Page 4 of No Saint

Rain wets my hair and soaks my clothes, but I don’t move as I scan the area around me, looking down each street I can see and in the lot I’m parked in. I don’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

I had chosen this daycare because it was in a quieter, nicer area of the city. It was more expensive, but it was better than the ones closer to the bar I worked in and where we lived. I didn’t care about the distance if it meant my son was cared for and safe.

I don’t rush or run to the driver door; I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Starting the car, I hold my breath as the engine ticks, threatening not to start but then it catches and I back out, sliding into the traffic. I keep an eye on my rear-view mirrors, making sure I’m not being followed.

Most would call it paranoia, I call it survival.

It had been months since I last saw anyone from my previous life, but I doubted they’d forget about me. They were cruel, and unforgiving, and spiteful enough to try and fool me into a false sense of security only to come and try and take it from me again.

The last two years have been the only years I’ve been free in a way. I was no good to them pregnant and after my son was born, I’d finally learned to stand up for myself, telling them no and running from them. I would save my son from them. I wouldn’t allow him to grow up in an environment like that.

I drive carefully through the city, towards the city centre where my apartment was on the lower end, close to the Marina District.

It wasn’t a well-cared for building, owned by a hideously corrupted landlord who would rather snort his money up his nose over paying for much needed repairs to the building. But it was cheap, and I couldn’t afford anything else.

It’s growing darker by the time I pull into the lot outside the apartment building, the rain still falling in torrents, the clouds tumbling through the sky. It was much warmer than it had been, despite the weather, but there would be enough of a chill inside to make living uncomfortable. The windows had blown the seals long before I’d moved in and there had always been a draft though I could never figure out where it was coming from.

Taking Lincoln from the seat, I slide his bag onto my shoulder and start towards the front doors, curling my body over his to protect him from the rain.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as that same inclination of being watched runs over my body. Swallowing, I head inside, taking the stairs quickly. Once inside the apartment, I double lock the door and slide the bolt across for extra measure. The landlord would likely charge me for the extra security I’d placed on the door when I moved out, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Placing Lincoln down in the playpen set up in the living room, I switch on the old TV that was missing pixels and had a crack down one side, disturbing the cartoon playing on the screen. Loud, happy music plays into the living room, distracting Lincoln enough for me to head through to the kitchen.

I glance out the window that looks out into the front of the building. These streets were always busy, cars and people never far and that was no different today. No one stood out.

Sighing, I run a tired hand down my face. I refused to believe it was paranoia.

I wasn’t over-reacting.

Shaking my head, I quickly wash up the dishes from the previous night I hadn’t managed to get round to this morning and then begin dinner, boiling some pasta on the stove and cooking some chicken in a pesto and cream sauce for Lincoln and me to share.

When that’s ready, I pluck Lincoln off the floor and place him in the highchair at the table and take the space next to him.

He’s a mess in minutes, pasta and cream in his dark hair and smeared across his face. I didn’t expect anything less. I eat in silence watching him use his tiny hands like mini shovels to stuff the food everywhere but in his mouth.

After finishing our food and washing up, I get Lincoln ready for bed and join him on the couch, cradling him to my chest while a rerun of some sitcom plays on the TV. It was dark now, the rain still hammering against the window. My son curls into me, snuggling his face against my chest as I rock him to sleep.

It had only ever been me and him, he was all I cared about now.

It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep against me and while I’d usually place him down now, I choose instead to drag an old blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over us as I make myself comfortable on the sofa, keeping him warm with my body heat and the blanket now that I had to keep the heating off.

He doesn’t stir as I shift and get comfortable, telling myself it’s only for an hour and then I’ll put him down and get some rest myself.

He snores quietly and I feel my eyes getting heavier the longer I stay there, and I’m just drifting off when a loud boom shatters the silence of the apartment.

I bolt upright, waking Lincoln who instantly begins to cry and turn to the door in time to see the locks shatter as someone fires a gun from the other side, shooting out the latches.

A scream gets lodged in my throat, but I don’t dare make a noise. I scurry from the living room, rushing to the back of the apartment and the one bedroom in the place. Lincoln cries and I try to soothe him, but fear and panic makes my voice shake and tears sting my eyes.

I should have left the city. I shouldn’t have stayed.

I wanted to get enough money together first, but I realize that was a mistake. I should have known they would come for me, that they wouldn’t let me go.

My stepfather was an evil man, and I was about to find out just how far I was prepared to go to protect my son.

4

Ihadn’t planned to kill anyone else today but there was little choice in the matter, just like I hadn’t planned on taking the boy so soon but with the threat now very obvious to me, he would be leaving with me tonight.

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