Home Away From Home

By Linda Clark

Chloe Barbour has reached the mountains. And she is still alive.

Home is filled with a seesaw of emotions as a young professional twists in the winds of chance. Her well-laid plans and the dreams for her life have all crumbled when she discovers a discrepancy in her company's financial records. W

• Language: English
• Publisher: River Birch Press
• Release date: Nov 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781956365054

Book preview

<1>

The gaunt assistant district attorney seemed distracted as he outlined what the police had arranged for her protection while she awaited the trial. Look, Miss—ah—

Chloe hung her head once again.

She thought, "I won’t remind this turkey of my last name again; it’s printed on the file jacket under his nose, and we’ve spent the last two hours together. His assistant called me to set up this meeting to discuss my statement, but he is unprepared for it. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn the DA had hired this guy this morning when he found his office was understaffed. He must have shaken every tree in the city until an unemployed attorney fell out.

Daddy always railed on about how he didn’t like lawyers, so I must have picked up his attitude about them. He often said, ‘They’re all useless—until you need one. Then you’ll realize that half of them come out of the school in the lower half of their class. Why else have I never met an attorney who acted as if he was in the upper half?’ Without question—in the lower half of his class!

—yes, Barbour.

Chloe wanted to respond with sarcasm, but she was sure the man wouldn’t catch her meaning. Instead she fumed as sweat formed on the attorney’s forehead and dripped onto the printed sheets in his hands. The print didn’t smudge, but her annoyance grew with each tick of the early nineteenth-century hall clock until the attorney spoke again.

Your witness is essential to sending these criminals to jail, but no one in this office thinks they’ll reach beyond threats and bullying. Our plan is to catch them trying to pressure you out of testifying, which would add more charges. To do this we need you free. The evidence you brought to us thus far is dynamite, although it may be just a tidbit of what may follow. Like the proverbial iceberg, evidence of the worst crimes hides below the surface. With eyes steeled on his interlocked hands, the assistant DA released a momentous sigh before continuing. Normally we hide important witnesses such as you until the trial, but since your friends—

Don’t call those men my friends! They were my employers and thieves.

Sorry, I got off script. Though these suspects threaten people around them, they haven’t been violent—so far—so our plan calls for you to drive alone to the safe house while police officers will follow at a distance.

The inept attorney struggled to continue before returning to his file notes. The police officer who will follow you is skilled at avoiding detection so the suspects won’t spot him. That means you won’t see him either. Your safe house is in the ’burbs, so you won’t have a store on the corner or eateries on the next block. The car you’ll be driving on loan from us has GPS presets to get you there without a hitch and guide you to coffee shops, cafés, and shopping. You’ll need it since you’ll be alone for a while, but a policewoman will stay with you closer to the trial. We don’t want you going back to your apartment or using your own car, as it can easily be traced back to you.

After wiping his brow, the attorney continued, This entire matter scares you, I’m sure, but to us, it’s nothing. Remember, we’re right behind you and will protect you through the trial.

If he intended to calm me, he missed, she thought. I’m a piece of cheese on a rat trap. I shouldn’t have agreed to this stupid plan!

Chloe suffered a sharp panic attack as she descended into the bowels of the building. The lower she went, the more she feared doom would befall her like a biblical flood. Every misfortune she could imagine popped into her head, each showing her captured, tortured, or killed. In each scenario were monstrous, bearded men covered in black from head to toe. Chloe found heaven in the car provided by the DA’s staff, where she waited for her anxiety to lessen.

<2>

When she was calm enough to drive, Chloe eased the import SUV up the exit ramp and into the bright sunlight. With extreme caution, she searched the street for anything unusual. Unoccupied, nondescript cars were in the curbside spaces, and two limos were hogging the red, NO PARKING zone in front of the building’s entrance.

She decided, There’s nothing new here; limousines parked in red zones are part of city life. Bigwigs need their perks. No police cars are in view, nor are there any cars that look like gangsters’ cars either. Is that good or bad?

Try as she might, Chloe couldn’t dismiss the feeling that the DA’s plan would get her killed, and anxiety raised its ugly head again. As perspiration formed under her arms and breathing became a chore, she reverted to the techniques to fight off panic attacks she had learned from a therapist during her teenage years. It took time to compose herself, but she remained unmoved until a car pulled up the ramp and honked.

