The Wrong Side of Rock Bottom Page 6

  When I reach the first step I hear someone coughing. It’s faint, telling me they’ve closed the bedroom door. I continue on, my nerves getting the best of me. Sweat pours down the sides of my face. My growing hair on the top of my head falls into my eyes, causing me to slick it backwards. I can’t screw this up, but fear this is a terrible mistake. Almost to the doorknob, I hear footsteps and quickly hide inside of a hall closet. No one comes out of the bedroom, so I keep moving, opening the door to where my daughter sleeps.

  They have her in a regular bed with railings on both sides so she’s unable to fall to the floor. After a quick inspection of the room, I spot an old baby monitor with the lights on. I know I have to be quiet, because one creak of the floorboards and I’m screwed.

  Taking into consideration that my child might stir, I unplug the monitor, so they won’t hear anything, then rush over to her bedside and take her in. Even wrapped in covers I can tell she’s grown so much in the time we’ve been apart. My eyes start to burn from excitement as I lean forward and kiss her soft forehead. She’s innocent in all of this mayhem, but I refuse to let her become a victim. Sure, they have money and means to give her whatever her precious heart desires, all except the one thing she needs in life – me.

  As gentle as humanly possible, I lift her into my arms, keeping the blanket around her in case it’s raining again. She nestles into me instead of waking, but I’m aware it’s only a matter of time before her eyes flutter open and she gets the surprise of her life. Keeping her asleep is the key. It’s my number one concern.

  Taking the same route as before, I hurry down the steps, through the laundry room, and back out to the garage, shutting the door behind us. When the first drops of precipitation hit her face she stirs, waking up in a disarray. “Daddy?”

  I hush her until we’re safely in the vehicle parked on the side of the home. After closing the door, I start the car, leaving the lights off as we back slowly out of the driveway. By this time Mila is standing in the passenger seat, her bright eyes fixed on mine. “Daddy. Daddy.”

  I can’t keep the smiles at bay. As nervous and terrified as I am that this could backfire, being in her presence makes it all easier. “Hi, baby. I told you I’d never let you go.”

  We embrace while one arm steadies the steering wheel. Exiting the community is as easy as I suspected. We pull out and make our way to the designated parking lot where Steve will be waiting. As soon as I’m next to his car, he rolls down his window. “Follow me. I have an idea.”

  I nod, strapping Mila in before pulling out onto the dark road. He takes us down a road surrounded by woods, ending at an old boat ramp with public beach access. Steve pulls to the side, jumps out, and comes up to my window. “Get Mila in my car. I already hooked the car seat.”

  When I take my daughter from the vehicle, Steve hops in, putting it in drive and scooting out before it takes off into the body of water. He runs back toward the car and gets into the passenger side. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “We didn’t need to ditch the car.”

  “It’s better this way. They’ll put out an Amber alert for the car with the tags, all while it’s sitting at the bottom of a river.”

  “Good call.”

  Mila is restless in the back of the car for the first twenty miles. She refuses to go to sleep, cries, and fights to free herself. When we know we’re in the clear, Steve and I switch so I’m able to get in the back with my daughter. She easily calms down as we get back on the route to Virginia.

  Three hours later, and watching out the rear of the vehicle almost the whole trip, we’re sitting in front of a small mobile home. There’s a pickup truck in the driveway, and a sign in the front yard displaying the name of the daycare. Steve keeps the car running. “This is where my cousin lives. It’s not much, but I can promise you’ll be safe and hidden. The foreclosure home is on this same street. It’s been vacant for a while. The maintenance company checks on it every Friday. They’ll come in sometimes and take pictures for the bank. Just make sure everything stays in place and you’re not home when they come. Melissa will show you everything and how to get inside. There’s a lockbox on the front door, but she knew the old owners, so she has a key to the back garage door.”

  “That’s cool. I still can’t believe you came up with this.”

  He points to his head. “This noggin thinks of everything, man.” He peers at Mila, who is finally sleeping. “She’s a beauty.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Come on. I’ll take you to the house so we can drop off some of your things.”

  A short ride down the road takes us to the house I’ll be staying at temporarily with my daughter, at least until the hunt for us blows over. It’s in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors for almost a quarter mile, the only one being Steve’s cousin. The opposite side of the road dead ends to woods, giving me a sense of being hidden from everyone and everything.

  Steve pulls into the driveway and turns off the car. “Nice, huh?”

  The property is a two story farm house, and even in the dark I can tell it needs some tender loving care. We get out. I’m grabbing Mila, while Steve fetches the bags in the trunk.

  I turn to Steve, who brings us to the back entrance of the home. He flips on a light switch and steps inside of the garage, taking in the area before heading to the door that leads inside. We enter into the kitchen at the rear. Mila stirs, her eyes blinking as she takes in the space. I hug her tightly and kiss the top of her head while searching the space. "It's nice."

  "Fridays you can't be here. Only use the power when you have to. Buy candles. Use batteries."

