In Pursuit Of ✔

Back on the Road, Again

Henley half ran, half walked, for what felt like hours. A couple of cars passed her, but she could hear them coming before they could see her, and she would lie down in the field she walked along until they passed out of sight.

The sky lit up with a soft, gray light as Henley passed the first houses on the outskirts of the town. It was only now that Henley realized she didn't have a plan.

Blood ran all the way down one of her legs, staining her sock. All four of Henley's limbs were scratched up from the tree. She was sure her face was bruised. Henshaw's blood stained her clothes. She was covered in dirt from lying down to hide from cars. And those were just the things Henley was aware of. In other words, she was a complete mess, and the last thing she wanted was someone calling the police. She didn't trust them. She didn't trust anyone but Nick.

Not to mention, she still had the gun tucked into her waistband, and without a hoodie, it was very visible. Henley pulled it out and turned it over in her hand. Very aware that the police would be called if she walked into town with it, Henley emptied it of its bullets and threw all the pieces in a trashcan that sat on the side of the road. She didn't think she'd be able to pull the trigger, anyway. Not with her current mental state.

And right now, she needed a phone more than she needed a gun.

The houses Henley passed were all quiet; it was too early in the morning for anyone to get up. But, as Henley saw she was just about to reach the shops and restaurants of the main town, the front door of a house opened and a woman stepped through the doorway.

Henley froze. So did the woman. They stared at each other, and panic began to build in Henley's entire body.

The woman held out her hand. "Do you need help, my dear?"

Henley could have wept. The woman's voice was so calm, so soothing, that Henley found herself walking up to the house and climbing up to the porch. The woman stood back and allowed Henley inside.

The woman brought Henley into the dining room and sat her down on a chair. The woman pulled a chair in front of Henley and took a seat.

"Do you want me to call the police?" the woman asked, sounding as concerned as she looked.

Henley immediately shook her head. "No," she said weakly. "No, no police."

The worry lines on the woman's face only deepened. "Honey, whatever you're caught in, there are people who can help."

There was one person who could help. "Can I just use your phone? Please? I have a friend, he can help, he knows what to do, he can help, I just need to call him. Please."

After a moment's hesitation, the woman handed Henley her cellphone. Henley accepted it, her hand trembling as she held it in her hand. "Can I get your address?"

The woman picked up a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down what Henley requested. "I'll give you a moment," she said, and got up and went into her kitchen.

Nick's phone number remained burned into Henley's mind. Her body still shaking, she clumsily punched it in to the keypad and help the phone up to her ear. It rang, and rang, and rang. Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up.

"What?"

Henley almost sobbed at the sound of his voice. "Nick?" Her voice trembled.

There was a sharp inhale on the other side of the line. "Henley?" Nick's voice was bursting with emotion, but relief rang clearest of all. "I don't--where are you?"