Fault Line [Completed]

Chapter Four

The sun is about to set when I find it. The perfect place to spend the night.

An abandoned house.

Well, it's not totally abandoned. Just some of the rooms aren't being used. As it appears, no one has been inside there for some time, police included. I smile is success, this should be good for tonight.

I glance over my shoulders as casually as possible and then approach the building. No one is watching me, I hope. I open the door, wincing as the door squeaks loudly. I quickly step inside the building and close the door fast. It doesn't really make a sound.

 I walk down the small hallway and notice a room to my right. Entering the room, there are tons of supplies lying on the ground. Sleeping bags, flashlights, a backpack full of food. Suddenly a girl holding a gun steps out of the darkness.

The girl has wavy black hair that goes to her elbows, with a purple streak on her left side. Fair skin, gray eyes and . . . did I mention that she's holding a gun?!

"Who are you?" She asks, gripping the gun tighter.

"J- Janet. Janet Craer." I lie, I can't have her know my true identity.

"That's not your real name is it?"

I hesitate. "N-no."

She smirks. "Thought so.

"H-how did you know?"

"Rule number one: Don't tell anyone your real name." She shrugs.

I nod, shooting an anxious glance at the gun. (Haha).

"Are you a runaway too?"

"And by runaway, you mean?" I ask.

"Running from the coppers. By the way, FBI's most wanted." She points to herself with her free hand.

I couldn't stop myself. "What did you do?"

"The usual; robbed a bank, killed three people, then there's the problem with the museum. And . . . I think that's it . . . nope! I killed one more person." She smiles slightly.

I stare wide eyed at her. Totally forgetting about the gun in her hand, aimed at my head.

She just burst out laughing after a couple seconds. "Out of all of the times I said that, YOU have had the best expression! Oh, do it again! Do it for me! Oh, that was just . . ." she continues to laugh her head off.

What just happened?

"Hoo, anyway. I was in speeding car, well, I was drunk, but still . . . the police said their stuff and I made a run for it. Surprisingly, I have a very smart mind for a drunk person. What about you?" She asks. Noticing the look I'm giving her, she continues. "That's what really happened, tell me about yourself. You must be fabulous." She lays down on her sleeping bag, resting her chin on her hand. The gun still pointed at me.

"I'll tell you if you put the gun down." I negotiate.

She eyes me carefully and then nods. Placing the gun in her bag, she takes out a small blanket and throws it to me. I take it willingly and wrap it around my shoulders. I sit on the old wooden floor and begin to tell her my story.

"Before I tell you, you can't judge me. You weren't there." She nods and I continue. "My mother abused for three years and basically a week ago . . . I . . . I stabbed her and killed her. And only a couple days ago I ran away." I look down.

I made such a big mistake. But it wasn't my fault, she hurt me first, right? Right . . . I don't know.

"Lizzy." The girl spoke up.

"What?" I ask, looking at her gray eyes.

"My name; Lizzy. Lizzy Stouff."

"Oh . . . Jane. Jane Carter."

"And that's your real name?" She asks.

"Unless my mom lied to me about my name." I try to lighten the mood.

She laughs quietly and then asks, "Why did your mom start to abuse you? Something must have happened."

I take a deep breath. "My father died. Drunk driver hit him."

Lizzy looks down. Almost looking . . . sad. I shake my head, I need to figure what to do.

"How old are you?" I ask, breaking the silence.

"Twenty." She replies, still not looking up.

"Underage drinking?"

"I'm not proud of what I did. But it's done now and I can't go back and change it now. Even if its been years."

"Agreed. I wonder what would happen if I hadn't . . . killed her."

"You'd probably still be getting abused by your mother, why didn't you tell anybody about that?"

"She threatened my by using my younger sisters. She said that if I ever told anybody she would hurt them."

"Ah." Minutes of silence passed over us, it finally ended when Lizzy annouces that we should sleep. "And don't worry, I won't murder you in your sleep. I don't kill people. I get drunk and run." She smiles.

I chuckle as she gives me a spare pillow and another blanket.

"Where did you get all of this stuff?" I ask, noticing multiple bags.

"Oh, I've been here for a long time."

"How long?" I ask, gripping the blanket harder as if it would soon disappear.

"Two years, or around that."

I nod. The silence coming back.

"Good night, Jane Carter."

"Good night, Lizzy Stouff." I reply as I close my eyes, drifting quickly off to sleep.

***************

One week later

"So, this is how you spend most of your weekends here?" I ask Lizzy as we sit in a cafe.

"Yep. No one's noticed me yet."

"You sit in a cafe and drink coffee?"

She shrugs. "Can't think of anything better to do with my time."

"Don't you run from the police at all?" I lower my voice.

She leans over the table to get closer to me. "You know why I went here?" I shake my head. "Because the police here are surprisingly slower than anywhere else. Unless the FBI is involved." She returns to her normal postition. "Life's pretty easy here. You've been with me for a week and nothing bad has happened yet." She twirls a strand of her black hair.

I smile along with her and we finish our drinks. I find myself doodling on a napkin when Lizzy exclaims in a hushed tone.

"Speak of the bloody devil!"

"What is it?" I ask concerned.

She untucked the hair gathered behind her left ear, creating a small curtain of hair blocking her face. "FBI." She mouths.

Now we're in trouble.