The Runaway House

Two . Closing the Distance

   "What's your name, anyway?" he asks. He has one hand on the wheel and one on the volume dial on the truck's radio, turning it down.

We've been driving for two hours, listening to terrible country songs.

"What's yours?" I ask suspiciously, narrowing my eyes at him.

He smiles like I'm an oblivious five-year-old. He's still relaxed, still confident. And he hasn't shown any signs of hostility. But how can I trust him? Do I really have any other choice?

"Jeff."

"Lee," I say.

It's not my real name. It's a nickname no one has ever called me. But I can't give my real name. Not yet. The murderer may not know it, but I don't want him to be able to connect the soon-to-be "missing" ads in the newspaper with it. If my parents get their way, my name will be printed everywhere.

"Isn't that a boy's name?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "It can probably be both. I like it, anyway. It's tomboyish."

"But it's not your real name."

I'm silent. For all the lies I've caught, one would think I'd be a pro at telling them.

"All right, Lee. Here's something you need to understand about me: I've met plenty of kids like you. Most of them lie about their names. I get that you don't want to tell me, but just know that I can tell when you lie about these things."

I shift uncomfortably, my fingernails digging into the matted fabric of the seat. "Okay," I say. "Creepy."

Jeff sighs. "Get some sleep, maybe. We'll probably get there around midnight, and you'll be up for a few hours once we get there."

"Where exactly are we going?"

"My home. Well, it's not my home anymore. But it's where I grew up."

"And there are a lot of people my age there?"

"Yes. And plenty who are younger. It's a safe haven for runaways."

"Isn't that against the law?"

"Well, Mum tries to get kids back to their homes as soon as possible, if that can be managed."

I bet most of them aren't running from murderers. Foster homes, abusive parents, maybe something even as trivial as school? I could see that. I wonder how many of the kids were abandoned or homeless. Maybe they're thieves or something.

Or maybe this strange doctor guy named Jeff is making all of this up and he's working with the murderer.

Probably not. I look him over carefully. He could use a shave, but at the same time the rugged look is comforting. He has his hands on the wheel, leaning into his seat. It's like he's picked up plenty of desperate girls before.

I wonder if he has.

"Sleep, Lee. I know it's hard, but you're going to need it."

So I turn away and watch the sunset, pretending to try to take a nap. We pass through multiple small, rundown towns. At every turn, I keep my eyes peeled for the wild-eyed murderer.

When he'd first seen me, he'd just yelled in frustration at the inconvenience of a witness. I'd been glued to my spot, terrified of those green eyes. It wasn't until he pounced toward me that I screeched and ran.

I don't know how I managed to lose him. Maybe I didn't.

I close my eyes and rub my face. You're going to be okay. I close my eyes, and after too many potholes and the wailing of the radio, I drift off to sleep.

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