The Great Escape (2 page)

that she could go to college in the fall, but of course now that was out.

She would need every penny that she had saved to relocate herself

again. It just might be enough to see her through until her eighteenth

birthday, just under two months away, if she skimped on meals. The

end was in sight, she knew, but she was so tired of running and so

discouraged at the moment, it didn't seem to matter any more.

She rolled down the car window to let in the cool keen wind of March

whisk through the confines of the interior. Kim smoked too much,

and the inside of the car smelled like a tobacco factory. A pothole

made the car lurch, and then she was pulling to a stop just in front of a

red light.

Her hands were shaking. Running away . . . she was always running

away. With a burst of fury she cursed the man, Mike Carridine, with a

round fluency that she had picked up while working at the restaurant.

Then she laughed, remembering how shocked she had been at some

of the things she'd heard at Dandy's. One gets accustomed to crudity

and swearing fairly quickly, in an atmosphere like that.

Carridine was good at his job, she'd give him that. Anyone who could

sift through the series of red herrings and false trails that she had left

behind her in only nine months had to be good, very good. She hadn't

expected him to be so fast. He must be a bloodhound with a very

sensitive nose. She would have to keep on her toes, keep her head and

use her quick mind to get out of this one.

Nine months ago. She drove automatically as she thought back, an

oddly bitter and ugly twist to her pale lips. It was a lifetime ago, that

nine months, a thousand lifetimes ago. The thought of giving up and

going back was intolerable.

She shifted the car and in spite of her serious thoughts, had to chuckle

at the very human-like groan it gave as it accelerated slowly.

She was approaching her street, her eyes alert, wary, searching. She

slowed, and then, instinct warning her, pulled over into a gas station

lot to call the restaurant quickly. Kim's voice answered briskly, and

she cut across the other girl's greeting. 'It's me. Has Carridine been in

yet, Kim?'

'Yes,' the other girl answered brightly, 'we do have carry-out. How

can I help you?'

Dee thought rapidly at this odd reply. 'He's right there at the counter

and you can't say anything, right?' That was good. It meant that she

could get to her apartment safely.

'That's right, carry-out coffee is by the cup, no refills,' was the reply.

This was going to be frustrating, she could tell.

'Is—is he having coffee? Is that what you meant? Hell, what a way to

have a conversation!' she muttered, running her hand through her

blonde hair and rumpling it even more. A gas station attendant passed

by and leered at her suggestively, so she turned her back to him.

'That's right.'

'Just answer yes or no, and I'll try to ask the right questions ... did you

tell him that I might have appendicitis?'

'Yes.'

'How did he take it—Damn! Did he seem to believe it?' She didn't

know what she would do if he didn't believe that one.

'I don't know the price of that. The assistant marfager isn't back from

the bank yet, so I can't ask him. It's a speciality item and not listed.

You could call back in a few minutes, if you'd like.'

'Now what in the world does that mean?' Dee retorted, exasperated.

She heard a muffled laugh from the other end of the line. 'You don't

know if he swallowed the story or not, and you want me to call back

later? How will I know if he's gone or not? You could call me at the

apartment as soon as he leaves. D'you have my number?'

'Yes, I think so. I'll just call you then, when I know for sure. He

should be back in about five minutes or so.'

'I really could scream,' Dee said conversationally. "Does that mean

that he's almost done with his coffee?' This was not going very

coherently.

'. . . there, I've got your number,' Kim told her, voice quivering. She

gritted her teeth in frustration. 'I'll give you a call as soon as I find out

the price. Thank you.'

Dee bolted out of the phone booth as soon as she had hung up the

receiver. She had so very little time! She reversed the car with a loud

roar and shot off down the road. A quick turn to the right had her

pulled on to her street and soon she was parked beside a large old

house with peeling white paint, heading for the front door at a run. It

wasn't much of a head start at all, and she was beginning to be

swamped by that panic. The feeling of being pursued was

nerve-racking, to say the least. It could so easily lead to paranoia.

She called out as she let herself into the house and heard slow

shuffling footsteps come down the hallway. Mrs Gordon smiled at

her cheerily. 'Why, hello, dear. You're home from work early, aren't

you?' she piped brightly. 'There was a nice young man here about a

half an hour ago asking for you --'

Dee took a deep breath, for patience. 'I know, Mrs Gordon—he came

in at work. Look, I'm not feeling well. Could you do me a favour?'

'Certainly, my dear.'

'Do you remember my friend Kim, from work? These are the keys to

her car. She's going to be picking it up later. Could you give them to

her?'

'Of course,' the elderly lady replied, taking the keys in one gnarled

hand. 'But aren't you going to be home? If you aren't well, you

should…'

'I've got a doctor's appointment,' Dee lied, crossing her fingers

childishly behind her back. 'Have to go and get ready—thanks, Mrs

Gordon!' She didn't give the old lady any time to react, but hurried up

the stairs to her tiny apartment. It was really converted from two

bedrooms, with a minuscule bath and kitchenette put in. There was a

shower stall with no tub, and it was possible to sit on the stool, reach

with one hand to turn on the shower and reach with the other hand to

turn on the sink taps. One person could turn around in the tiny space;

two was a terrible squeeze.

