Edge of Instinct: Rabids Book 1 (6 page)

“The pleasure was mine, Miss Hilden.” The banker nodded courteously. Amiel gathered her precious materials into the manila envelope and strode toward the door. She wished she could bring along the briefcase, but it would be impossible to hide away. As it was, she would have to find a suitable place to hide the items cradled in her arms. Malinda had a nasty habit of searching Amiel’s room, and she wanted to avoid arousing any suspicions that would bring about another verbal torture session with her mother.

“Oh, there’s one more thing, Miss Hilden,” Nacey said, halting Amiel’s escape. “This is the access number for your card.” Amiel took the small slip of paper proffered to her, and smiled at what was written there. It was the secret code they had come up with as kids while playing spy around the house. “I suggest that you destroy that with a shredder or flame as soon as you’ve memorized it. You wouldn’t want
anyone
else getting their hands on your money.”

The woman’s inflection left no doubt for Amiel that the banker was talking about more than just a common thief. Apparently the dislike Malinda felt for Berlintine was held mutually. Amiel knew all too well that her mother would love to sink her greedy fingers into Jaron’s money, so she had absolutely no problem agreeing with the banker’s suggestion. Nodding to the woman, Amiel stuffed the paper in her pocket and left the bank to return to the car still waiting outside. Once inside she sunk into the leather seats with a weary sigh, clutching the envelope to her chest.

“Where to, Miss Hilden?” the chauffeur’s voice came over the limo’s intercom in a bored but polite tone. She stared at the floor for a long moment.

“Can we just sit here for a few moments, Grant? I need to think.”

“Of course, Miss.” Without a pause, Amiel slid the partition between their seats into place. Grant was one of her mother’s more loyal servants and a notorious gossip. Dumping the contents of the envelope out onto her lap again, she reread Jaron’s letter. Five times to be exact. The tears tracked down her cheeks the first few times, but the last few readings brought with them that euphoric feeling of bravery and determination. Jaron wanted her to live her life away from her mother’s pushy interference. In truth, it’s what he had always wanted, for the both of them. It was one of the reasons Jaron had joined up in the first place, after all. But what could
she
do? She truly doubted she had the strength and tenacity to join up, as Jaron had, no matter how much of a temper she was gaining. And he was certainly right about college being a waste of time and money. In today’s world, the educated man could become poisoned or infected just as easily as the uneducated man. Colleges remained open as a way to drain money from those rich, bored, and self-important enough to feel the need to still attend. Yet, what kind of life did she have to look forward to should she decide to stay with her mother? Suddenly Jeller’s words from that morning rang in her ears.

“It’s a bit hard for a bird to learn to fly when its wings are clipped and it’s caged its whole life.”

That was it then. She needed to leave. And with her mother gone for the week, now was the perfect chance. Feeling a burst of excitement, she pressed the intercom before she could second guess herself.

“Grant, will you please drive me down the main stretch?”

“Of course, Miss Hilden, anything you wish. Where am I stopping?”

“Nowhere. I would just like you to drive up and down a few times. It helps me think. Thank you.” There was a confused silence, before the car pulled forward into traffic.

“Very well, Miss,” he replied morosely. Grant was an elderly gentleman, bored and with a keen ear for gossip. Not knowing what she was doing must be driving him crazy. Amiel smirked and turned her attention to the outside world.

As they drove up and down the main streets, her eyes meandered over the car dealerships they passed. She needed transportation if she were going to get out of here quickly. But her mother had her fingers dipped in just about every store and dealership in this town. Any purchase she made would be run through for her mother’s approval via phone, whether she used the family money or not. People recognized Amiel and knew of Malinda’s strict spending diet for her daughter. They were also always thirsting for a way to stay in Malinda’s good graces, even if it meant outing their neighbors or associates. Therefore each of them would ask her mother for approval first, alerting Malinda to her daughter’s intentions. Not acceptable.

