Northern Escape

CHAPTER 1

I Wished to Live Deliberately

—Henry David Thoreau

Do you have any rooms available?" Grace asked the dark-skinned woman behind the counter who studied her before looking down at the computer screen. Grace knew she should have changed before checking in. Her wavy, dark brown hair was pulled through the back of her cap into a low ponytail. She always wore it that way and cursed herself for being so stupid. He would be able to track her more easily if she didn't change her appearance soon.

 "Yes, we have two open on the third floor. Would you like the Orchid Room or the Tulip?" she asked. 

"The Tulip," Grace answered in a low voice, trying not to make eye contact, wishing she had covered her gray eyes with sunglasses. Accepting the room key, she grabbed her pack and headed up the stairs to the left of the counter. 

Pulling her cap off, Grace gave her hair a shake as she climbed, remembering . . . 

"Where are you going?" he had demanded. 

"To get groceries," she'd replied. 

Appalled, he asked, "Looking like that?"

Grace looked down at her outfit. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. 

"What's wrong with how I look?" She knew the backtalk would tick him off, but she didn't care. 

"Put your hair up and wear this." He threw a sweatshirt at her. 

Grace caught the sweatshirt and walked to the door without putting it on. 

He'd been getting pushier and pushier, and Grace was tired of it. She pulled the door open and began to step through it when a hand reached over her shoulder. As he pushed the door shut, it glanced off Grace's shoulder before cutting into the side of her lower leg. 

She cried out and fell to the floor. 

Yanking Grace away from the door, he slammed it shut and slid the chain in place. 

"Shut up. You want everyone hearing?" 

"Maybe I do!" Grace yelled back at him. 

He lunged at her, and she welcomed a slap to her face. At least then she would have evidence of the terrible abuses he inflicted on her daily, most of which left no mark. He was a sociopath who controlled her every move and was smart enough not to leave evidence of his mistreatment. Instead, his face turned cold and he grabbed the purse out of Grace's hand. 

"We'll order in," he stated and walked to the kitchen to make the call for delivery. 

Finding the third-floor Tulip room, Grace slid her key in and clicked open the lock. Stepping into the dark room, curtains drawn, she didn't bother to turn on the light. Shutting the door behind her, Grace leaned on it and slowly slid to the floor just as the silent tears began to trail down her face.

Blinking through the blurriness, her eyes focused on something pink. A flower, a tulip. Pulling her T-shirt up to dry her face, Grace saw why the room was called the Tulip Room. It was pretty—the carpet, the wallpaper, the curtains. 

Standing, Grace walked to the bedside table and turned on the lamp. She picked up her bag from the floor and pulled out what she'd been able to bring along. A few clothes, toiletries, driver's license, cell phone, and a big envelope of cash. She'd emptied out her account the day before, knowing she wouldn't be able to access it without him knowing where she was.