Page 8 of Halfway to Hell
Her hand closed around the doorknob when car headlights suddenly swept across the side window, flooding the garage with harsh light.
“Damn it. Think, Sunday!” she muttered, dropping to the floor.
Scrambling backward, she vowed to make a break for it as soon as whoever outside came closer. Behind Dalton’s house was an overgrown lot. If she could reach it, she could hide until it was safe to move again. At least she’d be free of the garage that felt like a suffocating trap.
Her foot caught on something rough, and she stumbled. She fought to stay upright, her breath coming fast. The only sound she heard was the pounding of her own heart roaring in her ears.
“Did you hear that?” a male voice whispered near the garage door.
“Man, there’s rats and stray cats in that place. Used to hear ’em all the time.”
Sunday’s heart sank. She knew who was there. Dalton and his friend Jimmy. She recognized both their voices.
“Grab the beers and pizza,” Dalton ordered Jimmy.
“Why can’t you carry something yourself, asshole?”
“Because I told you to, dickweed.”
How had she fallen for this motherfucker? Sunday was starting to question herself on every level.
The slam of the car door and footsteps crunching up the walkway snapped her back to the present. Her focus sharpened on getting out of the garage. It was the only thing that mattered now.
Reaching down, she grabbed the blanket tangled around her foot and realized it was a dark-colored hoodie. Glancing at herself, she knew those light blue scrubs would stick out against the night.
She yanked the trash bag closer and pulled out whatever she could—jeans and a t-shirt were the best she could find.
Then, in a rare moment of defiance, she dumped the rest of the bag onto the floor and found a worn pair of sneakers.
Quickly changing, she left the discarded clothes scattered behind her.
“Cats and rats,” she muttered under her breath.
It was time to move. Sunday forced herself to stay calm. Freaking out wouldn’t help. With steady breath, she made her way to the back door.
If they found her here, she’d probably be killed. The dry taste in her mouth thickened with fear. She could do this. Shehadto.
Sunday eased the door open and froze when a bright light snapped on from the neighbor’s security sensor, flooding the yard.
Without hesitation, she shut the door behind her and sprinted for the overgrown lot, pushing her aching body as fast as it would carry her.
She hit the overgrown lot and dropped to her knees, burying herself where no one could see. That’s when she realized she still had the hoodie in her hand. Pulling it on, she yanked the hood up, shielding her pale blonde hair, then started crawling through the tall grass until she was far enough to disappear.
Thunder rumbled overhead as lightning cracked the night sky. A light rain began to fall. Ducking under a cluster of trees, Sunday tried to remember—did animals seek shelter beneath trees, or away from them? The next thunderclap made her jump. The storm was closing in fast.
She thought about where she was, and where she needed to go. Over an hour’s walk lay ahead.
Suddenly, a flashlight beam cut through the darkness. Heart pounding in her ears, she pressed herself flat behind a tree.The neighbor was out searching his backyard. Dogs barked somewhere distant. She couldn’t stay hidden here—she had to move.
Weaving through the trees, Sunday found the next street over and broke into a run, desperate to put as much distance as possible between herself and that house.
Four hours later, soaking wet and exhausted, Sunday pushed open the lobby door of a rundown motel. After explaining to the older woman behind the counter that she was running from an abusive relationship, she was allowed to use the desk phone to call her sister.
Monday had paid for the room using a friend’s credit card, adding a thin layer of safety to Sunday’s escape.
When her sister asked where she had been or why she hadn’t called sooner, Sunday simply said she was safe for now—cold and wet, but safe.
Chapter Three