At the very least, they knew how much money Amiel’s family had access to therefore the prices would be insanely high for anything she bought. While she had a ton of money now, it wasn’t worth as much as it used to be, and it certainly wouldn’t last forever out there if she was paying for everything herself. And she was determined to never touch her mother’s money again. She’d need a form of transportation, to find a place to live, food to eat, gas to travel, and who knew how long it would take her to find a job. So, outrageous sums of money for transportation were out of the question.

Besides, cars were meant for inner city travel and though it made Amiel’s stomach churn at the thought, the only freedom she would find lay on the other side of these city walls. The safest way to travel between cities of course was the train. Trains were heavily guarded and swift. It was uncommon for train travelers to come to harm, though nothing was entirely safe these days. Yet the train was also out of the question since her mother could easily track every move she made, know where she ended up. That would make it far too easy for Malinda to come take her home. Amiel needed to get far away, fast and under the radar; which only left her one option.

As they often did, her meandering eyes fell on a motorcycle shop across the street, a couple blocks down from the library. Amiel often found herself furtively glancing over the motorcycles any time she was in town. Her mother, of course, had been appalled at the thought of a motorcycle shop opening in the center of
‘her’
town. Though she could do nothing to legally stop the owner from building, she had made her disapproval clear to him on more than one occasion. Her dislike of him was made even stronger when she realized he couldn’t be bought off or pushed around. Malinda was not use to being told
no.

As such, the bikes had naturally become something of a secret rebellious desire for Amiel. Her eyes tracked over the distant lettering on the sign above his shop-
Mud Hogs Travel Agency.
Yet another reason Malinda hated the man; he was a motorcycle travel agent, the lowest form of scum in her mother’s point of view. Hope rose in Amiel’s throat, nearly choking her. With the amount of enmity between the man and her mother maybe she could enlist his help without worrying he would rat her out. That or he would kick her out on her butt when he found out who she was. A dubious thought, indeed. Still, she was quickly running out of choices and time. Could she do it? Could she really take her new fortune and run from her mother? Was she brave enough to even step foot on the lot? Her eyes drifted back to the sign, heart racing with each word she silently repeated in her mind. Clearing her throat, she pressed the intercom.

“Stop back by the bank for a moment, will you Grant?”

“Of course, Miss.” The confused frustration was evident in Grant’s voice, but she barely noticed it. With a plan forming in her mind, the nagging urge to do something crazy was beginning to feel satiated. She still wasn’t sure where she was going, or what she would do when she got there, but she was taking everything one step at a time. One thing was certain. She was leaving and
never
coming back.

Inside the bank she withdrew $15,000, half in cash, the other half in gold and silver. It made her heady and more than a little paranoid to be toting around so much money. But while most places in Malinda Hilden’s town still ran off of debit cards, Amiel had heard other places in the world had collapsed to the point that ATMs and debit machines were a thing of the past. The last thing she wanted was to be left somewhere high and dry with no money on hand. She could only hope the place she ended up still used money at all.

Once at home, she rushed to her bedroom. First thing she did was light a candle and watch the slip of paper with her bank number wither away to ash. Satisfied, she grabbed the leather duffel that Jaron had given her last Christmas and tossed it on the bed.

What exactly did one bring when planning to run away from home? The money was an easy item, and it was tossed inside immediately. She stared at the money, twisting a strand of hair as the rest of the empty space within the bag mocked her. She was completely out of her element here. Gnawing on her lip for a moment, she finally settled on random choices. Reaching deep within her closet, she began stuffing the duffel full of her favorite jeans and t-shirts, and then other random personal items she felt might be needed.

When it was packed to capacity, she stared at the masses of dresses left in the closet-courtesy of her mother and the lifestyle she had been forced to lead- cotillions, dates, and ball after stupid ball for fund raisers that had no real purpose. Disgusted, she moved to shove the door closed, stopping as a glimmer of purple caught her eye. Slowly reaching inside she pulled out the long silky dress.

