We pull up two chairs outside the bathroom door so we can watch her and talk privately.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, devastated. “I led them here.”
She reaches over and lays a warm hand on mine, and I realize I’m trembling. “You did what you thought was necessary. Now we figure out what to do next. Now that they know which neighborhood we are in, they won’t leave.”
“You’re right. We have to get out. We’ll wait until dark.” I bite my lip. “We can’t go back to my car.” A hot, prickly sensation is crawling over my skin. I feel trapped.
“We take the Toyota in the garage. Maybe go out the back gate?” Celia asks.
I shake my head. “No. They’ll have backup here within the hour. They’ll be posted at both gates. We need someone to drive us out while we hide.”
“Mama, look,” Rona calls. She has bubbles in her hair and is holding up her mermaid doll with matching bubbles.
“Like twins.” I smile absently. I’m still watching her when the idea comes. I look back at Celia, who’s twisting her wedding band on her finger. She lost her husband two decades ago but still wears the worn, gold ring. “Is there anyone in the neighborhood who you trust to help us?”
Her forehead is creased with worry lines. “The problem, when the men show up threatening people with guns, we cannot trust anyone not to talk.”
“True, but if we can get out of here, it won’t matter if someone tells them you and Rona were staying here.”
She stares up at the ceiling and then nods. “There is an older man, Mr. Fitz. Lives with his daughter two houses down. He gave me his number if I needed anything when a bad storm was coming through. I think he would help.” Her face falls. “But he does not drive. His daughter drives, but she was not as friendly.”
I’m quiet a moment as I work that out in my head. “That’s okay. We’ll call an Uber. If we can get him to just sit in the Uber as a decoy so we can hide in the back, that’s all we need. You’re going to have to explain some level of the danger we’re in to him. Just keep it vague. No names. Tell him we’ll have the Uber here at 8 PM.”
“Okay. I try it.” She makes the sign of the cross and hurries to get the new burner phone I brought her, along with Mr. Fitz’s number.
I take advantage of what may be our last moment of peace and kneel by the bathtub. As I stroke Rona’s wet hair away from her face, I fight back the panic. If we don’t get out of here, this may also be our last moments of freedom. “Can I play with one of your dolls?”
She hands me a regular Barbie with a toothy smile. “She’s a good swimmer, too.”
Her little face blurs as a wave of grief rushes up, filling my eyes with tears. She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves a normal life, not one running from a monster. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
By the time eight o’clock rolls around, I’m ready to jump out of my skin at any noise. There are over seven hundred houses in this neighborhood, so we have a decent chance of not being spotted. But, while keeping an eye out the last few hours, I did see two different cars roll slowly down the street. I know their backup is here.
“Mr. Fitz is in the driveway. Uber is pulled up.” Celia picks up Rona’s suitcase in one hand and her suitcase in the other. She sounds breathless, but I know that’s from fear. She knows what Michael is capable of, what we’re risking right now.
I peer through the blinds, sweeping the street one last time. I don’t see any cars coming or waiting in the shadows. It’s now or never. “Let’s go.” I carefully lift Rona from where she fell asleep on the sofa hugging her bear, grab a blanket, and follow Celia out the front door.
The driver is a young woman in her twenties. She’s opening the back gate of her SUV—which thank God has tinted windows—as she talks to Mr. Fitz. He shoots us a sympathetic smile, and I hear him explaining to the driver that he needs to get us out of the neighborhood unseen, that it’s a domestic violence situation.
Her head whips to me holding Rona and a determined look crosses her face. She nods once. “I’m glad to help.”
After a supportive squeeze to Celia’s shoulder, Mr. Fitz climbs in the front seat and shuts the door. I slide in the backseat with a still-sleeping Rona, and Celia hoists herself in next to me, her whole body trembling.
“Keep low,” I warn, gripping her hand. “Ready,” I call. Then I hold my daughter tight and pray to whoever’s listening, to help us escape.
I feel the SUV shift around the curves and turns of the neighborhood until we get to the back gate. Then my heart thuds hard in my chest as the driver slows.
Her voice panicked, she says, “There’s a black sedan sitting in front of the call box.”
“Shit,” I whisper. I thought it was a high probability they’d block both gates, but knowing for sure makes me want to vomit. “Whatever you do, don’t lower your window. Celia, get down on the floor.” I lie down and pull the blanket over us.
The driver has to stop to wait for the gate to lift. There’s a hardknock knockon her window. Breathing beneath the blanket is stifling, especially with the panic squeezing my lungs. My heart feels like it’s going to explode from my chest.Go. Go. Go.
“Miss, roll down the window,” comes a man’s muffled instruction. Then her door handle rattles like he’s trying to open it.
“Get away from my car! I’m calling the police!” she screams back. Then the gate must have finished opening, because she hits the gas, and we lurch forward and speed up quickly.
I throw the blanket off my head. “What’s he doing?” I pant as I peer over the seat and out the back window. Two men are standing outside the gate, beneath the guardhouse lights, watching us pull out on to the road. One has a phone pressed to his ear. That’s not good. We caught their attention.
