Page 25 of Resolutions

“The warehouse,” I say without thinking; again, my stomach turns. “What happens at the warehouse?” A few days ago, swallowing seemed so normal. I must stop him. Expose him for the trash he is. But first, first, I have to survive him. Moses gets a quick pat as I head out. Time to become someone Michael can't track.

Chapter 11

Melanie

Several car dealerships cluster at the edge of town like vultures, their neon signs piercing the gathering dusk. I find two smaller family owned lots and cruise through them slowly, heart pounding with the choice I am about to make. I loved my car; I worked hard to get this car, but if selling it keeps me safe, then consider it sold. Besides, I can't believe I'm vehicle shopping while being hunted. My life has become nothing I planned it to be.

The first dealership has newer models, including a few that catch my eye. But something urges me to drive to the second lot first. Within twenty minutes and a lot of flirting, the overly eager salesman has paperwork ready for my trade-in. His eyes gleam when he looks at me and as he appraises my car. It's a newer, well-maintained, exactly what small dealerships dream of getting car. He, I believe, is dreaming of getting me in his bed. He keeps pushing me to buy something from his lot, butI deflect. Neither he nor anything on his lot interests me, but that's not the point. This is just step one.

After arranging the bank transfer and handing over my keys, I leave on foot. My plan is to have the salesman and anyone else on site see me leave in the opposite direction of where I really want to go. About halfway through the parking lot, I turn, making sure to give a signature girly hair flip, and wave to the dealer, who is, as I hoped, watching me walk away. The smile as he waves back ensures my plan. I need to be remembered.

I keep a brisk pace as I walk three blocks down, then over two. I think as I walk - I'd had the bank transfer go into my mom and aunt's family account, the one we set up when Mom sold her house and car. The funds go to pay for things she might need and to help with monthly bills. I manage the account and am a signer on it, but it's set up under mom's name. I never use the account, but I figure she would think my safety was a good reason to use it.

As I turn and head two blocks over, I'm guessing Michael probably has mom and my aunt's accounts bugged too. He'd be off his game if he didn't. But I'm hoping the time from me making the transactions and the time he finds out will be enough for me to get away.

I catch a glimpse through the alleyway of the dealership where my car now resides. If Michael questions this salesman later, all he'll be able to say is “she went that way.”

I mutter as I walk, remembering a blog post from my research. A woman fleeing an abusive ex thought she was clever setting up a new bank account. But he smooth-talked the bank into transferring everything back to their joint account. Left her penniless and trapped. Not me, I'm not her. I'll set up an online bank account under my mom's name. Get a debit card and go from there.

The second dealership's salesman is exactly what I expect with his eyes locked on my chest instead of my face as he approaches. I hate men who talk to my breasts.

I chose a small pickup truck, something practical but completely against my usual taste. How many times have I ranted to Michael about trucks being gas-guzzling space-wasters? He'd never expect this. The transaction moves quickly once I mention paying cash with a direct bank transfer. His eyes light up like Christmas came early. I drive off the lot in my new vehicle, leaving behind a meaningless promise of a Friday night dinner and a fake phone number to reach me at. Another false trail for Michael to chase.

At Walmart, my transformation continues. New prepaid phone. New clothes and new shoes - nothing flashy, nothing memorable. New suitcase, new laptop bag. Everything I own could have one of Michael's bugs in it. Everything has to go. I pause for a moment as I think about Moses. Could he have some sort of tracking device in him? Not wanting to think of the answer, I head to pets to get him a new collar and new dishes.

Best Buy is my final stop. The three guys at the computer sales and service counter catch my attention - they remind me of Sheldon, Howard, and Raj from The Big Bang Theory. Perfect, I couldn't have asked for better.

“Gentlemen,” I channel my inner Penny, “could you help me?”

The tall one peeks up at me before staring back down at his shoes. The shorter one asks what I need. The third just stares like a startled deer.

“Who's the smartest of the three of you?” They all stare at me until the shorter one says they are all smart. That's the answer I need; time to play maiden in distress.

“I need help, big help. I need a new laptop and I want the best security you've got. Anti-virus, encryption, everything. My ex thinks he's some computer genius. He says because I brokeup with him that he can hack all my accounts. I think he's just a dumb jock, but he took my laptop, anyway.” The guys give a collective gasp. “I don't even know why I went out with him. I should've listened to my friends and stayed with the nerds; at least they use their brains.” I see their eyes light up. “Now, I want this thing locked down tighter than the Enterprise's main computer. If he's snooping in my stuff, I want to know.”

Their glazed expressions tell me I've hit the perfect note. Tech nerds love nothing more than proving they're smarter than some dumb jock.

“We can set that up right now,” the tall one offers, already reaching for the laptop.

“I'll help!” his shorter friend chimes in.

I leave them to their work, letting them compete to create the most secure system possible while I grab some USB drives. When I return, they've built a triple password fortress that would make the NSA proud. I register everything under a fake name and address, coo over their intellect, thank them profusely, and head out.

Driving back to the hotel, I finally feel a glimmer of hope. New me, new vehicle, new phone, new computer - all chosen and secured specifically to thwart Michael. It's not much, but it's a start. But as I pull into the parking lot, doubt creeps in. Michael's always been ten steps ahead, playing games while pretending to be Cameron's harmless friend. What if all my precautions just amuse him? What if he's watching right now, laughing at my pathetic attempts to outsmart him?

“No.” I stop myself; I can't think that way. I have to believe I can beat him. Must believe there's a way to expose him. Possibly even bring him to justice. “One step at a time.” Today I erased his digital trails. Tomorrow I'll figure out the next move. But for now, I allow myself a small smile. The great Michael, outsmartedby three Best Buy geeks and a woman he thought would be easy prey. “How's that for your precious chase?”

Chapter 12

Melanie

Back in my hotel room, Michael's phone rings. I pause, standing and staring at it. I don't want to answer. I don't want to play his game anymore. But the image of my mom and aunt causes me to change my mind.

“I'm here,” I say, feeling that he isn't worthy of hello.

“I'm glad,” he says with a heavy breath. “Tell me what you're wearing?” He moans.

Hearing this makes my skin crawl. “What? You don't know?”

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