After several random, evasive turns on side streets, she hopped on the interstate that led away, rather than toward, the GPS-programmed destination. Convinced that no one had followed her, she reversed course and headed for the suburban subdivision and the safe house. Chloe didn’t relax even when the remote clipped to the car’s visor raised the overhead garage door, nor when she unlocked the kitchen passage door.

The safe house didn’t appear safe to her. That uneasy feeling followed her inside, though she couldn’t put her finger on what bothered her. Anxiety nipped at her consciousness, though she tried to control it as she toured the tiny, two-bedroom, two-bath property. Her only greeting was from cheap utilitarian furniture and accessories devoid of style.

Cold, cold, cold, she thought. "Not homey at all. Like my freshman dorm room.

The cell phone given her by the DA chimed just as Chloe completed her brief tour of the house intended to be her home until the trial. Already jittery before the phone rang, she jumped in response before digging through her tote to answer it.

Despite the assistant DA’s assurance that only their office and the police had the number, she checked the caller ID. It read: Unknown.

She concluded, It’s got to be my police guardian using his personal cell phone. Who else could it be?

When she touched the ACCEPT icon on the unfamiliar screen, there was a click, then a raspy, mechanical voice. We know where you are, and we are coming to close your big mouth, girl. You can’t hide from us.

Deeper panic immediately set in, but she recovered enough to use the preset speed-dial identified as the DA’s office. She lost all control, however, when that call switched to a recording. As if responding to her resultant scream, the phone rang again, this time showing the district attorney on the ID. The caller assured her he was an assistant DA, and although they had never met, he was familiar with her case.

A marked police cruiser will arrive at your door within min—

The abrupt disconnect and a dial tone shattered her hopes of rescue. She rushed to the front window to watch for the promised patrol car, but she moved the drapery with care so she would remain hidden. After minutes resembling an eternity passed, Chloe returned to the bedroom, grabbed her unopened suitcase, and headed for the garage. Her metal-encased luggage flew into the passenger area as she sank into the deep well of the driver’s seat. There, she waited in the enclosed garage and followed the prescribed breathing techniques for anxiety.

She panicked. Five more minutes, now ten. The police aren’t coming. I’ll go it alone.

While backing the DA’s vehicle out of the garage, Chloe searched for any car she had seen earlier. None. There were no vehicles in sight, which meant there were no police cars in the area—marked or unmarked—and no sirens pierced the air. The residential neighborhood resembled a 1960 Norman Rockwell painting her mother would have loved, but to Chloe the scene seemed devoid of life out of a horrid apocalyptic movie. It gave her chills. She didn’t breathe easier until she reached the freeway and saw that escape was a possibility.

Dashing along the limited access roadway as her eyes flashed from mirror to mirror sent her head spinning. Although she saw no followers, she made turns at random while her logical processes said one car making one turn like hers was chance; if the same car made two turns like hers, it could be coincidental; if it made three, it was most certainly following. The worry remained despite a negative in the math. In due course, she arrived at her planned destination: the enclosed shopping center that held three things she wanted. The multilevel parking structure would hide the DA’s car for a time. Her interstate bank branch would allow access to her money. An underground rapid transit stop would be an escape route, she hoped.

En route, she remembered an urban legend: Anyone with rudimentary electronic skills could track another person’s cell with equipment available in many electronics shops. The phone upon which she had received the mysterious call in the safe house disappeared along the route to the mall, its various parts cast out the window, each about a mile from the others.

She left the bank with every dollar she owned save the minimum required to keep her checking and savings accounts open. Her strapped tote weighed on her shoulder, not because the bills were numerous, but because she felt carrying so much cash made her a target for thieves.

On the rail system, Chloe made several changes before arriving at her final stop—the farthest point from the mall. An Uber driver dropped her at a twenty-four-hour Starbucks in a safe area, allowing her to hide in plain sight—at least for a few hours. The busy baristas didn’t object to her presence, so Chloe reverted to one of her college tricks: Using a book from her tote as a pillow, she slept.

<3>

As dawn broke, Chloe searched the newspaper’s want ads for used cars. Her goal was to buy a decent one in good condition. Three hours after the first call, Chloe drove away with the second vehicle she had looked at. It was gutless when compared to her last car, a turbocharged MINI Cooper S, but it promised to be serviceable and get good gas mileage. She drove west, knowing it would take her from the coastal lowlands, up the eastern foothills, and through the Allegheny Mountains. The entire lower forty-eight states would lie before her.