Her kitchen was as tiny, with a refrigerator that reached her waist and

the ancient stove and sink exactly one step away. The kitchen and the

bathroom had been built into one of the two bedrooms, and the other

was her living area, with a single bed doubling as a couch, with huge

throw pillows against the wall as the back. She had a portable

television on a stand across the room and green potted plants all over

the place.

It wasn't quite the Ritz, but it was cheap and well within her budget,

and she had decorated it in yellows, browns and oranges with, of

course, the green from the plants. One entire wall held her paperback

collection, the one luxury that she had allowed herself with the

money left over from paying her bills. All the rest of the money had

gone into the bank.

Once inside, she didn't waste any time. Her movements were brisk,

quick, and economical. She whisked around the small apartment,

pulling out her suitcase and all the clothes on hangers. She threw it all

on the couch-cum-bed and then went to make a quick call to a taxi

company, making arrangements for a cab to come around in half an

hour. Then she started throwing things in the open suitcase, practice

and adrenalin making her swift.

While her hands were busy, her thoughts were too, vivid images from

the past coming before her attention. Would she have run away if she

had known how hard it was going to be? Who could really know that

for sure? She rather thought she would have, though. As she

remembered, she hadn't really had any choice.

All the same, she had been just seventeen when she had left, with no

notion of how to handle herself or how to handle life in the working

world. All she could remember was that things had just got to be too

much to handle, staying. That terrible feeling of being trapped, being

lonely, being isolated—it all came back to her too vividly.

The night she particularly remembered with a nightmarish clarity of

past pain and despair had been the breaking point.

Dee stared outside at the miserable wet darkness. Inside it was just as

dark, for she had the lights off in her large bedroom. Depression

gloomed in her young mind like a big black spider. Her heart ached.

She was tired, and it always seemed that she was tired nowadays.

Depression could do that to a person, she knew. And unhappiness.

What she wanted to do was to sob out her fears and tears, and all the

pain her heart carried. She wanted to be held in that old remembered

way, and she wanted to feel like a little girl again, warm and safe and

loved. But that was impossible. Her mother was dead, and had been

dead for three years. She had been killed along with Dee's father

when a train was derailed and crashed into several cars that had been

waiting to cross the tracks. Their car had been literally torn apart, and

she had never seen them again, for the funeral had been with closed

coffins. Her imagination had done terrible things, and her dreams

supplied the rest. Dee had dreamt for months that their bodies had

been chopped to pieces, and would wake screaming in full-throated

horror. Sleeping pills had been prescribed. They had helped only a

little.

The death of Charles Janson and his wife had been splashed all over

national newspapers, for her father had been a millionaire several

times over and his death particularly sensational. When everything

had finally quieted down into a semblance of normality, Dee found

herself living with her aunt and uncle in the huge house that had once

seemed barely large enough to contain all the love and the laughter

her family had shared. To be realistic, she couldn't -miss her father as

much as she missed her mother, for he had always been away on

business trips and having important meetings. But he had been kind

and loving when he had been home, and Dee's mother had been a ray

of sunshine in the little girl's life.

Now it seemed as if the house was a great hulking empty shell.

Her father and mother had left just about everything to her, and Dee

supposed vaguely that she was very, very rich, but she had no idea

just how much she owned. It wasn't really hers until her eighteenth

birthday anyway, and she wouldn't have full control over the estate

until she was twenty-one.

But she had started to hate her money. She started to hate anything

connected with her money.

Her aunt had been her mother's sister, and her aunt and uncle had

been appointed as her legal guardians, for there was virtually no one

else, and they had wasted no time in moving into the house as soon as

the funeral was over. They didn't give a damn about her. She was very

intelligent and sensitive to emotions and atmospheres, but even then

Judith had made no effort to disguise what she felt. Howard, Judith's

husband, was a rather weak man, and he didn't seem to mind her

much, but he certainly didn't actively seek her out in any way.

Dee would never forget how Judith's mouth had tightened and her

face had whitened with rage when her parents' will had been read.

The plump woman's face went suddenly sharp and pinched, in spite

of her double chin. She had managed to hold on to her temper until

the lawyers had left, and then she had rounded on her husband in a

fury. Dee was ignored as she huddled all curled up in an armchair, her

own small face white and drawn from exhaustion and grief, and

incomprehension.

'Not a stinking, filthy penny!' Judith shrieked at Howard, who slid

down in his chair as if to escape from the whole situation. Dee sat,

stunned. 'We didn't get a linking, lousy penny! All we get for

watching the brat is an allowance!' This last was said with a sneer.

'And that gets cut off when she comes of age. We even have to submit

the household books to an accountant to get the bills paid! God, I

always knew my sister was tight, but I never thought she'd forget us

so completely! All that money, and we get a damned pittance, while a

little skinny brat of a --She broke off suddenly, as she noticed Dee

peering out from behind the chair's high winged side, eyes huge and

shocked. 'Go to bed. Now!' This last was as Dee hesitated, looking

from Judith to Howard. Howard averted his eyes hastily and she had

been left to drag herself up to bed alone.

It had been quite devastating, to a girl of fourteen, who had just lost

both her parents. She wandered around the huge house for weeks with

a stunned and uncomprehending look in her large, blank blue eyes.

As she slowly came out of the shock, Judith went gradually but

methodically about the process of changing the house staff, letting go