Chapter 20 Chapter 20
I started packing. A small, black hiking bag I used for weekend trips. I stuffed it with the cash first, hiding it carefully through the different compartments and lining it with plastic bags, just in case. Then, the essentials: a toothbrush, a few changes of new underwear, my papers, and my burner phone (which I knew was traceable but I'd dump soon), which I would destroy. I left all my jewelry, my laptop, and anything personal that had been in this house. Everything had been touched by their eyes.
I had to assume everything was bugged, watched, or known. Running meant losing Christine and Anthony, and that felt like a punch to the stomach, but staying meant death or permanent bondage.
I took a final, silent look around the house; this had been my safe space for the longest while. Then I turned and walked away. I went to the back of the house. The back window in the laundry room was small, but it was low to the ground and hidden by a thick bush. It was the only way out that didn't risk walking past the front of the house and straight onto the street where anyone could see. I lifted the window quietly, listening for any sound outside. Nothing. Just the wind and the distant hum of the city. I pushed my backpack through first. It landed with a soft, dull thud in the overgrown grass.
I climbed up, hooking a knee over the sill. It was an awkward scramble, but the adrenaline made me strong. I squeezed my body through the opening, scraping my side on the wooden frame, and then dropped down into the cold, damp earth. I pulled the window down slowly, making sure it looked latched from the outside.
I stayed low, using the shadows and the deep cover of the back hedges, and crept toward the edge of my property line. I left the car where it was; it was his, and it was a massive red flag.
I got to the edge of the yard and ducked behind a big oak tree, and then started running. Not sprinting, but a fast, steady jog towards the interstate overpass, where I knew I could catch a bus going south. I didn't look back at the house, my old life. I just focused on the weight of the cash on my back, the sting in my eyes, and the single, desperate thought that kept me moving: I don't belong to him. I don't belong to anyone.
If he ever found me, I would pay the price for running away, and it was all the more reason to make sure he didn't find me. I was finally, utterly alone, a dead man on a pier and a million dollars from Zaial that was going to buy me a new name and a final, real escape. My new life started right here, in the dark, with nothing but a bad haircut and a backpack full of secrets. I didn't stop running until the sight of my house was completely swallowed by the trees and the dark. I didn't stop until my lungs were screaming and the cold air felt like knives every time I breathed in. I was running on pure animal instinct. I had to put distance between me and my house, between me and that crazy man.
The terror of it all was intense, but I had to focus for now. I was no longer being hunted by Alex but by someone else, someone more dangerous. Someone that saw everything, who had eyes in a CEO's private penthouse, and who just executed a man and raped me to prove a point. He said I couldn't hide from him, and I was going to prove him wrong. I made it to the interstate overpass in Irvington. It was about half an hour after I’d jumped out the window. The overpass was my first point. I knew a few smaller bus companies ran services through here that didn't go through the main Manhattan terminals. That was crucial. I couldn't risk the main hubs; too many cameras, and he would find me.
I found a small shelter where the regional buses occasionally stopped. I stood there, shivering, pulling the hood of my hoodie low over my badly chopped hair. I needed to disappear right away. I was nervous; I was standing there just waiting for a black SUV to roll up and someone to grab me.
I pulled out my phone; it was bugged, tracked, or at least used for finding me. I walked over to the storm drain. It felt dramatic, but it was necessary. I smashed the casing against the concrete railing, then pried out the battery and SIM card with my keys. I tossed all the pieces the casing, the battery, and the SIM down the drain, watching them clatter and disappear into the darkness. Right. Now I was just a ghost.
I bought the first ticket available to a major transit hub a few states away, massive Texas, where I could lose myself in the crowds. I paid in cash, of course, using a couple of the hundred-dollar bills from the backpack. I was clumsy doing it, unused to handling so much money. The ticket guy looked at me weird, seeing the huge denomination for a ten-dollar bus ride, but he didn't say anything. I climbed aboard the grubby coach bus. I took a seat right at the back, next to the window, pulling the hood even lower. I didn't sleep. Every time the bus paused, every time a new vehicle pulled alongside us on the highway, my stomach twisted into a knot. I kept checking the side mirror, expecting to see a black SUV or, maybe worse, a massive figure in a thick coat, radiating that familiar, cold, dark purpose.
The fear was an invisible companion, a constant weight, a horrifying whisper: You’re just delaying the inevitable. He will find you.
I got off the bus in the middle of a Texas, echoing, completely foreign city just as the first light of the sun began breaking through. My first priority was to finish the change. My hair was a disaster; I probably looked like a crazy woman to passersby. I needed to look different.
I found a cheap, dodgy-looking salon that was open early. The place smelled of stale hairspray and desperation. The woman working there looked exhausted and completely bored and didn't even blink at my ragged, choppy haircut. I sat down in the chair.
“Make it different,” I said, my voice quiet. “Short. And dark. Really black.” She just nodded and pulled out her scissors and went to work. The sound was loud, but it was almost calming. With every snip and every buzz, I felt the old Tessa being stripped away. I watched the strands fall to the floor, and the hair the owner had touched was now gone.