Chapter 6

Ihave no idea where I’m going. I only know I need to get as far away from New Jersey as I can and west is the best direction to go. Eventually, I may turn and go further north or south, but for now, I just head in the quickest direction to put distance between me and The Crows. That’s my only concern. That and wondering how long they’ll look for me when they come back and discover I’m no longer there.

If they don’t already know I left, that is.

I stop every ten hours and find a motel that’ll accept cash as payment. Many of them are seedy, the kinds of places you just know someone has been murdered in. The beds are less than savory, stains on the threadbare quilts and in the thirty-year-old carpet. The first one I stop at in Pennsylvania doesn’t even have hot water, so I have to take an ice-cold shower. I make sure to wear my shower shoes in it when I see the state of the tub. The white porcelain is stained with rust streaks and clearly hasn’t been cleaned between guests. I try not to think about that as I scrub myself clean quickly and get some sleep on top of the quilt. After checking for bedbugs—I don’t find any thankfully—I grab my own blanket from my car and settle in. Even William seems to think the place sucks. He stays in his carrier most of the time, only coming out to eat and use the disposable litterbox. We’re on the road bright and early again the next morning.

Pennsylvania comes and goes, and we make our way into Ohio. We drive on through Ohio, stopping just over the state line of Indiana. It still feels too close to the Crows for comfort. So we keep going. By the third day of driving, I’m starting to get anxious. How far will we have to go? They have a decent reach with their influence from what the news says, but I don’t actually know how far that reach stretches.

The scenery changes as I drive, as I get further and further away from New Jersey. Every time I stop, I give a different name for the seedy motels I stay in and pay only in cash. I’d opened all new accounts with different banks to make sure I couldn’t be tracked, but I don’t trust using my card and The Crows not able to somehow track it. I’m as careful as possible, trying my best not to give away any information. The only thing they’ll have is that a woman driving a purple BMW stopped in with her cat. Every time I think about that, I wince at the uniqueness of it. How many women are driving in a purple car and walk their cat on a leash? I’m practically a walking neon sign despite trying to stay inconspicuous.

Poor William is getting antsy, and his mood gets perpetually worse at being stuck in the car for so many days. He’s happy to ride on the dash as I drive, and I make sure to walk him every time I stop for snacks or to use the bathroom, but I don’t blame him for his annoyance. I’m tired of being cooped up in the car, too.

Illinois comes and goes without incident. Iowa is even more a blip of flat land and cornfields though the motel I stay in there is clean. It’s the first time I trust sleeping in the bedding. The old woman up front smiles and tells me her life story about how her and her husband have been running the motel for decades and how he wanted her to keep going when he died. The motel is well taken care of and even comes with breakfast the next morning. It’s the best damn breakfast I’ve had in a while. I’m almost sad to see it go, but something tells me Iowa isn’t where I’m meant to stop.

Nebraska is beautiful when we arrive, and the scenery is a delight. William enjoys his walks far more when there’s so much to see, but we don’t linger for too long at each stop. I wish I wasn’t trying so hard to remain anonymous. I’d be taking pictures of William and I at each state sign if I wasn’t worried that could somehow be tracked. If I wasn’t being chased by a literal mafia, I might have enjoyed this road trip. It’s been so long since I’ve done something like this, I’m enjoying myself despite the danger behind me. As it is, I can’t help but look behind me at every stop or being suspicious of every person I come into contact with. I trust no one.

When the state sign for Wyoming comes and goes and the mountains rise in the distance, I suck in a breath at the beauty of it. The mountains are beautiful even from so far away. I know they’ll only get better as we approach them.

“Oh, wow! Look at that, William,” I tell him where he sits on the dash. He’s currently sleeping, but he cracks open an eye at his name.

The mountains in the distance are still far away, but as I drive and they rise higher and higher into the sky, I can’t help but be awed by them. New Jersey is a long way behind us now, and we’re faced with this beauty instead. Six states between here and there might be enough, right?

I drive into a small town right off the highway, the charm of it making me catch my breath. Everything is clean and well-kept here. A sign welcoming me to the city of Steele is painted with cows and horses and everything I’ve always associated with cowboys. There’s something about the small town that calls to me, and I find myself pulling into one of the parking spots in front of a small coffee shop. Above the city, the mountains rise like a sleeping giant. Snow dusts their points at the top, but the air is warm in town. I don’t know what the weather’s like, but for mid-spring, it’s pleasant.

“Look how beautiful, William,” I say, reaching across to clip his leash on. “Come on. Let’s check things out.”

We climb from my little car and breathe in the fresh air. It feels clean and light, unlike the polluted haze in New Jersey. This is what I’ve been missing. This is what I need.

For once, I don’t think about how it looks for a woman dressed in black with a blue streak in her hair and a cat on a leash as I absorb the sights. This feels. . . right.

I just hope it stays that way.