Prologue

It happened at midnight. As the night wind howled, the windows creaked, but that wasnt
it. The sound. It was there in the night, but where? Again, soft, like tiny footsteps skipping down
a path. Silence. She sat up in the darkness. Peering out, letting her eyes adjust. Why was she
awake? A look at her clock, it read 11:57pm. It was not midnight. Why was the thought of
midnight so scary all of a sudden, why the sense of foreboding? 11:58pm. Panic begins to creep
up like icy fingers reaching for her throat. What is it exactly that awoke her? Listening in
silence, not even drawing a breath, afraid she will miss it. There it was again, the sound. But
what was it exactly? Another minute passes by, 11:59pm. She quickly swings her legs around the
side of the bed and stands. She can feel the seconds tick, tick, tick. She takes a step towards the
door. The window shatters, there is a pain, brief and almost distant. The ground begins to get
closer, her face hits the floor. There is a wetness on her face as she lies there. The room begins to
dim around her and the pain starts to subside. The door to her room opens up, she is staring at a
pair of boots, but not for long, she is suddenly sleepy, the world around her going black.
Midnight.

Two Weeks Prior

Running away to the mountains was one of the best ideas I have had in a long time.
Leaving behind all the stresses of life was the best. Sure most would say leaving a month before
graduation was stupid. But is it truly stupid? I dont think so. Stuck in a degree I didnt want,
leading to a dead end job I dont want, trapped in a sad life I cant imagine. I am not built to be
locked in. Suburbia, 2.5 kids, a dog, a pool, yea not for me. Maybe later in life, maybe. Well not
suburbia, I shutter just thinking of it.
Ok so running wasnt the best thing in the world. No, enough of that it was. It still is, or
so I think. No, I know. It was the best thing I could have done for myself. If I had to do it all over
again would I do it the same? I think I would. At every stop or hiccup my mind stumbles over, I
know that in the end I wouldnt have left if I paused long enough to say good bye to anyone. So
like a thief in the night, I left my apartment with my renters check on the hall table. I left my cell
phone, my IDs minus my passport, and my keys on my night stand. I left a note to my roommate
telling her I had gone, a letter to my parents was mailed that same morning, and a single note
was slipped into my best friends mailbox Sorry.
With tears blurring my vision, I left that breezy April night. To the airport I was headed,
as I pulled out of my friends driveway I see the curtains move and a light turn on. I kept driving,
not daring to look back and see her face. I would have stopped the car, she would have talked me
out of it and I would be a graduate sitting at her corporate desk job waiting for her future
husband and 2.5 kids. No, I had to go. No words could have explained my departure, so I wrote
the only word that was bleeding from my heart, Sorry.
Shaking my head I quickly disperse those thoughts, the painful memory sweeps away.
After a few deep breaths I stand up. Maybe a walk through the woods would be nice. I need to
clear my head. But as I walk through the woods I find myself falling into a different set of
memories. Memories of my travels envelop me until I dont see the path in front of me but the
paths I took to get here.
I have traveled around the country, not staying anywhere too long. Fear that my father
would find me and drag me home again always keeping my feet on the road. I emptied my bank
accounts in Maine, cashed in my stocks in Virginia, traded in my car for a motorcycle in Florida.

I sold all my jewelry in Louisiana, all but my mothers earrings, my fathers watch, and the
necklace my best friend gave me when we were still in undergrad.
It was scary, it was exhilarating, it was lonely. Traveling with all the money you have in a
backpack was definitely not the smartest thing I have done, but was the only way I could really
disappear without a trace. I worked odd jobs in small towns and slept in cash only motels, on
someones couch, and in small hovels not dignified enough to be called shelters.
It wasn't until I reached Washington that I slowed down a bit. I met a nice old woman
while working there. A kind soul that never had any children of her own. She took one look at
me and took me in. I stayed for a few weeks, working at a small cafe and helping her with her
daily chores. It was the first time I felt safe enough to write a letter to my parents. A small blurb
really just letting them know I am safe and alive. Not wanting them to know where I was though
was what stopped me from sending them the letter. I couldnt risk my fathers wrath.
Laughter, that is what I heard, I was confused and then realized the laughter came from
me. These bubbles of laughter escaping me, turning from laughs to small hiccups and then into
full blown sobs. I sat there in her kitchen crying, as she walked into the the small room, she
didnt hesitate, but crossed over to me. While in her embrace I cried, I cried for the parents I have
disappointed. I cried for my best friend, because I missed her dearly, because I wanted to hear
her voice, but couldn't work up the courage to call her. What if she didnt even want to talk to
me. It had been 4 months already since I left, not a single word from me. What if she told my
parents where I was.
Then I laughed again. The old woman just looked at me puzzled, then laughed with me. I
dont know why laughing with her made me feel better but it did. With another giggle I grabbed
my letter and then just stared at it. She gathered my letter, briefly looked it over then looked at
me. She took it and the envelope on which I wrote my parents address and left. I dont know
what she was going to do but it made fear course through me. What if they find me? Laughter. It
happened again. Why was I so afraid of my parents? I was a 25 year old woman. I would be 26
this upcoming year, I did not need the approval from my parents, I did not need to keep fearing
father would drag me home. Even if they did find me, I am an adult, they could not force me to
eat my breakfast let alone make me go back to their house.