Even with such a vast area to hide in, Chloe fretted. To calm herself, she fell back on tried-and-true relaxation techniques taught by another therapist: When your surroundings seem dark, look for the light. Focus on something beyond yourself.

She chose the forest lining the interstate, and following the pattern, she spoke her thoughts. Early writers tell us these woodlands amazed the early pioneers. I wonder how they would have reacted if they knew the forests stretched uninterrupted for a thousand miles? Using little more than muscle and simple tools, they cleared trees and planted crops for food and commerce. I remember reading that Indiana, part of the Northwest Territory, was ninety-five percent wooded in 1700, but today only five percent of the state is woodlands. America is beautiful and rightly called the land of the free. With a heavy sigh, she added, Everyone’s free except me.

Chloe’s sadness filled the tiny subcompact as it struggled to climb through the mountains, and her mood didn’t lessen until she began the western descent. As she refilled the gas tank at a truck stop, she mused about the trip.

I’m glad that’s over. This sad tin can struggled so hard up those steep grades I wanted to get out and push. As it fought its way, I found my emotions tied to it. I’m tired. Has it only been two days since that meeting with the worthless assistant DA? Seems like I’ve been on the run from those gangsters for a year! Do they want me dead? Those people in the DA’s office may be right about the crooks just wanting to scare me off, but the blood running down the gutter won’t be theirs if they’re wrong. It’ll be mine.

Her thoughts found audible expression again, and that helped to relieve some of her tension. Luck’s brought me this far, so I better not push it anymore. What’s first, food or sleep? I can’t be too picky about either one, judging from the choices nearby—dingy motels with bedbugs for company and meals at a Mc-outlet or a greasy spoon. Yuck. I gotta live in a 1950 cash economy; criminals can trace credit card activity. The bad part of living on cash is that when it’s gone, there’s nothing left.

Long days and longer nights followed, rarely allowing good sleep. Day or night, when a car entered the motel’s parking lot, Chloe tensed and didn’t relax until she was sure it didn’t carry city criminals ready to do her harm. To avoid discovery, she moved often, always on impulse with no destination in mind. She also used smaller state roads. When she slept, she saw through the eyes of a scrawny mouse hiding inside walls of a home. Though food was near, so was her enemy—a fat cat who guarded it. When awake, she saw the meaning of the dreams ever before her: People on the run could hide forever among three hundred fifty million others if they had enough cash. Her limited funds wouldn’t last forever.

<4>

Chloe knew a job would be a solution, at least in the short term, but it might lead the criminals to her door, no matter where she chose to hide. She doubted even one of the fleabag motels she had been forced to use would hire a maid without identification, a social security card, and a work history. A small restaurant would want the same even for a dishwasher.

I won’t take the chance, she decided. I have to stay under the radar.

Later, as she relished her breakfast of toast and coffee in a small diner, she heard her server announce she was quitting.

You said you’d stay all day. The cook’s words carried an edge as he moved through the swinging door that separated his kitchen from the rest of the establishment, wiping his hands on a dirty dish towel at his waist.

Yeah, I know, but my boyfriend … he’s gotta leave in the next hour to be at his new job by morning. I’m sorry, man.

You know me, Angel. I can’t cook, serve, and run the register too. Please, stay till seven. I’ll pay your bus fare, and give you another twenty bucks as a bonus.

That’s tempting, Mr. Wilson, but I have to leave with Bob ’cause this is his baby. The young woman patted her rounding belly while adding, Besides, he’ll marry me if I go right now. I want our guy to have his daddy’s name.

Chloe thought, She must live a miserable life that is the result of bad decisions. Probably ran with the wrong crowd in school, latched on to the wrong guy, gave in to his urging for sex, and ran away with him with a vague promise of marriage. She’s not alone in that. I’d be wearing her shoes if I hadn’t backed away from the same temptation to take a shortcut to happiness—twice. Once in high school and once in college.

From her booth, Chloe caught the despair in the owner’s eyes as he watched his fleeing waitress slip out the diner’s door and jump into the rusty pickup. The vehicle roared to life and left an oily cloud in its wake. Mr. Wilson dropped his head, making Chloe wonder if the young mother-to-be was taking a chunk of his heart with her. The owner turned back toward his business while wiping away his tears on the same stained towel.

The owner looked as down in the mouth as Chloe had seen in her entire life, and the look on his face made her want to help.

