Far, far from that. He was the villain, the worst, most despicable kind ever. The feeling that overtakes me right now as Hayden sleeps in the seat next to me is a mix of sadness, anger, and confusion. If I’m not the daughter of a hero, but the daughter of a killer, then what kind of person am I? Hayden stirs and I feel the gun once more and look out the window as the forest blurs into one big smear of green.
Chapter Six
Cash: $30.00.
Food: Sandwiches (stale) on the train.
Shelter: The train, I guess.
Weapons: Gun, cheap scissors.
Plan: Find Mom and kill Dad.
A LITTLE MORE THAN AN hour later the bus from Spokane drops us in downtown Wallace, a historic mining town that looks movie-set ready. In fact, it had been the location of a movie about a volcano that decimated the town. Mom likes disaster movies. My life right now is a disaster, so it’s fitting. It’s late in the morning, about ten a.m. and I feel grungy from wearing the same clothes for more than two days. My stomach grumbles and I press the heel of my palm into my belly to quiet things down. I wait for Hayden outside the bus station’s bathroom, making sure that no one goes in and no one comes out. I need to keep track of my brother.
A woman with kind brown eyes working at the snack bar gives directions to our aunt’s place from an address provided by my thinking-ahead mother. We only have to make two lefts and a right. It can’t be that bad. I thank the woman and try to commit the directions to memory.
“It’s quite a ways,” she says. “You need a ride?”
I see the look on her face and I know that she’s wary and concerned. She watched me linger by the bathroom and she knows my brother and I are traveling alone. I don’t want to stand out, but with my overly blond, slept-in hair, I imagine that blending in isn’t something that is even remotely possible. As far as Idaho goes, I bet I look pretty edgy.
“We’ll manage,” I say, dodging her direct gaze as I peel a Historic Mining Town map from the rack by the bathroom. Her simple directions are now eluding me. I have too much to think about right now.
“Hey,” Hayden says, coming out of the bathroom, his zipper in need of a pull, “I want a ride.”
I give him a look. “No. No we don’t. We’re fine.” I point to his zipper and his face turns a scary shade of crimson. It shuts him up, and that’s good.
“Can I call someone for you?” the concerned woman asks.
I shake my head. “Ah, no. Our dad’s friend is supposed to pick us up.” I say friend because I think it’ll stop her from asking who our father is. We don’t have one. Hayden doesn’t for sure. And I do, but I intend to kill him.
“I see,” she says.
Now I know by the tone in her voice that what she really sees are two strangers, young strangers, in town. She sees trouble.
And so do I. My guard is up. Way up. I feel like I’m an armadillo and I’ve rolled up into a little ball and I’m not going to let anyone inside. Not even a crack.
“Hey,” I say, looking out in front at a rusted white Bronco parked across the street. “Dad’s friend is here.”
I pull Hayden for the door, because I’m pretty sure he’s stupid enough to say that Dad— his dad—is in the Port Orchard morgue on a table with a forensic pathologist wielding a bone saw.
But he isn’t as stupid as I think.
“That was close,” he says. “Is there a Starbucks?”
I sigh. “You’re seven and you don’t drink coffee. And no there isn’t. Look around you. We’re in Idaho, for God’s sake, Hayden.”
He doesn’t care. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” I fish a granola bar from the bottom of the purse and hand it to him. I take another for myself. As we crunch away on the sidewalk in front of the station, I am reminded of the small town where we lived when I first had the feeling, finally caught on that Mom and I weren’t like others in the neighborhood.
I think I was three, maybe four. A neighbor lady
Chapter Six
Cash: $30.00.
Food: Sandwiches (stale) on the train.
Shelter: The train, I guess.
Weapons: Gun, cheap scissors.
Plan: Find Mom and kill Dad.
A LITTLE MORE THAN AN hour later the bus from Spokane drops us in downtown Wallace, a historic mining town that looks movie-set ready. In fact, it had been the location of a movie about a volcano that decimated the town. Mom likes disaster movies. My life right now is a disaster, so it’s fitting. It’s late in the morning, about ten a.m. and I feel grungy from wearing the same clothes for more than two days. My stomach grumbles and I press the heel of my palm into my belly to quiet things down. I wait for Hayden outside the bus station’s bathroom, making sure that no one goes in and no one comes out. I need to keep track of my brother.
A woman with kind brown eyes working at the snack bar gives directions to our aunt’s place from an address provided by my thinking-ahead mother. We only have to make two lefts and a right. It can’t be that bad. I thank the woman and try to commit the directions to memory.
“It’s quite a ways,” she says. “You need a ride?”
I see the look on her face and I know that she’s wary and concerned. She watched me linger by the bathroom and she knows my brother and I are traveling alone. I don’t want to stand out, but with my overly blond, slept-in hair, I imagine that blending in isn’t something that is even remotely possible. As far as Idaho goes, I bet I look pretty edgy.
“We’ll manage,” I say, dodging her direct gaze as I peel a Historic Mining Town map from the rack by the bathroom. Her simple directions are now eluding me. I have too much to think about right now.
“Hey,” Hayden says, coming out of the bathroom, his zipper in need of a pull, “I want a ride.”
I give him a look. “No. No we don’t. We’re fine.” I point to his zipper and his face turns a scary shade of crimson. It shuts him up, and that’s good.
“Can I call someone for you?” the concerned woman asks.
I shake my head. “Ah, no. Our dad’s friend is supposed to pick us up.” I say friend because I think it’ll stop her from asking who our father is. We don’t have one. Hayden doesn’t for sure. And I do, but I intend to kill him.
“I see,” she says.
Now I know by the tone in her voice that what she really sees are two strangers, young strangers, in town. She sees trouble.
And so do I. My guard is up. Way up. I feel like I’m an armadillo and I’ve rolled up into a little ball and I’m not going to let anyone inside. Not even a crack.
“Hey,” I say, looking out in front at a rusted white Bronco parked across the street. “Dad’s friend is here.”
I pull Hayden for the door, because I’m pretty sure he’s stupid enough to say that Dad— his dad—is in the Port Orchard morgue on a table with a forensic pathologist wielding a bone saw.
But he isn’t as stupid as I think.
“That was close,” he says. “Is there a Starbucks?”
I sigh. “You’re seven and you don’t drink coffee. And no there isn’t. Look around you. We’re in Idaho, for God’s sake, Hayden.”
He doesn’t care. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” I fish a granola bar from the bottom of the purse and hand it to him. I take another for myself. As we crunch away on the sidewalk in front of the station, I am reminded of the small town where we lived when I first had the feeling, finally caught on that Mom and I weren’t like others in the neighborhood.
I think I was three, maybe four. A neighbor lady
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