Chapter 14 June 22nd, 2001 This Friday morning didnt feel like a Friday.

. It seemed just like every other weekday, waking up alone to the sound of a blaring alarm. Stretching, and rolling out from under the sheets, Allison pulled the cord of the clock radio from the socket and sleepily made her way into the kitchen. Her three-sizes-too-big-t-shirt fit her like a dress and smelled like it hadnt been washed since the eighties concert her mom got it from. Pouring herself a bowl of cereal and throwing a piece of toast on the frying pan, Allison looked out the filthy window. The sun had just woken up. The birds were chatting away: same old crap. Flipping the toast over with one hand, and taking a bite of cereal with the other, Allison called out with a full mouth, Mom? No response. Looking out the window, neither Bills bike or truck sat in the driveway. Peeking into the garage: empty. She shrugs. Probably running late. Typical. Shuffling back to her room, Allison reached under the mattress removing the letters Marshal had sent her. Ordinarily, Allison would have thrown away the apologies, and excuses for being unable to help finish the jet, but she kept them all. Shed read and reread them a dozen times. When Allison heard that little voice in her head urging her to jump off the proverbial cliff and end it all, shed follow Marshals written words back to a place of temporary hope. It was a hope that escape was still possible. The sun was now wide-awake, and the birds had flown from their nest. Stuffing the letters back under the mattress, Allison put on a pair of tattered black jeans, and her moms Blondie T-shirt. Taking relaxing breaths on her way to the garage, Allison waited for that rusted door to creek upwards, walked Marshals bike out into driveway, and rode to the last place her mom would have been.

As Allison glided down the street towards Bills shop, she tried to think why Marshals dad would be so interested in her mom. So what if she was from Canada? What difference did it make? Turning into the parking lot, Allison shifted her leg over sidesaddle and coasted over towards the aluminum sided building. Leaning the bike against the wall, Allison was surprised by the stillness in the normally bustling garage. Cautiously, the young girl approached the empty desk. Hello? After a few minutes, Bill finally came out of his office waddling up to the desk, taking the cigarette out of his mouth, whats up kido? Is my mom still here? The balding man took another long drag on his cigarette. Exhaling a puff of smoke, he shook his head, sent her home at about two AM. Confused, Allison kept digging, well, she didnt come back. This news didnt seem to shake the old man much. He looked down at Allison with indifference; she works this mornin don she? Yeah, shes supposed to bring me along though. Bill remains unmoved, his eyes starring through Allison. Finally, after letting loose another mouth full of smoke. Why dont you take a seat? Ill see if I can get a hold of your ma. Sticking his cigarette back between his lips, Bill went back to his little side office past the auto lifts and stacks of tires. Chills ran up the young girls back, prompting Allison to look over her shoulder. Outside in the main lot, Bills truck was parked right next to his bike. The young girl dismissed the possibility of her mom having to walk

home at two in the morning. Looking back over to the little office, Bill had his phone pressed to his ear, but kept his gaze firmly on Allison. The old mans eyes seemed to send little microwaves through the air, into Allison, making her blood boil. Breaking eye contact, the young girl looked onto the front desk counter. Motorcycle keys lay out in the open, unguarded. From behind her, Bill wrapped up his conversation, yes sir, well wait right here for ya... Okay you too. As Bill walked back to the desk, Allison heard him call out, Alli, whered ya run off to? She couldnt hear the rest as she jammed the key into the ignition, summoning the engine to life. There were shouts of protest, but they were ignored as Allison peeled out of the parking lot and back up the hill. The rush of anxiety spread over her along with the wind; where would she go? Where would be safe? Where was her mom? She banked sharply onto Owl drive. Her knee nearly scraped the asphalt. Straightening out, Allison learned from her last fall to ease off the break. Rolling into her garage, she dismounted and cut the engine. Darkness fell again as the garage door descended. Running through the living room, into the bedroom, Allison quickly reached under the mattress for her letters. Heart pounding, and gasping for breath, Allison took a second to survey the room, but there wasnt anything else to see. Everything that Allison treasured fit into her jean pockets, it made it easier to leave. As Allison rushed back to the door, the sound of Bills truck and his fat footsteps approached the door. Now look here little girl, you come out here right now! Sprinting to the door, Allison slammed her weight against the hardwood and threw the dead bolt.

Still out of breath, her heart would surely burst through her ribs at any moment. Chubby hands continued to beat at the door. Looking through the peephole, the frightened girl saw Bill raving away. Two more cars also pulled up into the driveway: black paint, black windows, and no licenses plates. She kept watching as men in black and tan suits exited the vehicles and slowly approached the house. Still pressed against the door, Allison could hear the murmuring between Bill and the suits. The girl is inside? Spoke a deep and unfamiliar voice. Allison Arrowynn, we need you to open the door, another calmly suggested. Looking once more through the peep hole, Allison watched as one of the men pulled out a radio, this is Thompson: have the local sheriff stand by. The second man, not Thompson, spoke up again, Ms. Arrowynn, we need you to open the door right now. As the pounding on the door intensified, Allison quickly pushed the old couch from the window to block the door. It wouldnt hold for long, but just long enough. Scrambling to the garage, Allison grabbed hold of the motorcycle. The sound of the front door being kicked in exploded through the house. Straddling Bills bike, Allison took one last look at Marshals bike before pushing off through the tarp covering the hole in the wall. Coasting through her neighbors backyard, down the freshly cutgrass hill, her heart continued to race. The morning suns rays punched through the tree branches as Allison gained momentum. Humid air combed its fingers through her hair, and sirens sounded off in the distance. Amongst the chaos, her questions remain

