Stranger No Danger

Escaping Again

I froze in horror. How did they manage to figure that out? I started shaking as Arlen stood up and bombarded the receptionist with questions.

"How is that possible? This is two stops before Whitehorn Creek. We're two and a half hours from Juniper," he exclaimed, and I could hear fear coloring his voice.

The receptionist shook her head, repeating that she didn't know.

Arlen's expression and tone suddenly changed. "Unless... somehow... they knew someone helped Michelle escape, figured out that someone was me, and then tracked my phone."

He took out his phone and stared at it.

The receptionist spoke up quietly, "It's possible. The traffickers these days know everything about tracking their victims."

"Fuck!" Arlen exclaimed. He backed away from the front desk, running his hands across his face in distress.

I was still sitting glued to my seat, cold sweat beginning to soak my clothes. The receptionist picked up the phone again and began making calls, but Arlen didn't want to wait.

"We need to get the hell out of here," he said, and I could tell he was beginning to panic as well. "I'm gonna throw my phone out in a field or something. Michelle, we have to go."

The receptionist gestured and insisted that we stay here, but Arlen refused. I was hardly processing what was happening. Arlen knelt down in front of me and grabbed my hands, looking at my blank, terrified expression. His mouth was moving but I couldn't hear anything he was saying.

Finally, I was gently shaken out of my stupor.

"Michelle, we need to go," he insisted sternly.

I broke my silence. "No, I can't," I cried out. "I don't want to go anywhere. I just want to be back in Los Angeles. I'm too fucking scared."

I gestured frantically at Arlen. "How do I know you're not a trafficker too?" I knew it couldn't be true but my mind was racing in every possible direction.

Arlen looked me deep in the eyes. "Even if I were, do you think you would be in a police station right now? I would've taken you away at the first train stop."

I fell silent again, my entire body tense with fear. I knew he was right and even though I hardly knew him, I trusted him with my life. He had saved me from an awful situation and was more than anxious to keep helping me, staying up all night to bring me to a police station where I would be the safest. Except now, my captors knew exactly where I was, so I was no longer safe. Arlen continued to watch my face, waiting for my response.

"Okay," I whispered. "Let's go."

"Alright."

He stood up, holding my hand firmly in his, and managed to convince one of the police officers on break to drive us down to the closest, more developed town. After tossing his phone in a field 10 minutes down the road, we continued along our journey in silence. I glued myself to Arlen's side and clung pathetically on to his arm. Even though there was literally an armed police officer trained in these kinds of situations, I still felt better being in Arlen's presence.

After about 45 minutes we reached the neighboring city of Fenders, a relatively small town but still much better than the rural countryside. We thanked the officer and sat at a random bus stop to figure out what to do next.

"Do you think they could've tracked us here too?" I asked quietly.

Arlen squeezed my hand. "I hope not," he replied. "I think we bought ourselves some time by coming here. They'll need to figure out where we went after Simplestreet."