  "I got it," I assure him. "Use to camp with my friends as a kid. A friend had a playhouse we liked staying overnight in. As long as we have a roof over our heads I'll make it work."

  Steve smiles and leads the way as we inspect the home room by room. Up a set of stairs we come to the bedrooms, three in total. Two were obviously for kids. There isn't much left in the first room, but the second still has a twin size bed and dresser. One of the drawers is open displaying some left clothing. "Why did they leave their things? Did Melissa tell you?"

  He nods. "Apparently the house was left to the granddaughter. She and her husband moved in with their kids. The wife and son died in a car crash, and the father lost his shit, became the town drunk. The daughter went to live with his parents. He refinanced the home to pay bills, but since he wasn't holding a job they took it from him. That’s what Melissa told me."

  Mila fights to get down when she sees a stuffed animal on the white framed bed. I allow it, considering she's safe and doesn't need to be smothered.

  "Where is the guy now?"

  "Lives in West Virginia with his daughter and parents. Melissa said he moved out before the bank seized the property. He told her she could have the toys in the yard for her daycare and even gave her some of his wife's clothes. I met the guy a couple times. He was alright. I'm sure you can sympathize. It's sad. My cousin said he took all the family photos and packed up what his truck could fit. I don't think I'd be able to stay in the house if part of my family were gone."

  I nod. There's a burning in my throat just imagining losing not just my wife but also a child too.

  Mila holds the teddy bear and displays it with a proud grin. "Mine?"

  I nod. "Sure, princess."

  "Anyway," Steve carries, "You'll be safe here. We're about thirty minutes from Richmond. No one will find you here."

  We shake hands. "I owe you big for this."

  "Seeing that little girl with her daddy is worth it. Keep in touch, bro."

  "Wait," I say before he leaves the room. "Aren't we staying at your cousins for a few days?"

  "It's late. Get a good night sleep. I'll send her over in the morning to introduce herself. She's petite, brunette, big ass though. Be nice."

  I smirk. "Petite with a big ass, got it."

  He points at me with an ornery grin. "She's flirty. Just ignore it. You don't want any of her dram
a."

  "Her husband?" I inquire.

  "He's around when he wants to be. Don't worry, he's cool. He's a volunteer fireman when he's not driving a truck. He does out of state deliveries. You'll barely see him, and when you do he'll be oblivious to your situation."

  "If you say so," I say unconvinced.

  "I'm going to head over to Melissa's place. It's late. I'll leave in the morning."

  "Thanks again."

  "No worries. I might be bringing the wife down in a couple weeks. Maybe we will see you then."

  We half hug before he exits the room, leaving me to finally be alone with my child.

  Chapter 8

  It takes a couple days for me to get Mila back to a schedule. She’s out of sorts, acting out, wetting the bed, and crying about every little thing. I’m scared, frustrated, and wondering if I made a big mistake. Using an old television, I’ve managed to get one local station. The Amber alert went out yesterday, and just like Steve said, they’re searching for the missing car that we ditched in the river. The police have no leads. They have no idea where I am or how I got here. Steve is home safe. His cousin talked to him earlier before coming to bring us some leftover lasagna. She offered to head to the grocery store and get us some essentials, so after providing her with some of my cash, she’s returned with a trunk full of items.

  Melissa is a nice woman. She watches a couple kids for her friends during the day while the parents work. All but an infant go to school, leaving her free time to help get me comfortable, given my situation.

  She’s understanding. That much I can tell. Yesterday we sat down in the living room of the house we’re staying in and spoke about everything that’s happened to me. At one point I swear she cried. I know it’s hard for me, but appreciate when people can see the struggle I’ve gone through, especially with Mila.

  Being a natural around children, she occupies Mila with some toys from her house. She tells us to come over for dinner, where she’s going to style my hair differently. Our pictures are all over the media right now, so it’s important we remain indoors. After a couple weeks it will be old news. The police will never stop searching, but at least people won’t be on the lookout like they are now.

  When I’m alone with Mila I keep her close. We play. She asks about her mother. When she cries I hold in my emotions to save face. At night we sleep in the master bedroom. For one, she’s been getting up at all hours and I don’t want her falling down the stairs, and for two, I sort of need to know she’s close. We cuddle up, both of us finding peace being in the company of each other.

  It feels like home, even though it’s far from being that. It’s temporary. I’m homeless and on the run. For now I’m hiding out, but soon we’ll be leaving all of this behind. I haven’t decided where I’m going, probably Mexico since it’s easier to drive to, but my final decision is still undetermined. Wherever I go, I need to make sure it’s forever. I have to be certain my daughter can grow up safe, and never want a reason to return to the states, at least until she’s an adult and I can tell her the truth about this whole ordeal. For now it’s my job to protect my child. I made a promise to her mother that I’d never give up, and I won’t.

