Legacy

Chapter 13: On the Run

The heavy rain pelts my head as I stumble through the woods. My feet are cut and pricked to the point of bleeding and my legs are bruised and scraped from the knees down. The farther I tread, the trees grow closer together and it's harder to keep moving in a straight line.

If I keep moving, I'm bound to run into a road or a camp or something. You can only go so far into the forest before you start walking out again.

I lean against a moist tree to catch my breath and squint up at the clouds. The raindrops still bounce off my skin, but at a gentler rate. I stick out my tongue to catch some. What I wouldn't give for a water or some lemonade. The grey sky is getting lighter... must be about midday...

My stomach growls as I take notice of the trees gradually growing farther apart. That might lead to something.

Damp twigs bend and snap beneath my sore feet as I trudge through the rain and thinning trees. It isn't long before the rough forest floor turns to a loose gravel road.

I follow it almost as if it's the yellow brick road from the Wizard of Oz. The road that will lead me back home.

Back to a mattress that doesn't creek. A toilet that isn't just a few feet away from the kitchen. A room with open windows that will let in the soothing sunlight and gentle wind. No more forced conversations, sexual advances, or painful punishments.

A house comes into view and I pick up speed. The exterior is made of wood painted an awful faded yellow and the windows are open wide for a couple flower pots to enjoy some rain.

I squint my eyes and notice someone inside. "Hey!" My voice is scratchy from the all the running I just did, but it's still loud. "Help me! He's coming for me!"

It's not like I can just go up to the door and plead for their help because I'm running from a psycho who wants to get me pregnant. I mean, I do have to remember that they might even know Michael.

A woman pokes her head out the window and waves to me. "What can I do for you, honey?" Her voice is sweet and caring as I approach the window.

I lean hard against the windowsill to catch my breath and look up at her. She has long red hair streaked with grey strands pinned back behind her ears, and her face is lined with age. She must be at least in her late thirties. "Oh, dear! You're bleeding. What happened to you?"

"I was," I wheeze, "kidnapped. Just," I gulp, "got away."

"Come inside, quickly," she says, motioning to the door. "I'll clean you up and give you a nice cup of tea. Then we can go to the police."

I stumble to the door as she opens it for me. Her house is small, but cozy. The walls are covered entirely in floral wallpaper and fancy decorative plates.

"You don't have a phone?" Everyone has a phone. Why the hell would this woman not have one?

"Why? So I can have telemarketers calling to try and sell me something I don't need?" She pats the back of a rocking chair and motions for me to sit down.

My feet and legs ache all over as I lean back in the chair. "That would be a good reason not to have a phone," I reply as I pop my fingers to distract myself from the painful groaning of my muscles.

"Now," she says as she sets the kettle on the stove, "what's your name?" Her smile is sweet; so unlike Michael's constant smirk.

"September Walker," I answer. The man with the green hair flashes through my mind. I saw you on the news! "What's your name?"

"Nancy," she says as she carries over a small first aid kit. "Good lord. What did you do to your knees?" She clicks her tongue as she dabs at my bleeding knees with a damp cotton swab.

I wince at the sting on my skin. "You do tend to get hurt when you're running away from your kidnapper." I reach into the kit to get some disinfectant for the cuts on my hands and arms.

"When were you taken?" Nancy begins to apply bandaids to the parts of my knee that are still bleeding.

"Back in July," I say as the teakettle whistles behind her. As Nancy gets up to get it I just have to say: "That man is a fucking psycho."

"I don't appreciate swearing in my house, September." She pours me a cup and hands it to me.

I mumble a tiny "Sorry," and take a sip. I've never been much of a tea drinker, so the faint sweetness is weird to me. It just tastes really watered down, but my dry throat is in no position to complain.

"It's quite alright," she says, leaning against the counter. "Now, after you finish that we can go to the station. I'm sure the police will be very interested in this. Why don't you tell me what all he's done. This sounds like something right out of an Alex Cross novel."

...I don't understand that reference...

I nod and tell her about the day I was taken. I tell her about Michael's intentions for my uterus, his abuse, his interest in torture... damn, I got off easy. He could have done any number of things to me in that basement. She nods, but doesn't interrupt.

The memories get more and more difficult to put into words. I close my eyes to try to recall the small details and when I open them again my head spins. My eyes refuse to focus on anything.

I look up at Nancy's face and it has no emotion; at least not any that I can tell. My eyelids droop and I struggle to stay... awake... but... the cup tumbles from my hands and the last thing I hear is it shattering on the hardwood floor.