Page 2 of Comforted By The Mountain Man
The bank is six blocks away, but it might as well be on the moon. Every shadow looks like a threat, and every sound makes me want to run. We stick to the side streets, avoiding the main drag where the MC guys might be hanging out.
We're three blocks away when I hear the shouting.
"There! That's her!"
My blood freezes, and I don't even think. I scoop Ryder up in my arms and run, his small body pressed against my chest as I sprint down the sidewalk. Heavy footsteps pound behind us, getting closer with each passing second.
"Mama, you're scaring me," Ryder whimpers against my neck, and I hate myself for putting him through this. But I hate the men chasing us more.
I duck into an alley, pressing my back against the brick wall, trying to control my breathing. Ryder is silent in my arms, his small body trembling. The footsteps pass by the alley entrance, and I count to thirty before moving again.
The bank is just ahead, a massive brick building that looks like a fortress in the darkness. But it's closed, and I need to get tothe safety deposit boxes. There's a side entrance for after-hours access, and I pray the code still works.
It does. The door clicks open, and I slip inside with Ryder, my hands shaking as I punch in the access code for the safety deposit box area. The fluorescent lights flicker on, casting harsh shadows across the small room lined with metal boxes.
Box 347.I find it quickly, my fingers fumbling with the keypad. 081819. The box clicks open, and I hold my breath as I peer inside.
A set of car keys. A thick manila envelope. And a small velvet pouch that feels like it might contain jewelry.
I grab everything, shoving it all into my purse before slamming the box shut. Whatever's in that envelope, whatever Oscar left for us, it's our only hope now.
Back outside, I can hear voices in the distance. They're still looking for us, still hunting. I need to get us out of here, and I need to do it now.
The note attached to the car keys instruct to head three blocks east to the 24-hour diner. The parking lot in the back by the dumpsters, I’ll see an old, dark blue Ford pickup truck.
Approaching the looming neon sign, my head is on a swivel until I find the dumpsters behind the diner. Terrified I’d arrive and not find the truck, seeing it waiting sends a wave of relief. It's seen better days, but it starts on the first try. Small miracle.
I don't open the envelope until we're on the highway, Ryder asleep in the passenger seat with his seatbelt on and his Hulk toy in his lap. The dome light casts just enough glow for me to read the papers inside.
A land deed. For a cabin in Eden Ridge, Oregon. There's an address, a map, and a note in Oscar's handwriting:"For Ryder's future. You'll know what to do."
Eden Ridge.I've never heard of it, but according to the map, it's a fourteen-hour drive from here. Fourteen hours witha four-year-old, running on fumes and fear, with less than three hundred dollars in cash to our name.
The breakdown hits me somewhere around hour eight, when Ryder is asleep again and the highway stretches endlessly ahead of us. I pull over at a rest stop and cry until there are no tears left, my shoulders shaking with the force of it all. Oscar is dead. We're running from people who want to hurt us and I have no idea what we're going to find when we get to the address on the map.
But we're free. For the first time in four years, we're free.
I wipe my eyes and get back on the road.
Eden Ridge turns out to be a small mountain town that looks like something out of a postcard. Pretty houses with white picket fences, tree-lined streets, and mountains rising in the distance. It's the kind of place I used to dream about when I was a little girl, before I learned that dreams were just another way to get your heart broken.
The cabin is on the outskirts of town, down a winding dirt road that makes the truck's engine whine with the effort of climbing. When I finally see it, my heart sinks.
It's not a cabin. It's a disaster.
The roof is sagging, the porch steps are rotting, and there are boards missing from the siding. Windows are cracked, and the whole structure looks like it might collapse if someone sneezed too hard. This is what Oscar left us? This is our fresh start?
But it's ours. According to the deed, it's ours free and clear, and right now, that's all that matters.
I carry Ryder inside, his small body limp with exhaustion. The interior is better than the exterior, but not by much. There's a small living room with a stone fireplace, a tiny kitchen, and two bedrooms. The furniture is old but solid, and someone has left basic supplies. Sheets, towels, canned goods. Maybe Oscar arranged this, or maybe it's just small-town kindness.
I get Ryder settled in the smaller bedroom, tucking him into the bed with his Hulk toy. He doesn't even stir, completely worn out from our escape. I watch him sleep for a few minutes, this beautiful little boy who deserves so much more than the hand he's been dealt.
The bathroom is down the hall, and I desperately need a shower. The hot water will help wash away the fear and the grime of the road, maybe help me think clearly about what comes next.
I strip off my clothes and step into the small shower stall, reaching for the faucet handle. Nothing happens when I turn it. I try again, twisting harder. Still nothing.
Frustration builds in my chest, all the stress and exhaustion and fear of the last eighteen hours coming to a head. I grab the handle and pull hard, and something gives way with a loud crack.
