Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
I don’t want to go to prison for murder, and I don’t want to spy on Ian. If I don’t do what Wolfe wants, he’ll come at me with everything he’s got. He’ll make sure I end up behind bars for a very long time. If I do what he wants, Ian will kill me when he finds out. It’s an impossible choice. Once more, I’m stretched thin between two possibilities, and both of them feel wrong.
Suddenly, it hits me. When the air expands in my lungs and I find the first semblance of calm after my breakdown, I know what I have to do.
I need to run.
I have to get as far away from the law and Ian as I can. Already, as I jump into action, throwing out all the perishable food and carrying the trash to the big waste bins downstairs, I work out the details in my mind. I need a vehicle. I need a false identity and some cash.
Going over different scenarios in my head, I change into a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and my leather jacket before lacing up my hiking shoes. I work fast, taking no more than a change of clothes, a few necessary toiletries, and my handbag.
Before dropping the phone into my bag, I make sure the geotracking is deactivated. I don’t want Ian or the cops to trace me that way. At the dresser, I pause to pick up the frame with the photo of my parents. I’m neither a sentimentalist nor a hoarder, but I’m worried my memory may fail me one day. I’m worried their faces will fade and I won’t recall the soft laugh lines around my mom’s eyes or the way my dad tried not to smile while being stern with me.
My fingers tremble when I remove the clips on the backing and take the photo from the frame. After sliding it into my wallet, I take a last look around. There’s nothing else of importance to me. No plants and no pets. No valuables. After mom and dad’s deaths, I made sure nothing came close to me. I’ve succeeded in not attaching myself to anything.
Having a plan keeps me calm. Having direction strengthens me. I fit my backpack and throw the strap of my handbag diagonally over my chest. Mrs. Steyn watches me through her kitchen window as I lock up and go downstairs. The man waits next to the bike with a spare helmet in his hand. It’s the same man from earlier, the one who followed me. He starts the bike while I fit the helmet. I’ve barely swung my leg over the back before he takes off.
I don’t hold onto him but rather grip the seat, trying to touch him as little as possible. He sticks to the speed limit as we cross town. Every now and then, I glance back, but there’s no car following behind us. Wolfe doesn’t need to have me followed. The bracelet is doing the job for him.
After crossing the railway lines, the man takes the highway and heads south-east. I don’t have a choice but to wrap my arms around him for purchase when he speeds up. My heart beats between my ribs as the wind whips past my face. He looks at me from over his shoulder, a wordless question asking if I’m doing okay, and I nod.
Signboards for Pretoria flash overhead. Good. It will be easier to disappear in a big city. Eventually, I could make my way toward Botswana or Namibia and cross the border. I could find a piece of land in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the unpopulated semi-dessert, and live off the land. I know how to do that. I know how to survive with only the resources of nature.
When we near a big gas station with a restaurant and store outside Pretoria, I tap the man’s shoulder.
“Bathroom,” I say over the noise of the engine and the wind.
He flicks on the indicator and takes the exit for the gas station. The toilets are on the side of the building. He parks in front of the toilets and cuts the engine. My legs are stiff when I get off the bike. It takes me a moment to find my balance. He’s taken off his helmet by the time I finally get my legs to work.
“Two minutes,” he says, cocking his head toward the ladies’ side.
“Five. I’m desperate.”
His eyes are a light-green color. Somehow, the lighter hue seems more piercing, but I hold his gaze even if it feels as if he sees right through the lie.
He holds out a hand. “Give me your helmet.”
I unclasp the helmet and hand it to him.
He leaves it on the backseat. “Want me to hold your bag?”
“I’m good,” I say, shaking out my matted hair as I make my way to the bathroom.