I don’t want to intrude, Mr. Wilson, but if I can help in some way, I’m willing. If you don’t have another waitress to call in, I’ll do that for you.

His response was a shake of his head, followed by a silence that lasted several minutes while she watched him closely. Finally, he sighed heavily and spoke in a halting manner showing the pain he must be feeling.

Thank you. We’re about to lose everything. We were doing okay when we started about five years ago, but it all fell apart when Hazel was diagnosed with cancer. The medical bills are staggering, and the doctors and hospitals are pushing for payment because our pitiful health insurance company won’t cover most of the treatment she needs. The treatments ate up our savings. I worked hard for thirty years and looked forward to a good retirement with good health insurance. My union bosses stole most of our retirement and benefits, which left us with just enough to buy this place. Because of them, we’re in pretty bad shape, facing foreclosure and bankruptcy. We’ll be lucky to have clothes to wear if we don’t keep going. Gilly leaving like that just about did me in.

Well, I truly want to help if you’ll let me.

I just need to get through the day. You know how to take orders?

I worked in a mom-and-pop burger joint during high school with some time on the fryer, and a little on the grill, but mostly it was taking orders and running the register.

Nodding his head, Pete Wilson said, Can we do it this way? You take the orders. I’ll cook and also call Hazel to see if she’s up to running the register for a few hours. We’ll see how it goes.

That one day stretched into a week, for which Chloe received minimum wage plus tips, all in cash. Hazel was strong enough to work as cashier, though she rested between customers. As the week neared its close, Chloe considered staying on longer, but the need disappeared when a local woman applied for the job opening and could start immediately. Chloe left the small town, her heart filled with good memories as her new friends waved good-bye.

Weeks later, when Chloe’s reserves were nearing her panic point, she took another waitress job with hopes this one would prove as safe as the first. Responding to a sign posted in a restaurant’s window, she promptly agreed with the owner to take her pay in cash, knowing she would leave before he would have to report her employment. At first, she felt doubly safe when she sensed the owner would never report any work she did.

Chloe’s inner feelings soon were on edge when her signature was on the employment form. She began to feel uneasy, as if she were standing too close to an open flame, but she didn’t know why. If the money she could earn wasn’t essential to her survival, she would have acted on the premonition and left. With hindsight, she later wished she had acted on her sense of foreboding.

Toward the end of her first week on the job, she witnessed a scene that she recognized as the source of her unrelenting disquiet. The staff totaled five: the owner, who cooked everything; an emaciated teenage boy, limited to bussing and dishwashing; and three servers. A matronly woman ran the front of the place, served when needed, and controlled the register. A Hispanic girl in her late teens and Chloe were the other employees.

Chloe had never worked in such an atmosphere before. The waitresses didn’t chat among themselves or with customers, not even regulars. The busboy appeared, said almost nothing, and just grunted in response to her questions.

Twice she caught a glimpse of the sleazy boss putting his hand on the back of the other waitress’ skirt. Each time, the young woman jumped and pushed his hand away. The owner simply smirked at her. Fifteen minutes passed before the scene repeated itself.

Chloe boiled inside and cornered the girl when she had a chance. How long has this been going on? He is breaking all kinds of laws touching you like that. This isn’t a baseball game where he gets free passes. He’s long past his third strike! Chloe continued, You aren’t that man’s plaything. Mina, I’m quitting, and I think you should leave with me. Let the owner and his enabler, Lois, run this poor man’s substitute for a Hollywood movie mogul lair.

Mina whispered as she stifled a sob on Chloe’s shoulder. Each time he puts his beastly paws on me, I want to puke. I left once, but I couldn’t find a job, so I crawled back and begged him for my job back. It’s been worse since then. He touches me everywhere.

Chloe suggested she seek government assistance rather than working for peanuts under the conditions she had witnessed. The woman simply hung her head in response and shook her head.

Not in this county. I tried. I came to America illegally with my husband, Juan, and our infant son, working our way to the New England area, hoping to find a safe place far from the southern border. Juan, always a hothead, was killed in a drunken brawl, leaving me alone in this awful place. The boss took pity on me when I explained my plight—here illegally, no husband, no income, and no place to live. He let me and Juanito live in the storeroom here for a week, rent free. At least I thought it was free. You can’t imagine what he extracted from me … Mina paused for a moment as she shuddered. Or perhaps you can, but that’s in the past. I went to the county, but the people in the office refused to help me and threatened to call Immigration if I stirred up trouble in the county.

