“Stay here!” And Jesse had no doubt she’d do exactly that. Why would she try to escape? She’d tried that once and it had only made her punishment worse.
He moved toward his private room across the short hallway, and she heard the drawer open. Oh, shit! He was planning to handcuff her to the bar he had attached to the solid kitchen table he’d had specially reinforced for one purpose: to inflict unimaginable pain. He’d done this before. He’d ripped off her shirt and beat her — immobilized, with her arms and legs in shackles — until she was unconscious and bloody.
To this day, she couldn’t look at her back in the mirror; she was too afraid to see the tangle of scars there. With her eyes filled with tears, she made a silent dash to the living room, grabbed her purse off the small table, and swung open the front door.
She ran down the hallway, fleeing toward the stairs of their apartment building as soundlessly as a fawn bouncing through a meadow. Her feet moved full speed ahead as if the hounds of hell were after her. At least one was — that was for sure.
She slipped into the stairwell, the fire door making a loud click behind her as she barreled down, making it two levels before she heard the fire door open again.
“Get back here now!”
She didn’t take the time to lean over the railing and look up the winding staircase. She was still two flights ahead of him, but with three to go. The elevator was slow. If he turned back and took that, she’d make it out way ahead of him. But no such luck. She heard the door shut and she knew he was coming after her. At least he was barefoot. That would slow him down.
Almost flying, one hand barely on the banister to keep her from taking a headlong plunge, she made it to the bottom floor, pushed through the door, and then ran down the last hall to the wide front doors of the building. She thrust down the bar, yanked open the door, and rushed into the parking area. It was early morning, the light just beginning to displace the shadows of night, and there would be witnesses. He wouldn’t care, though. Nothing would stop him if he got his hands on her.
Once she was scrambling through the huge parking lot, she didn’t slow down as she pulled her car keys from her purse and looked up to see her car, a car he didn’t know about. It seemed miles away. So far! Too far!
Time stood still and her lungs burned as she attempted her frantic escape.
“The longer you drag this out, Misty, the worse it’s going to be for you.”
Damn! He’d made it through the doors. How far ahead was she?
She knew she shouldn’t, but she looked back. He was walking, thinking he had plenty of time, but he was too close still for her comfort. Thank goodness for the extra weight he’d put on, making it more difficult for him to run.
Her heart thundered in her chest, and she stumbled, but she caught herself at the last second before she crashed onto the broken asphalt.
If she fell, it would all be over. He’d drag her back upstairs by her hair. The neighbors wouldn’t even bother calling the cops. They were all terrified of Jesse, and they all knew that any call would be thrown out anyway. Even if he did pound her to a pulp right there, people would turn their backs.
She’d received the pitying glances, the incredulous looks. People wondered why she stayed. She wanted to tell them it wasn’t by choice — she wanted to beg for help. But she wouldn’t involve anyone else. This was her misery and she would either be freed from this hell or she’d die trying.
Her sides had begun to ache, but the car was now close. She skidded to a stop a moment later, her key ready, her hand unbelievably steady as she pushed it into the lock on the first try. Wrenching open the door, she jumped into the driver’s seat and immediately pressed the key to the ignition — this time not so lucky. She’d missed it.
“Please,” she begged whoever might be listening, and this time when she pressed the key forward, thankfully, it slid into the ignition.
She turned the key so hard that she was afraid she’d break it, but her car started on the first try. The fates must be lining up in her favor.
“Get out of that car, Misty!”
So close.
He was so very close. She backed the car out of the parking spot and saw him only about ten yards behind her. “Please, please, please…” she begged as she threw the car into drive and slammed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.
As she pulled up to the exit from the lot, she glanced into the rearview mirror again, locking gazes with Jesse. A cold shiver of dread passed through her when she saw how near he was, almost to the bumper of her car. A look of murder was in his eyes, and it was clear what would happen if he got his hands on her. By the time he was done, she’d want to die.
There was no going back now. There was no need to. She had everything she needed in this little car, her escape a couple of days early, but well planned out.
Pulling onto the street, she sped away, breathing heavy as she traveled through Billings, Montana. If he called her car in… If he somehow caught up to her… If…
No. She wouldn’t think that way. She’d gotten away. She would stay away. He didn’t know which way she was going — he had no way of finding her. This was her car — it was a junker, a twenty-year-old Honda with more than two hundred thousand miles on the odometer, ripped upholstery and no working heater, but it was hers, debt free.
He couldn’t report it stolen — he couldn’t take it from her. He hadn’t even known about it until just this moment, which had given her another advantage. He’d thought he’d be able to chase her down the street, wait for her to tire out. He hadn’t been expecting her to drive off.
She just prayed it had been too dark for him to take down her license plate number. His eyes had been connected with hers in the mirror, she reminded herself. He hadn’t been looking anywhere near her license plate.
“I’m free,” she said aloud. Maybe she’d actually believe it if she repeated it enough.
When she reached the edge of town and jumped onto the freeway, she let out her first real sigh of relief. When she made it a hundred miles away, her white knuckles relaxed on the steering wheel.
Her body shaking, she didn’t stop moving until she was in Washington State, where she pulled off the I90 at a truck stop in Spokane. She got out and pumped in some gas, letting the cool wind glide across her. Her nerves were still frazzled, but she was free. For now, anyway.