached my lifetime quota of stupid decisions.”
After a minute, she reluctantly nods her head and offers me a quick wave goodbye. I walk to the back of the parking lot, closest to the trail, where I parked. Grabbing my bags from the car, I shove my food inside my tote and head toward the trail, making sure to keep my suitcase hidden from view. Once I’m out of sight of the diner, I loop around and head in a straight line parallel to the diner until I reach the road. I cross the street and head toward the bus station that’s about a mile from here, pulling my luggage behind me.
By the time I reach the station, I'm huffing and puffing, and even though it’s early evening now and the temperature has dropped, I’m coated in a layer of sweat.
When I walk up to the ticket counter, the woman sitting behind the glass partition takes one look at me and frowns. “Are you okay?”
“I... I... need a ticket.”
“Where to?”
“Anywhere away from here.”
She reels off the places, and I pick three at random. I buy tickets for each destination, so if questioned, she won’t be able to tell anyone exactly where I went. With a thank you, I head to the restroom and park my bags beside me so I can lean on the counter. I gaze in the mirror and wince. Yikes, no wonder I’ve been getting some looks—well, more than usual. My eyes are swollen and bloodshot from crying, my usually fair skin is bright pink from being exposed to the sun for too long, and my hair is a tangled mess.
Turning on the faucet, I run the water before splashing some onto my face, relishing the soothing coolness of it. Once I feel more clearheaded, I take a few minutes to use the facilities before rummaging in my bag for a hoodie. I slip it on and tug the hood over my hair. From the small front pocket of the bag, I grab my tinted glasses and cover my eyes. With my head throbbing like it is, I chastise myself for not putting my sunglasses on earlier when I was in the damn sun, but my mind was clearly on other things.
Blowing out a breath, I head out to the waiting area. I sit in the corner next to an older lady who is knitting. The chair on the other side of me is empty except for a baseball cap. The owner of the cap is asleep in the chair next to it. I sit with my bags, anxious to put some distance between me and this place. My leg bounces up and down nervously as time seems to crawl by. Finally, a bus comes in that I bought a ticket for.
I quickly glance at the sleeping man beside me, and before I can question my actions, I snatch his cap and cover it with my bag as I head to the bus. I fidget as I wait to board, trying to keep cool and not draw attention to myself. I’m clearly not cut out for this life. I’m a nervous wreck already. What am I going to be like a week from now? Will they even try to find me, or will they just cut their losses and let me go? If they do come, what will they do with me? I have so many questions I don’t have the answers to that it makes my stomach churn and my head pounds harder.
By the time I make it to the driver and hold my ticket out for him, my hands are shaking so badly that he can’t read it. He reaches out to steady it, and his pinkie brushes against mine. Maybe it’s because my defenses are down—my mind too preoccupied with everything else that I’m not shielding myself like I usually do—that a vision hits me hard and fast.
I see the driver with his pants around his ankles as he thrusts himself into a woman who is pinned over one of the bus seats. One of his hands grips the back of the seat for balance, the other is over her mouth as he fucks her brutally. Her screams are muffled by his hand, but there is nothing to stop the flow of tears from her terrified eyes. I look around the bus, wondering why nobody is helping her, when I see it’s completely empty except for the two of them. A quick look outside shows it’s pitch dark and eerily isolated.
I snap back to the here and now and yank my hand back.
“You okay?” the driver asks, the picture of concern. His words feel like oil on my skin after what I’ve just seen.
“I’m fine,” I reply gruffly.
He waits for a second before nodding his head for me to find my seat. I turn and blow out my breath, feeling sick to my stomach.
It’s visions like that one that haunt me, not just because the act is so heinous but because I have no time frame for when it could take place. It could happen tomorrow, two weeks from now, or two years. Even if I managed to track down the person in my vision, how would I make them understand what I saw? And if, by some miracle, I did convince them, then what? They get to spend the next however long it takes to come to fruition, terrified, always looking over their shoulder.
Calling what I have a gift is a joke. I can’t help anyone. All that’s going to happen is that I’ll slowly go insane. Now I remember why I keep myself isolated.
I push my way to the back of the bus, keeping my head down, not wanting anyone to remember me. When I trip over someone’s bag lying in the aisle, I look up and gasp when I stare into the eyes of the woman getting raped in my vision. She glares at me as I right myself and continue on, throwing myself into the back seat, my heart thundering in my chest.