Chloe’s response grew into rage by the time she approached the restaurant owner. Though she expected the proprietor to deny any form of sexual harassment, she didn’t expect him to deny nothing and then present her with her wages in a check. She was a trembling, angry wreck with a greasy check that represented over fifty hours on her feet, hustling meals to hungry patrons.

It’s stupid to attempt to cash this check, but I need the money. The creep knows he has me over a barrel, like he has Mina, because I can’t just walk into a bank and ask for cash. No account with our bank? Sorry, no money. My bank has no branch within five hundred miles. And the guys after me would pounce on me like a cat on a June bug. The smart thing to do is just to go on my way, almost destitute, but safer. This slimeball owner thinks I’ll just leave, and he’ll be that much to the good. I’m not going to let him have the money I earned! My only hope is the pawnshop in town that advertises that they cash checks.

I smell a rat, Chloe muttered out loud moments later as she left the pawnshop. The pawnbroker looks enough like Mr. Slime to be his brother, and they smell alike. Probably a cousin. I can’t change my mind now, though, because he has the check. Well, I’ll wait to see what happens tomorrow morning, since the pawnbroker promised to have the money ready by nine o’clock.

From a concealed location, she watched the pawnshop until her eyes grew heavy. She suddenly snapped awake as a noisy, dark pickup roared down Main Street to stop opposite the pawnshop. Two bruisers, likely bouncers from a bar in the city, crawled out of the pickup. They stretched in unison while facing different directions, an obvious attempt to appear casual while checking for any sign of her. Chloe slipped low in her seat in response. After a quick trip into the pawnshop, the men headed toward the motor lodge where she had been staying.

Just once, I wish someone would care about me! It’s as if I have a target on my back. No one looks out for me except me. It’s time to run. It’s a good thing that I had planned several escape routes out of this miserable town. I can disappear while the muscles search my motel room. Sure as shooting, twenty bucks to the manager will get them everything they want to know about me, including my car’s license plate number. I’ve got to dump this vehicle as soon as possible. It ’s registered in Colorado, but with a clear title in hand, I can sell it outright for cash. I can’t be too picky about the price, though. What did Daddy say? ‘Beggars can’t pick their handouts?’ Chloe had to smile a bit as she realized she’d been talking out loud again. She decided, Too much time alone is taking its toll!

Confident the thugs had left the immediate area, Chloe eased out of her hiding spot and followed her planned route. She hoped the city gang hadn’t sent others to watch the roads out of town. She fought the urge to chastise herself for trying to cash the check. Water under the bridge now, girlfriend!

Anxiety gnawed at her, but she drove a steady pace to put hundreds of miles away before nightfall. Along the way, she marked the entire state of Tennessee off her mental list of secure places.

Foremost in her thoughts was the nagging question, Is any place safe for me?

<5>

It wasn’t until the odometer showed she had driven over three hundred miles that Chloe began to relax—slightly. Thinking aloud, she said, I need to get rid of this car. It’s a horrible ride, like riding inside a metal trash can. It’s fit only to get the driver from point A to point B in short trips. It lacks everything any thinking person would want for a long trip—decent suspension, seat padding, insulation, soundproofing, radio, and cruise control.

Interrupting her one-sided dialogue, a speeding car came up on her bumper, scaring her half out of her wits. It took her nearly half an hour after the car roared around her to calm down enough to plan what was next in her flight.

She thought, I could have died right there! Those guys at the pawnshop probably got a good description of my car, even if they didn’t find a picture of it on a security tape. They probably have the license plate number, as well. I need to get rid of this. If only I hadn’t tried to cash that stupid check!

The farther Chloe drove, the more anxious she became. Maybe I’ll just find a place to hide the car and catch a bus to nowhere. Uncertainty and a lack of comfort finally took its toll. Her worry was constant, and she was near the end of her rope. Nearing a small town, she resolved to find a bus station and abandon the car and everything in it, except a small suitcase, when her eye caught a sign that read:

WE BUY USED CARS FOR CASH

It’s not one of those commercial road signs; it’s a hand-painted one. Could it be true?

Caution and worry pulled on her sleeve. She expected to see a normal used car lot with a slick salesman, complete with a waxed mustache and a plaid sports coat, waiting to pounce on any sucker gullible enough to turn in to the lot. For