  It’s been one week since I took my daughter in the middle of the night. I tune into the news each evening to see that authorities are still searching, even getting the FBI involved. There’s a reward for Mila’s safe return, which makes me nervous with Melissa knowing about my whereabouts. Being on edge doesn’t make it easier when Friday rolls around and we need to make ourselves scarce. Mila and I spend most of the day in the woods behind the house. I’ve managed to find a little play area with a tire swing. On the way back, riding on my shoulders, my daughter falls asleep. I search the property and spot the maintenance person pulling down the road. Melissa and Steve were spot on about his schedule. For the next week I’ll be in the clear.

  I didn't wake up one day and decide to kidnap my own child so that we could be on the run from the law. Watching my every move, I'm leery to travel away from the home, or leave my child with Melissa, even though I feel like I can trust her.

  I've gone months without seeing Mila, so forgive me for the reluctance. She's all I have. I can't make a move and wonder if I'll ever see her again, which only significantly makes job hunting damn near impossible.

  Melissa has me over for dinner when her husband is out on the road. We sit on the computer filling out job applications, while Mila plays with her same aged son.

  It's discerning knowing I'll eventually have to interview for a position after my face has been plastered in every newspaper across the nation. Sure, I have new identification. My appearance has changed drastically. I know because I've taken a copy and stood in front of a mirror with it. After several months my hair is a couple inches long on top of my head. It's bone straight too, flopping to either side it prefers each day. The glasses are the biggest change. Add my growing beard and I look like a mountain man. For all intents and purposes, that's going to be my backstory.

  Against my better judgment, Melissa makes me an account on an online dating website. For now it says I'm looking for new friends. She's insists it's more for my job and new life with Mila, explaining nowadays employers look for these sorts of things as background checks. There is even a social media account with the side of my face as the profile picture.

  When we head home I feel like I'm making progress. It's slow but progress.

  At the end of the day I'm still a fugitive. I’m going to be looking behind my back for the next sixteen years. It’s something I’ll never be able to get away from, not until my daughter is an adult.

  We’re sitting at the table with Melissa and her children eating lunch when her phone rings. A local restaurant wants me to come in for an interview for a cook position. Like my fake I.D., I’ve lied and said I have experience working with food preparation. With everything riding on me making enough money to pay for us to have a new start, I know I have to make whatever I can get work.

  Melissa lends me her truck to drive to the interview. I kiss Mila goodbye, almost deciding not to go on account of having to leave her. I’m afraid the cops are going to pick me up and take me away so we’ll never be together again.

  While driving, I think about everything I’ve already lost. I spend every free second dwelling on a past I’ll never be able to change. I hate my life. I hate everything except knowing that Mila is and will stay with me. That’s why I keep driving, and convince myself I can pull this interview off without my true identity coming into play.

  With my future looming around me, pondering on which way it will lead, I force myself to take the interview so that I may find a means to make enough money for a fresh start. My mind lingers between Mila and a desperate desire to be able to give her a life she would want. I know this small job won’t be a means to an end, but it’s a start. It’s something small to keep me under the radar. Without a social security card, it’s going to be difficult to hold onto something for long. I plan on working with a fake one until I move on to the next occupation, which is also another crime to add to the mix.

  I wish this wasn’t difficult. With clammy hands, a lump in my throat making it questionable if I’ll be able to manage speaking, and enough perspiration to ensure I’ll need a cold shower later, I walk into the establishment prepared for anything.

  The bell dings to notify that a customer has arrived. All eyes are on me for a brief moment, and then, just as fast, the people go back to talking and eating as usual. Not one set of eyes linger on me. Building confidence by the second, I approach the counter and ask for the manager.

  A burly man, looking to be in his sixties, white balding hair and a matching goatee slumps over the opposite side, almost as if he’s out of breath. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here about the job,” I announce.

  “You a criminal?”

  I can only suspect he gets applicants from every spectrum. “No, sir.” I have to lie. I’m a new person.

&n
bsp; “You cooked before?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll give you a shot, because I’m in a tough predicament as it stands. My last cook got arrested for beating up his girlfriend. There’s no telling when he’ll get out of prison, and he’s not coming back here anyway. I don’t have time for that kind of drama.”

  “So, when can I start?” I’m chipper, almost elated in a sense that this was easier than expected.

  “Tomorrow, seven in the morning. Be ready to clean and cook. You get to take your lunch at ten. I need you ready for the lunch rush. Do you smoke?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Good, I won’t need to hunt you down in the back alley for sneaking breaks.”

  I extend my hand. He hasn’t even asked my name, but I know all that information is on my application. “Ryan.”

  “Yeah, I figured. You’re the only person I called back yesterday. You a U.S. citizen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Bring your identification in the morning and we’ll get you situated. I’d do it now but I’m short staffed, you see.”

  I nod. “Thanks. I’ll be here in the morning.”

  “Let’s hope!” He calls out while walking away.

  I take a brief look around the establishment. It’s clearly an Italian eatery, which Mila will love because spaghetti is her favorite food. Just thinking about her face covered in red sauce makes me smile.

  Upon leaving the building, I feel like people are looking at me funny. I adjust my glasses and lower my head, shaking it off as being paranoid. When the whole country is seeing your face plastered everywhere it’s difficult to feel comfortable walking around.