How to Escape an Assassin

27: XO

I drew in a sharp breath. "The one with the deeper voice" of the Fabiano brothers was undoubtedly Tristan. I balled my hand into a fist around my birthday necklace pendant. This gift from my secret guardian had been a beacon of hope during a time that I was drowning in sorrows. The message inscribed on the pendant which read "~I will be your shelter~" had been consolation to me. Was it just a ruse for the sole purpose of tracking me? Was this the second time that someone wormed their way into my fragile heart just to smash me to pieces?

I unclasped the chain from my neck and cast the necklace out of the passenger-side window as I cruised in the highway designated slow lane. I was left with an acidic feeling in my chest.

"Onward," I encouraged myself. Listening to the voicemail from Eoin reminded me yet again of his principle "Move without trace." I shut off my phone. I would need to ditch Tristan's car next. With no time wasted, I got off of the first highway exit which conveniently let out at the entrance to a downtown metro area in the heart of Delaware. I was familiar with some parts of Delaware since it was the location of my alma mater. I vaguely recognized my surroundings and recalled that I wasn't far from my old acquaintances' home. During my college years, I had met an older Christian couple named Glorivee and Sterling Provost who offered a lot of volunteer opportunities for students on campus. 

The Provosts were the most selfless, kindhearted people that I had ever met. They openly welcomed drug abuse victims, domestic violence victims, homeless, and refugees into their home. They didn't turn away anyone. I was banking on being able to go to them for help.

I abandoned Tristan's car beneath a bridge and left it unlocked with the key inside. It would be a lucky day for whoever found it, and an unlucky tomorrow once Tristan found them.

I walked a few blocks to the train station where there were taxis stationed out front. Reading the look on my face, one of the taxi drivers waved me over to get in. With my travel bags tucked in both arms, I thrust open the taxi backdoor and plopped down in the seat.

"Where ya' headed?" the driver asked with his heavy Jersey accent and a lisp.

"Um..." Curse my bad memory. I was having trouble remembering the Provosts' address. "Corner of... Hudson Street and Towerville Drive in Brookside."

"No such thing as Towerville Drive, hun."

"Oh... Tower-"

"Towerview. No problem."

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

I stood at the front door of an ivory-colored two-story colonial home with bright blue shutters, which had a freshly trimmed lawn and perfectly manicured garden of sunflowers and Cape Jasmine bushes.

I twiddled my thumbs, hesitant to knock at the door and throw my problems all over them. Would I be inadvertently introducing them to danger by seeking their refuge? That was the last thing that I would ever want to do. With a brooding sigh, I turned on my heels to leave.

But then the front door burst open behind me. "Hi, can I help you?" Her voice was like honeydew. I spun back around to see the familiar face of Glorivee Provost. The fifty-something-year-old woman's skin drooped and she had crepe-y eyes. But the youthful joy was ever-present in her friendly smile.

"Do you remember me?" I questioned, hopeful.

Her smile didn't fade. "I believe I do. You were a student at University of Delaware, weren't you?"

"Yes, that's me. My name is Milan Lee. I hate to ask you this Mrs. Glorivee, but I need a place to stay for a while. I... understand if it's too much to ask..." I trailed off.