It was the dress Jaron encouraged her to buy for herself on one of his rare visits home, about three years earlier. She had refused to go to an important fund raiser with the jerk her mother declared as her date. The guy was as stuck up as they come, and stiffer than a board unless of course he was drinking. Then he was pawing at her like a starving man sitting down to a grand thanksgiving dinner. He’d shown up at the door three sheets to the wind and tried to force his tongue down her throat the moment she’d stepped out the door. She’d proceeded to slam that door in his face, likely adding a broken nose to his inebriated state. It had felt good for all of two seconds, before reality had hit
her
like a door in the face.

She knew that if she showed up at the ball without her date, or not at all, Malinda would be furious. Her mother didn’t care what his behavior was, or how often he did vile ungentlemanly things towards her daughter. He was the son of the richest family, second to the Hilden’s alone, which meant Malinda considered them near royalty. She’d done the only thing her terrified mind had been able to think to do; run to her brother and bawl all over him.

Jaron however had been beaming with pride when she confessed what she’d done, praising her for “
telling that greasy little player where to shove it
.” She smiled now, remembering his proud grin and how she had reveled in it.

“My Baby Girl’s first step toward rebellion. I’m so proud.”
She’d rolled her eyes, but secretly soaked in every ounce of that praise. “
Now, let me guess. Mom picked your date, which I’m sure means she picked your dress too, right? Let’s give the ol’ girl a heart attack and show up with a different date and a different dress”

He had winked devilishly and immediately driven her to a store where she bought this sleek purple dress. It was entirely different from what their mother would approve of, and as such it was perfect. Jaron took her as his own date, wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans, and a white t shirt, so as to take the brunt of their mother’s disapproval.

Amiel pulled away from the memory, carefully folding the dress into her duffel. It was stupid, unrealistic, and she doubted it would be on any other teen’s runaway bag list. It took up room, and she was sure she’d never have opportunity to use it wherever she ended up. Yet sentimentality overrode rationality, and the dress stayed where it was in the bag. There was no way she could leave it behind.

Wearing her favorite calf-length black buckle up boots- also a gift from Jaron- over a pair of skinny jeans and a tight white t-shirt, she took one last glance in the mirror. She looked casual, comfortable even. Her grin faded. She looked entirely too suspicious. She could dress as casual as she wanted, but in the end she would still be noticed. You couldn’t be Malinda Hilden’s daughter and not be noticed especially when you were toting a giant duffle bag and skulking around outside of a motorcycle shop. Frowning at her reflection, Amiel fumbled for confidence in her plan. The only way her escape plan would succeed was if she were able to leave without notice. All it would take would be one single phone call, and Malinda would come storming home to lock her away forever.

Amiel tossed on a pair of over sized glasses and pulled her hair back into a bun, only to sigh in frustration. It still wasn’t enough. She riffled through the closet again until she found what she was looking for. The hoodie was a plain light gray sweater, crumpled from its year of neglect, stuffed in a corner of the closet. Her nose wrinkled at it, trying to remember which of the potential suitors her mother had handpicked for her had decided Amiel needed an oversized reminder of him. Fred, Phil…Rick? Amiel shook her head and stuffed the hoodie over her head. Malinda had forced Amiel to keep every gift her dates gave her, though most ended up in a box stuffed in the far corner of her closet. Flipping the hood up over her head, Amiel examined her makeshift disguise. The baggy sweater masked most of her feminine features, and the hood worked well with the glasses to cover her face. For once Amiel was glad of Malinda’s overbearing tendencies.

A thrill coursed up her spine as she scheduled a taxi, covertly arranging to meet it at an address two blocks away from her own, allowing herself enough time to sneak out of the house and get there before the taxi could pinpoint her real origin of residence. It was sophomoric in the eyes of what many rebellious teenagers her age did, yet Amiel couldn’t help the grin of mischief and excitement as she slipped out of her bedroom door.