Escape

Escape: Ch. 8

          “Cole, honey, there are more important things than children. Such as keeping alive, staying full, and life. So why don’t we just lay low, say nothing, and if anyone says anything, ignore it. Seriously, why not? We need the money, Cole. I can’t afford losing you and life,” Mrs. Atwood murmured the last part, appealing to the man beside her as she sniffed back fake tears, trembling.

          “Trina…” Within seconds, Trina felt his arms wrap around her. She buried her face in his warm coat, letting her muscles relax. Maybe she really could fall in love with this wonderful man again. But once poverty took its toll, it usually wormed its way back into your heart, laying down layer after layer of cement. Then, it hardened around your heart, and made you cold. Cold as stone. That was what you could describe Mrs. Atwood as. Cold as stone.

          Mel strode back and forth in her office, in time with the swinging ancient grandfather clock beside her. Tick, tock. Step, turn.

          “Mrs.?” Mel turned abruptly, so see that the police was back.

          “Officer! Where is my daughter?”

          “We don’t know yet, Mrs. I’m sorry.”

           Mel sighed and collapsed into her chair, emotionally and physically drained.

          “You have to find her, Marvin.”

          “I’m doing the best I can, Mrs.”

          “For goodness sake, call me Mel!” Any other time, she would’ve said that calling her Mrs. made her sound old. But now, it just reminded her of her late husband, not there to help her find Jasmine. She needed her daughter; Jasmine was all that Mel had left. Sure, she sometimes chose her work or other distractions over her only child, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t love her. She did, just was so attached to her job that Mel sometimes forgot that she even had a child. That wouldn’t be the way things went after she found Jasmine, though.

          “Yes, ma’am, Mel. We are trying as hard as we can to find your daughter. Don’t worry, we will bring her back.”

          “Thank you, officer.”

          Rebecca woke up with two feelings that she didn’t wake up to very often.

          One, she was impossibly stiff and curled up tightly to the uncomfortable tree.

          Two, her face was sticky from all of the crying.

          Rebecca sighed, sat up, and dried her eyes with the back of her hands, wincing at how the streaks of black came off sticky and in chunks of mascara, eye shadow, foundation, and all of the makeup that she normally used.

          After a few minutes of furiously scraping at her face to get rid of the residue makeup, (no matter what her Botox surgeon thought) all was removed from her face, transferred to her fingernails and hands. Lovely.

          “Becka?” Jazz’s small voice was laden with sleep. Sitting up, Rebecca watched Jazz rub her eyes. Purple bags made her eyes seem much larger and more innocent than they usually were, and Rebecca had a fleeting moment of guilt that she pushed away, wondering how much sleep Jazz had gotten last night, and if she had stayed up all night for her.

          “What about calling me Peck? You switching?” Rebecca asked haughtily. She saw a bit of disappointment flash through Jazz’s eyes at her mean tone, but she didn’t care. Just because she had shown a moment of weakness last night didn’t mean that she was a new Rebecca.