Eighteen Months Ago

 

Beep, beep, beep…

I hated the sound of the register, the stupid tone that sounded every time I scanned a barcode. Eight hours a day, day after day, week after week. And I was supposed to be content to put up with this for how long? Five to ten years? Longer, maybe?

That wasn’t going to happen.

I don’t think they truly understood who I was. But, again, it was better than sitting in that dingy apartment staring at the walls twenty-four hours a day. Or in the hotel before that…

I shivered.

“You okay?”

I smiled politely at the housewife whose groceries I was currently scanning. “Just a little chill.”

“It’s hot outside today.”

I glanced at the glass walls of the store, out into the bright sunlight of the clear Florida morning, and nodded. “It is. But the air conditioner…” I gestured to the vent right above my station. “They tend to keep it a little cold because of the heat from the refrigeration motors, you know?”

She nodded. “I always wondered why it was so cold in a grocery store.”

I bit my lip to keep the sarcastic words that touched the tip of my tongue. There were so many amazing things about the modern world and she wondered about that? Must be why she was content to be a housewife and I was going insane in this dead-end job.

I watched her take her change from her purchase and leave the store. It was early, so there was no one else in line. I slipped out a novel I’d hidden under the cash drawer and leaned back against the flimsy wall of my little station to read. If the manager came in and caught me again, I’d probably lose this job. That would be a disaster. But I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Another customer came through with a pile of junk food—Twinkies and high-sodium lunch meat and canned soups—that I scanned without comment. The last time I’d told someone they should make adjustments to their diet, they’d complained to management and they’d threatened to put me on stocking duty. The only thing worse than listening to that infernal beep all day long was the monotony of setting boxes of tampons on a low shelf all day.

It was a long, boring day. I was used to being busy all the time, running from one crisis to the next. This…I was pretty sure if it went on much longer, I wouldn’t make it. It would almost be worth taking a chance with my life than staying here like this.

I walked home. They wouldn’t allow me a car or a driver’s license even though I’d been driving since I was fourteen. A neighbor waved as I came around the corner of the building, a slight woman who was all belly at the moment. Her thin body was almost too fragile for the baby she was carrying. If she didn’t eat a little more, that baby would have a lifetime of problems. But, again, living in this world with a father who dealt drugs and a mother who took them, the kid didn’t have much of a chance anyway.

I let myself into my apartment, trying not to look at the threadbare carpets and the stains on the walls. They told me they’d arrange something better soon enough, but this was safe for now. Their interpretation of safe was amusing to me.

I warmed up leftover chicken from last night and threw together a little salad, settling on the creaky couch to watch some mindless reality show. I thought about going to bed when I was finished eating, but the only thing sleep did was bring me closer to another day in that damn grocery store.

I wasn’t supposed to, but I slipped outside, walked down the block to the little convenience store on the corner. It was something to do. I bought a pint of vanilla ice cream, a rare indulgence that gave this little trip a purpose. If they asked I could always say it was a woman thing…most men wouldn’t argue with anything that hinted at that time of the month.

The night was cooler than the day had been with a cool breeze blowing nicely through the trees. I paused before turning the corner that would take me to my apartment building and the overwhelming smells of frying onions and sweaty bodies overwhelmed the fresh scent of the evening air. Warm evenings like this were a rarity back where I came from, especially this time of the year. But when they came, it was always such a pleasure to sit out on my back porch and enjoy them.

If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend I was there again.

But closing my eyes in this neighborhood was a mistake.

“Hello, Carson,” a deep voice whispered near my ear.

I stiffened, tried to turn, but hands grabbed my arms and dragging me into the alley behind a row of houses that were little more than shacks. I tripped and stumbled, the person behind me holding me up with just the power of his grip on my arms. I screamed, but people were always screaming in this area. No one noticed.

He shoved me to the ground. I barely hit the dirt when the first blow came, a foot in my ribs. A foot encased in a steel toed boot. I cried out, curling onto my side to protect my ribs, but that didn’t stop the blows. My back, my ass…he didn’t seem to care where he made contact. I got up on my hands and knees, tried to crawl away, but he just grabbing my foot and pulled me back.

“Fucking bitch! Did you really think you could get away with it?”

I glanced back at him, recognized his dark features, the scar that ran along the left side of his face. The mark of a knife; poorly repaired. And it hadn’t been a doctor who did it because he hadn’t bothered to minimize nerve damage. The man’s eyelid drooped from the bad repair.

He lifted his foot to kick me again. I was pretty sure my chin was his next target, but a car turned into the alley at that moment, flooding it with light. He turned to look at it, guarding his eyes from the bright light with a curved hand. I took advantage of his momentary distraction to crawl toward the open gate in someone’s backyard. The moment I was out of sight, I climbed to my feet and ran. I heard him cursing, heard the pounding of his feet as he came after me. But it was dark here and he was partially blinded from the car headlights. I even heard him fall once or twice.

I got to the street and hesitated just a second. If he’d known where to find me, he knew where I lived. If he knew where I lived, he’d expect me to go there. That was the last place I should go.

I turned the other direction and ran, coming up behind a city bus just as it pulled to a stop at the corner. I climbed on board and took a seat toward the back, watching out the window for any sign of my pursuer. There was nothing.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice said, shoving a tissue toward me.

I looked at the tissue, then at the source of the voice, an older woman with exhaustion written all over her face.

“Your head. It’s bleeding.”

I reached up and touched my forehead, surprised when my fingers came away with fresh blood on the tips. I took the tissue and nodded in thanks, turning away in what might have been considered a rude gesture. But I couldn’t talk to anyone, couldn’t leave behind potential witnesses who would remember details about me. He’d found me once. He could find me again.

I couldn’t believe he’d found me. All the work, all the rules, everything I’d done, everything they’d done…how did he find me?

And why didn’t he just kill me?

I shuddered, the adrenaline wearing off and the emotion setting in. My hands were shaking and my body was beginning to throb in so many places I couldn’t keep track of them all. I had to get out of here, had to get out of Florida. And I had to do it on my own. There was no other choice.

I got off the bus at the next stop and searched my pockets, taking an assessment of my situation. I had enough cash on me to get a bus ticket out of town. After that…I was a resourceful girl. I’d have to be resourceful.