Page 95 of Fake for 7 days

I turned around and saw a black Rolls-Royce slowly driving towards me. But it drove past me.

It wasn't Carter.

Isabella. Don't be stupid. He's not coming back.

Nobody was going to save me.

I had to do that myself.

I shivered. I urgently needed to get dry.

But where?

A few meters ahead of me was an intersection. Maybe I would see something there that could help me. A sign saying New York. At least then I'd know which direction to keep walking.

Hopefully, I approached the intersection and peered to the left. Nothing. The street looked just like the one I was on. Unwelcoming walls and high fences. Then I turned my head to the right. And there... I wiped the rain from my eyes to make sure I wasn't imagining what I saw just beyond the street corner.

A bus stop.

With a small wooden shelter.

It would surely be dry in there.

Maybe there was even a bench.

And I could think about what to do next.

I hurried towards it.

"Hello, sweetheart!" Behind the wooden wall, I almost collided with a burly man in an old anorak and tattered jeans. He grinned at me and blew his breath in my face. Disgusted, I backed away. Alcohol. The guy must have had more than one drink.

"He... hello," I stammered. Only now did I notice how much I was shaking all over. The rain had affected me more than I thought.

"Well... you're soaked." The man thoroughly examined me from head to toe. His gaze made me uncomfortable. Nevertheless, I squeezed past him into the shelter. Relieved, I shook myself. At least I wouldn't get any wetter now. The rain continued to fall from the sky with undiminished intensity, drumming on the roof of the little hut.

"Should I warm you up a bit?" the man offered, turning to me.

"No, thank you." My tone was icy and left no room for misunderstanding.

The man moved away from me a bit but continued to watch me. I decided to pay him no further attention. It was best to treat such people like air, then they wouldn't do anything to you. This principle had always worked well for me in New York, it would certainly work here too.

I looked around searchingly. There was no schedule in the shelter.

"Does the bus to New York leave from here?" I asked.

"New York?" The man laughed harshly. "There's no bus to New York from here."

Damn. So it wouldn't be that easy to get away from here. I put the shoes on the ground. With numb fingers, I opened the small purple purse I was carrying and took out my phone. I finally wanted to know exactly where I was. And most importantly, how I could get home.

At that moment, the burly man snatched the purse from me. And then the phone.

"Hey!" I had trouble grasping exactly what was happening.

"Shut up, you little rich brat. Or I'll break every bone in your body." The man bared his teeth and shoved me back against the wall of the shelter to emphasize his threat. "You must be coming from that rich people's wedding back there. Everyone's rich here. Everyone. Except me."

"Give me back the purse," I demanded. I didn't know myself where I found the courage for this request. It must have been the courage of desperation. Without the purse, I had nothing but a pair of broken shoes.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you!" The man looked into the bag, took out my wallet, and stuffed it along with my phone into the pocket of his anorak. Then he threw the bag to the ground, grinned as he flipped me off, stepped out into the rain, and ran down the street at an astonishing speed. With his sneakers, he was moving faster than I could without shoes.

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