Where would she go? Where would be safe? Where was her mom? Allisons brain told her to put as much distance between her and the police car turning down the street. Her gut said the safest place she could make it to would be Marshals house as the squad car flashed its lights. Her heart said something, but Allison couldnt hear as she turned the ignition and cut across the grass from Boschert Drive to Barton place. Pushing through the Cul-de-Sac, through strangers yards, over Hawthorn, over St. Richards, over St. George Way, Allison kept moving. The sirens were still behind her as she cut through lawns, but grew faint as she continued through the five variations of Elm Streets. Sweat poured from Allisons brow with every last ounce of energy devoted to clutching the handlebars. As she reached the blind crest leading to the end of Elmwood Park, she braved to stand up on the bike to check for traffic when, rocketing up from the end of the Cul-De-Sac, another jet-blackunmarked-sedan headed directly at Allison. Allison swerved sharply into a collision course with thick shrubbery. Ejected from the bike, she came down rolling shoulder first onto the ground as Marshal had showed her once. She ignoring the pain, clawing up from the ground. Running on fumes, she bolted towards the trees before the men could take her. It wasnt until she was at a splintered wooden fence that Allison risked a glance over her shoulder. The coast was clear. Dizzy and out of breath, she limped back to the bush to collect the bike. Still idling, Allison grabbed the handle bar, using the bike as a crutch to get down the street, cutting through the grass, and staying in the shadows.

When she had reached the edge of Marshals house, she carefully walked the bike down the hill to the backyard. It was a backyard that seemingly went on forever. Finally, reaching the woods, Allison set the bike down on its side and proceeded to cover it with leaves, twigs, sticks If only she could just bury herself. She wouldnt mind being swallowed by the earth. The earth was soft. The earth was warm. The earth was the only thing Allison would give permission to touch her, and get under her skin. Maybe not the only one, but her heart needed to be quiet now. Limping back through the vast backyard that could have been a soccer field, she tried to remember which one was Marshals room. She tried to convince herself that asking Marshal for help wasnt stupid. She tried to convince herself that Marshal could help. She tried to dismiss the fact that two of the three things her mother told her to value were arguing with her heart. Maybe boys made hearts stupid? Bellow Marshals window was a small plastic tool shed, the type you buy at Lowes when you dont have room to store stuff. If it didnt hurt to laugh, Allison would have at least chuckled that a house this size wasnt big enough to hold whatever was in the plastic shed. At any rate, the shed was easy enough to climb upon, and reach Marshals open window. Standing on her tiptoes, Allison was just tall enough to reach the windowsill. Gripping tight to the ledge, Allison pulled herself up, kicking at the wall with her taped together Converse, vaulting through the window and onto the carpet. Using the wall to get to her feet, Allison took in her surroundings This was Marshals room.

Three years ago, Allison remembered her mom persuaded the front desk guy at this one hotel to let them sleep in a suite. It was the cleanest, brightest, most comfortable bed Allison had ever slept on. All the furniture looked new, and it didnt have that motel smell of knock off air freshener, it was real air freshener. There were fresh flowers. There were sheets that werent torn or stained. It was luxury. Standing on carpet that was only dirty because of the mud Allison brought in with her, everything except the flowers from that hotel suite were here in Marshals room. The door to Marshals room was shut. She could just sit in the closet, wait for Marshal, and hope he doesnt spaz out. It wasnt an awful plan, and Marshal wasnt really a spaz to begin with, but it wasnt a productive plan. There werent any cars in the driveway. There werent any footsteps creeping through the house. Holding her breath, Allison tiptoed up to the door, and slid it open. Across from Marshals room was a hotel bathroom. It was the cleanest bathroom she had ever laid eyes on. She was mortified that Marshal had seen her bathroom. He must think she was like some kind of homeless-cat-lady. Allison attempted to wash away that particular thought along with the blood and mud on her shirt and arm. She watched the mud and blood and water spiral down into the drain and disappear: still felt dirty. Allison braved to sneak down the hall. She had taken off her shoes and hid them in Marshals closet. Up a set of marble steps, past what looked like a wing of a Searss Department Store, but what they probably called a living room. At last, a kitchen, a restaurant, what was this place Marshal called home? Was he just pretending that he wanted to run away? More questions that Allison had no answers for. Had to keep it simple

Was Allison Hungry? Yes. Was there a refrigerator full of food? Also yes. Did the garage door just open? Yes. Running through the hall with an apple in her hand, Allison made it back to Marshals room, closed the door, and dove into the closet. She carefully pulled the doors closed and held her breath. She could hear a pair of footsteps marching through the house, stomping down stairs, doors underneath being flung open. Voices arguing. Drawers were being opened. More shouting. Silence. Allison remembered the question that went through her mind earlier that morning: what did Marshals dad want with her mom? What did Marshal tell his dad about her mom? What if Marshal told him everything? Allisons pulse started to race again. Her heart beat faster as a single set of footsteps climbed the stairs, reached the top, and started trudging down the hall. Her heart was pumping so fast now that it would almost look like it was flat lining. The door to Marshals room slowly slid open, and closed. She could feel a presence linger on the other side of the door. The Wild Girl didnt know what to feel, she couldnt choose from the fear of her missing mother, the fear of Marshals dad, or the rage from Marshals betrayal. She let that boy touch her. She almost let him under her skin. When Marshal threw open the closet door, Allison went with rage.