We exchange goodbyes, and I leave a message for the other reference, but my mind is made up.
Pine Ridge is kind of odd, it occurs to me. Ever since I arrived, good things have been happening, even if they come at me in an odd way. Like Laurel. Maybe Imogene Sommers is one of those things, too?
Chapter Seven: October Twenty-Ninth
October 29th, 2025
Eagle Arch (unincorporated), Alaska
I got the job. He’ll pay for my tickets; I just have to tell him the train, plane, or airline.
Lesha messaged me. He called, this Mr. Artie Taylor, and he was very nice, and she lied, which I didn’t ask her to do, and now he thinks I’m a super babysitter...
Lesha pointed out something else, too, when I told her my family was keeping all of my records from me, or that I didn’t have them.
I had to have something on file with the university to attend and qualify for free tuition. I could find out, I could look at my account—if I knew the password Barton used when he set it up.
“I’m going to the store.”
Sarah’s voice is outside my door, and I move quickly, quickly enough to notice the bags by the door. Not shopping bags. Suitcases.
“Sarah. I’m leaving, too,” I say. I walk slowly towards her. Sarah used to seem much more afraid of me, but I think she’s tired of that fear now. She’s realized that I’m harmless. Barton is the dangerous one. Still, she doesn’t touch me. She stands, face pale.
“You can’t come to the store,” she says hoarsely.
“I don’t want a ride to the store. I want a ride into town. And I want—” I swallow hard, “I want my birth certificate, or anypapers Barton has about me. I need the information to start a new life.”
“You can’t. People will—”
“I’ll wear a hat. Headscarves. My feet are covered. My skin... Gloves. Makeup. Tall boots. Long sleeves.”
“You... You can’t leave. Barton will—”
“Barton will have a punching bag here and not come after you? That’s not going to matter. I’m leaving with your help or without it.”
Sarah swallows. Several times. Then— “You can’t come with me. I don’t want you in my life.”
It hurts, in a way, but it’s nothing new. “That’s fine,” I say calmly. “I don’t want you in mine, either.”
“My friend is a pilot. She does charter flights to remote spots in the archipelago. She’s going to fly me to Washington. Once we land, you get away from me.”
That’s better than I hoped for! I won’t need a passport or identification on a private plane—at least, I don’t think I will from what I’ve read—and I can ask Mr. Taylor to send money so that I can take a train.
“Deal. Let me get my things.”
If Sarah is surprised that I come out in my mother’s old flared leg jeans and a striped sweater, she doesn’t show it. I think she’s conditioned her face not to show anything but a careful blank.
Barton is a bastard.
I’VE NEVER RIDDEN INa car—not that I remember. Or a plane. I want to look around, but Sarah insists I lie down in the backseat, under heavy blankets. No one knows about me, shesays. That’s why we live like this. So no one willeverknow about me.
The car begins to move, and a shiver runs through me. This could be freedom from one prison, only to lead to another. Or something worse, an unfriendly world of stares and hostile strangers, or maybe Mr. Taylor is a criminal. Lesha told me she did a background check on him, and he seems “legit.”
I promised I’d pay her back, but I didn’t tell her that I’m not going to make any money. I told my professors I’m moving and promised to catch up on my work when I can, but I didn’t tell them I’m not going to have a computer or a phone or...
“You were already three or four when I met you. I can’t remember. A wild thing, living outside more often than not, but always returning at night. Barton married your mother young, right out of college, and they were going to be homesteaders. But she had family in Europe, Germany—the Bavarian part. She went over there for three months for Christmas—alone. He didn’t want her to. Had a big fight. They’d already been fighting a lot. That’s why she went. Over there, she had a fling with a demon, I guess. That’s what Barton said.”
“Demons?”
