Escape

Part 8

"Hey, Janet! Look at the T.V.! That chica looks like you," Alejandro said, pointing to the fuzzy screen in front of him.

Half melted in the heat of an Austin high summer, I looked up from my spot next to the wheezing air conditioning to see a photo of myself, age ten, on the evening news.

"Yeah. Isn't your hair blonde?" asked Lisa.

One of the first things I had done was dye my hair dark brown. After I found a job, and an apartment, I also bought a flat iron to tame my frizzy waves.

"Do you really think so?" I asked, wrinkling my nose as if I couldn't see the resemblance. My roomates were nice, but Lisa was well aware that my past was as off-limits as my bedroom.

"Nah, that girl is only eighteen. Our Janet is older than that," Alejandro said, leaning back into the couch.

I couldn't hear the broadcast over the buzz of the AC in my ear. "What happened to her?" I asked.

"Dunno," replied Lisa. "I guess she went missing. Somewhere up in Idaho."

The screen flashed to a view of Swiftcreek's main thoroughfare, and a bubbly blonde reporter narrating into a microphone. Lisa stole the remote off of Alejandro's lap and turned up the volume.

"...missing for over two years, but was not reported. Jedidiah Compton is being held on charges of abuse and suspicion of murder. While local authorities have declined comment, Christopher Compton has prepared a statement."

The scene changed to my cousin, Chris. A few years older than me, I hadn't seen him since I was a kid. He stood behind a podium with press flashes going off in his face. I couldn't hear what he was saying. There was a strange buzzing sound in my ears and I was a little dizzy. What was Chris even doing in Swiftcreek? How had he found out I was gone? Aunt Maddie and Uncle Bud moved to Louisiana when I was twelve. Chris had always referred to me as his annoying shadow. So why was he looking for me?

I got unsteadily to my feet and hurried to my room, where I threw up in the trash can under the card table that served as a desk.

They were looking for me. If Lisa and Alejandro had recognized me, even after the makeup and the hair and all of the time that had passed, then I was in trouble. Who else would know me? What about at work? I had a shift that night.

I started stuffing clothes into a duffel bag. I needed to run. For the past two years I'd laid low, working at dinners and saving money. I'd built a life--a quiet one, but a life. The room I rented from Lisa was comfortable, if not well furnished. It was right in the middle of the campus area. I'd managed to sit in on a few of her lectures, gotten my GED, and I was saving money to start classes part time in the fall. I had nearly shed Willow Compton completely. I'd nearly forgotten that she existed. I was Janet Rochester.

But, I reasoned, if I ran then it would only confirm Lisa and Alejandro were right. I really was Willow Compton in disguise.

I continued to debate my options as I changed into my work clothes. I brought my backpack with me to the dinner, stashing it in my locker. I had two changes of clothes, toiletries, cash, and enough bottled water and granola bars to get me through a couple of days. Even as I tied on my apron, I wasn't sure if I would be taking the backpack home with me, or if I'd be buying a bus ticket over the phone on my break.

The dinner was busy that night, truckers and families passing through on their regular routes and family vacations. There was a family of five who pulled up in a camper being rowdy at a corner booth, the kids fighting over the one blue crayon I'd managed to scrounge up (the reds and greens never disappeared, but the blue ones always seemed to vanish for some reason), while trying to convince their parents that having pancakes and ice cream sundaes for dinner was a fantastic idea.

Mario had the radio on in the kitchen, country western music crackling over the sound of frying bacon and hamburgers, but it couldn't drown out Mario as he sang along to Dolly Parton in a high falsetto.

He dropped a head of lettuce on the counter beside me and I jumped, spraying ketchup on the stainless steel counter.

"What's got you so wound up?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's nothing," I insisted reaching for a rag to clean up the mess. I gathered up the refilled bottles and took them out to tables five and twelve, then grabbed the coffee pot to make the rounds.

At eight, things finally started to slow down. My back and shoulders were stiff as a board as I went back to the kitchen to give Mario my dinner order.

"It'll be up in five," he said. "You should take your break now, while you have a chance."

I nodded, plunking down on the stool next to the salad station. The air conditioning couldn't keep up with the heat, and I was drenched in sweat even though a cold chill would periodically run down my back.

Garth Brooks ended another tragic song about a marriage gone wrong, and the DJ came on with the evening news update. A senator had slept with a prostitute, a semi had overturned on 35, closing the freeway for six hours in the middle of the day, a singer was dead of a heroin overdose, and there was a wildfire in California. Business as usual.

When I first came to Austin, I was shocked by some of the things I saw. Drugs and prostitutes in the street. Half naked women (or mostly naked) on billboards. Cursing and drinking and violence. So many things my parents had tried to keep me from. Sometimes I still found it shocking. Lisa liked to say I was sheltered. She really had no idea. I hadn't realized just how isolated I was until I spent a few weeks on the streets of Austin.

"Of course, the big story is coming to us out of Idaho, of all places," the DJ continued. "Detective Christopher Compton has spearheaded an investigation into the disappearance of Willow Compton. Willow was last seen two years ago at the age of sixteen. While local authorities are claiming she is most likely dead, the FBI released a statement this afternoon claiming they have every reason to believe that she is still alive. At present, this story is still developing, but reports of abuse have begun to surface from the locals up in Swiftcreek, Idaho.

"Detective Compton has also released a statement." A recording of a man's voice came over the wire, and I realized with a start that it was Chris's voice. "I'm looking for my little cousin. She's a good girl, and smart. The things that were done to her weren't right. I know now that my uncle was abusive, and likely drove her to run away. We are circulating her pictures, and I would beg anyone who recognizes her to please call our hotline, so we can bring her home to the family that loves her. Willow, if you can hear this message, come home. I know that things were bad for you before, but you're safe now. There's no reason to hide--"

"Shut up, already," Mario grunted, changing the station. Something that sounded like Spanish gospel music came out of the speaker. He handed me a chipped ceramic plate with a burger and fries.

"What's the matter with you? Why you cryin'?" he asked.

"It's nothing."

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