Three

Three.

The street is infested with people.
I hide the gun behind my back, but it’s still out. You never know when you’re going to need to use it.
I follow the path until I reach the place I parked my Ford Minivan, I pull out the keys and open it.
I climb in the front, taking my bag off my back and placing it onto the seat next to me. I lay the gun on top.
I unclick the safety.
It’s now ready.
It’s ready to shot.
To injurer.
To kill.
I put the keys into the ignition and turn the car into life, I pull out and down the road
I find my phone and dial Harrison’s number, one hand on the steering wheel, the other one pressing the phone to my ear.

It rings several times and then I hear Harrison’s voice:

‘Hey, you’ve called Harrison; sorry I can’t get to the phone. But leave me a message if you want’ I hang up.

‘D****t Harrison, answer your phone’

I ring again.
Voicemail.
I ring again.
Voicemail.
I ring again.
He picks up.

‘Nora?’ he says.

‘Where are you?’ I ask, turning left and out of my hometown.

‘I’m in the bar’ he replies.

‘You’re not still at mine?’ I ask again.

‘No, why? Nora, what’s going on?’ he exclaims.

‘Don’t worry. I have to go’

‘Nora’ he whispers, but shouts.

‘Oh, Harrison before I go, you can’t tell anyone what I said to you, other wise I will hunt you down and kill you’ I hang up.

I rummage in the back and pull out the remote. It has a red button in the centre; I place it on the chair.
Something about the way he spoke had lies written all over it.

I take my phone and text Harrison: 
Tell me the truth, are you in my house?

I keep it in my hand while I carry on driving.
It buzzes.
It’s a reply: 
Fine, yes. I am. Why?

I clench my jaw and reply, every now and again glancing at the road: 
Get out, Harrison, get out, please.

A reply no less then a few minutes later: 
Not until I have some answers.

I laugh, now’s not the time for Harrison to take a leaf out of my book: 
I’ll call you later, I promise. Just please, leave.

I carry on driving past the ocean, my phone goes. I wait until the end and then I look at the text: 
Fine, I’m leaving.

I smile and chuck the phone onto the chair. I carry on driving for a few minutes before grabbing the remote.

I look to the road.

‘God help you Harrison, if you’re lying’ I say.

I press the button. 
I carry on driving and driving and driving.
This is what my mother did.
She ran away.
My phone goes and I grab it, a text from Harrison:
Did you just bow up your house?

I laugh and sigh with relief at the same time.
Nothing is left for them to trace me to who I really am.
And if I did it right, they’ll think I was caught up in it.
Hopefully.
I pull into a Motel, I put the remote back into the back and the gun too.
I pull out the keys and shove them, along with my phone, into my pocket.  I climb out, pulling my bag with me. I go to the wooden building and enter. There’s a girl at the front desk, she has dark brown skin and dark curly hair. I walk up to her.

‘Hello and welcome to Rose Motel. How may I help you?’ she asks.

‘Room for one, please’ I speak.

‘Sure. Name?’ she asks again.

‘Gwen’ I use my Grandma’s name.

‘Last name?’

‘Wilson’

She nods and types it into an old fashioned computer.

‘How’s room three?’ she looks to me.

I nod and she hands over a key.

‘Just pay in the morning’ she whispers.

I smile thankfully to her and go back outside, I go round the back and there are lines and lines of houses.
I look for house three which is at the far back, it is surrounded by trees and not easy to find.
An advantage.
I unlock the door and open it.
The room smells of rotting wood, in the far corner is a small kitchen with cob webs attached to it. In front of it is a petit round table and to the left of that is a door.
Opposite the door sits a sofa and another table.
I open the door near the kitchen behind it is a tiny room with a single bed and a set of drawers, another door is next to the bed. Probably leading to a bathroom.
I sit down on the bed and pull out the gun.
I twist it in my hand, examining it as if it’s a new discovery.
But it’s not.
I have shot a person before.
I hear a car pull up and I dart into the first room and look out the window, I have a clear view of the drive. The gun is still in my palm.
A man in a white suit stands there looking at the houses. I have a clear view of him, but he hopefully can’t see me. He has a scar that comes from his right temple, over his eye and to the middle of his cheek, his right eye left blind.
I duck when his eyes stop at the trees where the house is behind.
I look over the edge.
He’s walking towards the main building.
I know who he is.
The white suit.
It’s so familiar.
I have to leave.
I run back into my room, grab the bag and run back out. But before I go I leave money on the table.
I run down the drive, gun still in my hand. I shot at the tiers of the mans car, they burst.
I sprint to my car, open it and slip in.
I put it into life and just in time as the man emerges. 
He shots at my car, but I duck.
A bullet goes through the back windscreen and hits my shoulder.

‘D****t’ I scream.

I ignore the pain and carry on driving.
Putting the bag onto the chair and I slip the gun into it, hiding it away.
I have to leave America.
I need to leave.
It’s too risky staying here.
Not just for me, but for Harrison too.
So I start heading out of the states.
And into somewhere safe.
Home.