That is when it hit me, I no longer thought of their house as my home. Washington felt
more like home than their house did. I felt lighter, having gotten to that realization. But the real
problem was still there. How would I communicate with my best friend? Without knowing what
it was I was doing I began to write. I wrote and then I wrote some more. When I finally finished
writing the small kitchen was basked in the evening light of a setting sun. The pages in my hands
felt heavy but my heart felt light. I sealed my letters in an envelope and decided that was enough
for one day. Going to sleep that night was the first time I did not lay in bed tossing and turning.
When my head hit the pillow my mind was blissfully dark and my sleep dreamless.
The following morning I arranged for a P.O. Box to be set up. I would have any letters
sent to me go through there. Any letters I sent would not have a return address. I would not be in
Washington much longer. As I walked back from the Post Office I stopped by the market to buy
some flowers. The late August air was still clinging desperately to the warm summer nights, but
fall was fast approaching.
Back at the small home I told the old woman about the P.O. box and my need to continue
traveling. I thanked her for her hospitality and asked her to forward my letters to me. I would
check in with her once a week, per her request, and let her know immediately if I decided to
move to a new place. With a tear streaked face, she got up, kissed me on my forehead, and
shuffled out of the room.
I left a week later beginning my new journey with only a small wad of cash in my pocket.
The remainder of my money I left to her. She would be able to hire help with it.
Reaching into my bag to grab my sunglasses I felt an unfamiliar weight. I pulled out a
small package, inside was an old cell phone with a number scrawled onto a post-it note. Another
note read A pay as you go phone so we can call each other. Dont worry I bought it in my name
so its not linked to you. Remember your promise to check in once a week. Until I see your face
again. I placed it gently back into its pocket and started my motorcycle. With a full tank I decide
I would not stop until I needed to fill up again. I buckled my helmet on my head, wiped a tear
from my cheek and rode of with the rising sun on my back.
Almost 400 miles later I found myself in Nelson, British Columbia. Starving, tired, and a
little irritated by the Mounties, I was awestruck by the beautiful mountains ahead of me. I could
not wait to head into them, but that would have to wait until the next day. A shower, a meal, and

a place to stay for the night were in order. Finding a room in a small motel was not hard, trying
to sleep that night was. The mountains called to me, but I was too exhausted to answer.
Morning came by so quickly, it did not feel as if I had slept. Quickly gathering my
meager belongings together, I check out and head to the nearest store. Once in the store I call
and leave a message for the old woman. I have made it to the halfway point of my destination
and would call her as soon as I can. I purchase enough food for a three day trip, some extra
clothes, a hunting knife and hatchet, a first aid kit, and a starter camping kit. With my new
possessions strapped to my motorcycle I head off to breakfast. While eating a plate of pancakes,
eggs, and bacon, I stare at the little prepaid phone. I stare at it long enough that my coffee mug
has been refilled twice already. Looking at the clock I see that it is 8am. It would be 11am in
New York right now. If she is still the same predictable girl, my best friend will be in the shower
right now. Considering Saturday is the only day she lets herself sleep in, she will be getting
ready for her day right now. I quickly dial her number, hoping that she has stayed just as
predictable.
The phone rings once, twice, then instead of a third time I hear click, then Hello?
Silence, I sit there silently, not able to formulate words. Hello? a little quieter this time. Still
nothing comes out of my mouth, I am sitting here stuck in my own world. Maggie, is that you?
this is barely whispered, Please, if this is not then just hang up. I can hear the tears on her side
of the phone, the pain in her voice. Hi. I choke out. Sobbing, that is what I hear on her end, I
hear the phone hit the ground and the panicked shuffle to pick it back up. Maggie, oh God,
Maggie is it really you? Hi Jill I sob, I am so sorry. With that the I throw some money on
the table and walk out of the tiny diner. Phone still pressed to my ear, all I hear on the other side
is crying, then sniffling, until finally in a quiet whisper Maggie Maggie why? Before I
quickly respond I hear just barely Maggie, why did you leave me like that? It is now my turn
to cry. I cry and cry, until my sobs turn into hiccups. The only thing I hear myself hoarsely say
is Jill, I am so sorry, but I had to leave. I hear nothing but sniffles and then silence in between,
then I say I wrote a letter that you should be getting in a few days, I just wanted to let you know
I was ok. I am sorry, I love you Jilly Bean Before hanging up I wait a few seconds, broken

and sad I wait for the sign that she is still my best friend, and I am still hers. Barely audible, but
I hear it right before hanging up, I love you too, Maggie Soup. Having had that heartbreaking
conversation, I climb back on my bike and head off towards the heart of the Nelson Mountain
range.
Two hours into my ride, I begin to feel less anxious. I have this strange feeling of
weightlessness. There is nothing to stop me, nothing between me and simply living. Whether I
live off the land in a cottage or simply walk into the woods and disappear, there is nothing at all
stopping me. I pause briefly on my ride to then