Mom always said I had her eyes and Dad's stubborn chin. Sometimes I wonder if things would've been different with Dad around to protect us. But wondering doesn't change anything.
Mom taught me that during her long fight with cancer."We can't change what's behind us, Lucinda. We can only decide what we do next."
What I did next was survive two years in that place.
What I did next was escape.
What I'm doing next is staying free long enough to prove I deserve to be.
I'm rinsing the last of the shampoo from my hair when I hear it.
A sound that doesn't belong in this perfect morning. Soft, but wrong. Pained.
I freeze. Water drips down my spine as the sound comes again. A whimper, almost human. My heart pounds as I wade out and grab my towel. Could be anything. Coyote. Injured hiker. But my gut says hurt, not dangerous. I throw on clothes without drying off. Jeans, shirt, boots.
The whimpering comes from upstream, maybe fifty yards through the trees. I find him in a clearing, and my chest caves in.
A border collie lies on his side near a fallen log. Black and white fur, incredible blue eyes, and blood. So much blood matting his coat from wounds along his ribs. Identical wounds. Someone did this. Someone hurt this beautiful creature on purpose.
"Hey, baby," I whisper, dropping to my knees beside him. His ears flick toward my voice, and his eyesfocus on my face with devastating trust. "It's okay. I've got you."
I've never been great with animals, being a city girl and all that, but I know pain when I see it. And I know what it feels like to beabandoned and hurting.
His breathing is shallow, pulse weak under my fingertips. He needs help now.
I don't hesitate. I scoop him up. He is heavier than expected, his blood soaking through my shirt. I don't care.
Each step toward the van feels like running through quicksand, but I don't stop.
"Stay with me," I murmur, wrestling the passenger door open and settling him on the seat. "We're getting you help." My hands shake as I search on my phone for vets near Briarhaven. One result: Briarhaven Animal Clinic, Dr. Colt Mercer. Six miles.
I've never driven this fast in my life. The van shudders and protests as I push it up winding mountain roads, one hand on the wheel and the other stroking the dog's head.
"You're going to be okay," I keep repeating, as much for myself as for him. "We're going to get you to a doctor, and you're going to be fine."
He whimpers, and I press harder on the gas pedal.
That's when I see the lights. Red and blue, flashing in my mirror like a nightmare.
My stomach drops. Blood drains from my body. Police. The one thing I've spent the last months avoiding, and now they're right behind me with their sirens wailing and their red and blue lights painting the morning in panic colors.
I should pull over. Any sane person would.
But I'm not sane, am I? I'm Lucinda Kensington-Reid, escaped mental patient and runaway heiress. If they catch me, I'm back in a cage by sunset.
Back to being erased in slow motion.
Back to watching my life tick away while uncle Richard, uses his power as my guardian to keep me away while he spends my inheritance and tells everyone how "concerned" he is about my "stability."
The dog makes a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and his breathing gets even shallower.
I look at him. At the lights gaining on us. Back at those trusting blue eyes.
And I floor it.
The van roars like it’s protesting the choice, but I grip the wheel tighter and don’t let up.
The speedometer climbs past seventy, past eighty. The van wasn't built for this kind of speed, but somehow it holds together as I take curves that should probably kill us both.
