Nichole cowered in the corner. Any moment he would find her hiding in the shadows and come for her too. She heard he mother’s screams coming from the kitchen. She closed her eyes and waited silently. As the screams ended in a thud she opened her eyes and looked around as if looking for what would happen next.
The man she hated most walked out of the kitchen and out the backyard, dragging her mother’s lifeless body behind him. She heard the thud of the dumpsters lid and she saw a faint glow. Fire?
The back door swung open and the murderer walked back into their house. He began to walk towards the living room, where Nichole was hiding. As he passed the coffee table he picked up his, pocket knife. Nichole sucked in her breath as he began searching the room. She held perfectly still as he passed by her to look behind the curtains. He suddenly turned and spotted her in the corner. He put his pocket knife down on the windowsill and, smiling, he slowly walked towards her.
Nichole jolted up in bed “just a bad dream” she whispered. She rolled over to look at her clock. It said 1:45 in glowing, green digits. She sighed and rolled back over. Nichole had been having that dream since she was a little girl and it had always ended in the same spot. Was she missing something?
She fell asleep again, and the dream came back. But this time she didn’t wake up. She watched in horror as the man walked slowly toward her, holding his arms out as if to hug her. To her surprise she stretched her arms out to him. “Daddy” She whispered.
This time Nichole woke up screaming. She had known the man in the dream was her father and she knew in the dream she was very young. But it was just a dream, or so she had thought. No, this was real. Though her father had told her many times that her mother died of cancer she never really believed him. Her father was an alcoholic after all. She had the bruises to prove it. He had always had a violent temper. Is that what had happened to her mother? Nichole had no time to find out. Her dad was on a business trip for a week and would be coming back in five days. She had decided, she was leaving, for good.
Nichole looked at her alarm clock, 3:05. “Good enough” she muttered to herself. She quickly got up and packed her backpack full of clothes. She put all of her money at the bottom along with the locket her mother had given her on her third birthday, a week before she had “died.” She put on jeans and a long sleeved shirt to cover the bruises on her arms and legs. And after putting on her long black coat and sneakers she snuck into the kitchen to write her father a note.
Dad,
I’m staying two nights at Grandma’s house.
Hope your business trip went well.
Tell me about it later.
Love you,
Nikki♥
Nichole didn’t have to worry about her dad calling to check on her. Her dad and her grandmother hadn’t spoken in over thirty years. She set the note on the counter and headed out the front door and down the driveway for the last time.
Ten minutes later she was walking through the dark, empty streets of New York. She was headed south, planning to go to Florida, if she even made it that far. She began humming quietly to herself as she passed an empty nail salon. She turned down a side street and headed for where she was pretty sure the freeway on-ramp was. Her plan was to follow the freeway to Florida.
