Wanted Girl

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: The Science Fiction Hub


Coincidental stuff in this chapter ;p

Chapter 8 (v.1) - Chapter 8

Submitted: July 06, 2018

Reads: 34

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Submitted: July 06, 2018

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I drive and drive, not paying attention to my surroundings, just speeding like hell across an empty wasteland, my head banging. I actually did it. I escaped a second time. I have money, a car, the right age. I just need a passport. I happen to know a guy that deals with black market passports that owes me a favor back in California. I might just go pay him a visit.

I drive into the parking lot of a motel and lean against the wheel, tired out, feeling hopeless. I've been driving constantly for hours on end and this is the first sign of civilization. I sigh. There's no way I'll survive out here on my own. After I see the guy for the fake passport, I'll be alone. I have nowhere near enough money to reach Russia, or anywhere that isn't North or South America and Canada. And they know. I'm determined not to give up, though. And I'm not completely defenseless. I have a gun and my curse.

I walk into the motel, ignore the receptionist's concerned, disturbed look at my appearance, pay for a room (which is insanely cheap and not in the best condition) and change my clothes. I also cut my hair again, and inspect the mess of scars across my body, and make sure I have a fringe to hide the big scar across my forehead. And I plan in my notebook, minus the whole pick – a – state – at – random thing. Then I completely break down.

Am I destined to be running around North America forever, never actually getting everywhere, fated to be caught each time? My childhood and teenage years have been shattered, robbed by the C.I.A and the government. I'm an adult now. Will my adulthood be stolen, too? Will I see that come crashing down as well? It isn't fair. I've never had a proper home past the age of four. I've never had a normal life where I'm not running, not always terrified as hell. Heck, I wouldn't know what a normal life was if it slapped my across the face! I roll over and stare to the cracked ceiling, thinking all of this. I then wipe my tears away, lie on my side, and fall asleep.

I wake early, hand my key in, find out I'm in California, and drive. I don't stop until I hit Los Angeles. It's hot, and the streets are full of people. I drive slowly, trying to find the guy's apartment. Just being here makes me nervous. Last time I was here, I almost got caught…I had to climb out of my sixth-floor apartment window onto the balcony below and run. I sigh and tell myself to pull it together, then stop outside of the block I need. I sigh, run my fingers through my hair, and look myself hard in the eyes in the rearview mirror, making sure the worst of the scars are hidden. Then I get out, take the lift, and walk to his front door.

I knock tentatively on the door, waiting nervously, hoping he still lives here and his parents are out. The door opens and a tall, good-looking guy with floppy blonde surfer hair and a wide smile stands there. His face lights up with recognition when he sees me. His eyes widen as he takes in my terrified, more than a little disheveled, unsettled appearance.

"Hey! Phoebe! Long time, no see! When was the last time I saw you…'86? Anyway, what brings you here?" He says, and I sigh a tiny breath of relief, smiling. He holds open the door and we go into his living room. He flops on one of the three sofas and I do the same.

"Hey, Cody. Are your parents out?" I ask, and he nods. "Well, remember that favor you said you owed me?" Another nod. "I know how you can repay me. I need a passport, preferably soon. Very soon. And I need a safe place to stay until I've earned enough to get a flight to Moscow. Please." I beg, and he looks at me weirdly, but nods.

"Sure, a debt is a debt and has to be repaid, but…if you don't mind me asking, why do you want to go to Russia for? You do realize there's kinda a war on, right?" he says. I nod.

"It's…it's really complicated and I can't tell you everything, but I'm in serious danger here. Very serious danger. I need to get far, far away, somewhere America won't trust enough to ask. Please. Do this for me. You don't know how important it is." I explain, looking at him with liquid eyes. This may be my only chance…yeah, they know I'm going to Russia, but Russia's a big place. And also their enemy.

"Yo, girl, what you done?! I'll wangle you a flight straight to Moscow, no stops or changeovers, no expense charged. No, you're not paying me! I have a lot of friends in the right places…I'll get you there in a week, if not less. And if you need a place to crash, stay here. My parents are gone on business, won't be back 'till September…and I won't be telling no-one you're here." He finishes with a wink, and I look at him, my eyes filling up. After two years of coldness, indifference and experiments, all this rush of kindness hits me like a punch. And I'm terrified, absolutely terrified, and worn-out, tired of running.

"Thanks…" I manage to whisper, and Cody comes over and encloses me in an aftershave-scented hug. I start crying. I've not felt anything like this in so long…

"Hey, Phoebe, no need to cry. Everything will be fine, I promise." He says into my hair, then sits next to me. "Anyway, what's been going on with you? No offence, but you look like you haven't slept for days and seem absolutely terrified of something. And…you look a mess. Where did all the scars come from?" He asks gently, moving my hair and finding the big scar on my head, and I look him in the eye.

"Cody…I can't tell you everything, but…I'm on the run. Have been since I was four. My parents…it's complicated. You wouldn't believe half of it if I told you it all. You'd think I'm crazy. It's just…my life is pretty messed up, and I need to get out of America fast as hell, okay? It's all been getting to me lately…And the scars…I really, really don't want to talk about it…" I trail off, and Cody nods understandingly.

"I'll take what you told me. You do seem kind of…broken. Lonely. Lost. You look like you've been through a lot. Who are you running from, if you don't mind me asking?" he says, and I sigh.

"The C.I.A…" I whisper almost inaudibly, and his eyes go big. "Please, please don't hand me in. Please help me." I beg desperately, and he nods.

"Geez, Phoebe, you've got yourself in some serious shit. The C.I.A, huh? I won't ask any more questions, and if anyone ever asks, you were never here, I don't know who the hell you are, and I have no clue how you got a passport and a ticket to Moscow, okay?" he says, and I smile. "Right, I need to phone a few contacts, get in touch with people. I'll be quick, yeah?" he stands up, and I nod. He leaves the room, and a knot forms inside me. He could be lying…I shake this thought away. I need to trust him this time. I need to believe he's helping me. God knows what they'd do to me of they caught me…I think of the brain surgery and electro-shock chamber, shudder, and push those thoughts away.

I get my phone out of my bag and find it fully charged. I mentally thank my mom and find Tom's number has been added. I pause, looking at it. Tom. He was there at the crash. I wonder what they've told him? Before I can think about it, I click on his name and it's dialing. I hold the phone to my ear, hoping he'll pick up.

"Hello?" his voice fills my ear, filled with pain and deeper than when I last heard it. I blink at the sound of it. "Hello?" he repeats. I sigh. I'm being childish.

"Tom. It's me. Phoebe. The girl from the diner..." I answer, and there's a moment of silence. Then…

"PHOEBE!? Oh my god, I thought you were dead! What the…how? There was so much blood, so many wounds…never mind. Oh god. Why? Why did they say that? I got so mad at my dad…I moved out to L.A that day, just packed up some crap and left, never spoke to him since." He exclaims.

"Tom…I'm not dead, clearly. You're in L.A? Me too!" I say, and smile. I tell him the address and he says he's coming right now. I end the call as Cody comes back in.

"Hey, it's all sorted…who's that you were speaking to?" he asks, and I blush. He picks up on it and grins.

"Just a friend. He's coming over…is that okay?" I say quietly, and he nods.

"Fine. Get ready to be at the International Airport at three a.m. sharp this Thursday. It's Tuesday now, so yeah. Just letting you know." He says, and I grin. I'm doing it! I just need to get through the rest of today and tomorrow, then…I'm free. Freedom. The idea feels alien to me. I've not had true freedom for so many years…

Maybe things are finally getting better for me. Maybe this crazy storm that is my life is finally coming to an end.


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