Run Rose Run(25)

She’d refused a ride home from Spider, and then from the nice kids who’d requested George Strait. AnnieLee figured that a quiet walk would help her wind down, and anyway, she didn’t want anyone finding out that “home” was a pawnshop sleeping bag on a bare patch of ground underneath a tree in Cumberland Park.

After tucking her money a little deeper into her back pocket, AnnieLee began to walk northeast toward the river. She had only about a mile to go, the night was clear and warm, and she was feeling very pleased with herself. She’d arrived in Nashville hungry and poor, with nothing more than what she could carry on her back. And every single day, things were looking up.

Of course, when you started at the very bottom, up was pretty much the only way to go.

As she passed under a streetlamp, AnnieLee gave a little skip and spun around the pole like Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain. Maybe it was the unexpected money, or the song she was writing in her head—or maybe it was just the Jack and Coke—but AnnieLee found herself letting her guard down a little. She didn’t look around continually as she walked toward the river. She didn’t pause at every corner to check her surroundings, holding her breath and listening like a doe. She let herself be carried along by a thrilling and unfamiliar happiness. Humming her new melody, she even bent down to sniff a cluster of purple dwarf irises in a café’s window box. They smelled like Easter candy.

And then suddenly, some ancient, animal part of AnnieLee that she’d tried to ignore, just this once, rose up and grabbed her by the throat. Hunter, it said. Danger.

She froze, still bent over, every sense alert and every nerve electric and prickling. She heard the tiny hiss of her exhale, the buzz of a distant motorcycle, and the leaves on a potted magnolia rustling against one another.

And then there it was—a different, human kind of noise. A metallic jangle of keys. The scrape of a boot along a sidewalk. How such a simple sound could be sinister, AnnieLee didn’t know, but she’d already started running when a man came charging toward her in the dark.

She felt fingers snatching at her arm, and instinctively she kicked backward. Her foot connected with something hard. A knee, maybe, because she heard a crack and then a curse of pain.

She didn’t turn around. She flung herself forward.

Fast but relaxed—that was what her middle-school track coach used to say. Running’s about stamina as much as it is about speed.

But this wasn’t a track race; this was the flight of an animal pursued. A hunted doe did not run with grace. It ran desperately so that it would not die.

AnnieLee leaned into her pace as her feet swallowed ground. She didn’t look back to see if she was being followed because it would slow her down and because she knew that she was. Her breath exploded out of her mouth, hard and fast. She focused on moving her arms, because if she could move them faster, then her legs would have no choice but to follow.

Adrenaline fueled her, but still her lungs screamed. Her boots slid on the pavement and her legs nearly went out from under her as she took a corner at top speed, but she grabbed onto a windowsill and caught herself, pushing away with all her might, barely breaking stride.

Up ahead, she saw an opening between the buildings. If she could only make it in before her pursuer rounded the corner—

She pitched herself into the dark, narrow passageway, passing overflowing trash cans lined up against the brick wall. She leaped over pallets that spilled into the path. And then she looked up to see a dead end, not fifty yards ahead.

She couldn’t go on and she couldn’t turn back. So she ducked down, crawling on hands and knees across the gritty cobblestones until she could shimmy into a tiny space between two greasy, stinking dumpsters.

She couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of her heart and the roaring in her ears. Her throat was raw, and her chest heaved as she mentally implored whoever it was who’d followed her, Keep going, keep going, keep going.

She kept as still as she could, even while her legs began to shake and cramp. When her breathing finally slowed, the sweet, rotting smell of the trash became almost unbearable.

She listened, hearing nothing but silence. No silhouette appeared at the end of the alley. No one pushed aside the trash bins and saw her there, crouched in the alley like cornered prey.

AnnieLee stood up slowly on aching limbs. The world seemed to spin all around her, and she gasped. Reaching out and pressing her palm against the rough brick, she bent over. She coughed and wretched. Her stomach gave an enormous, terrible lurch, and then she vomited up her entire dinner.

“Shit,” she said when she could finally speak again. She wiped her mouth on her shirt. “What a waste of those chili dogs.”

Then she turned and started walking back toward the park. She cast wary glances in all directions as she hurried down quiet streets. But no one followed her.

That man just wanted to rob you, she told herself as she climbed over the wall and vanished into the park. That’s all.

But that old, subconscious part of her knew this wasn’t true. Whoever it was hadn’t wanted her money. He had wanted her.





Chapter

24



For the next five nights, AnnieLee woke at every twig snap, and often she lay awake until dawn pinkened the sky. Only when the crows began their earsplitting morning chorus would she rise, pack her gear, stow it in its hiding place, and make her exhausted way into town.