When September Ends

Chapter 7: Flight

Harry was ready to move the very instant that the clock struck midnight, the rucksack bouncing against his back as he crossed to the room to the door and treaded the unwound hanger through the opening at the top of the door managing to undo the slide lock in record time. Steeling himself, he pushed it open and stepped out into the hallway beyond. Casting a longing look at the stairs before creeping stealthily towards the door of the master bedroom and cracking it open.

Tom's form was visible resting on his side curled beneath the covers. He looked like he was asleep but with his back turned to him Harry couldn't be sure. Getting any closer would definitely not be a good idea.

He just had to take the risk and hope that the man was out cold.

Harry carefully closed the door, taking care to ensure that it didn't make the dull clicking sound which would all but surely give him away. He placed his feet cautiously on the edges of the stairs to prevent them from creaking. His hands were shaking and his heart was pounding as he reached out for the lock on the front door and turned it.

The click was almost deafening. He very nearly suffocated on his racing heart when it chose that moment to leap into his throat. Surely, at any moment now, Tom would come charging down the stairs to drag him back into his room-perhaps breaking his legs in the process just for good measure-and lock him back up.

No one came.

Nearly tearing up with relief Harry wasted no further time absconding from the house pausing only long enough to softly shut the door before bolting across the sprawling lawn. The sweet night wind brushed against his face as he ran. Feet pounding against the ground as the sound of the occasional car passing by on the road grew closer.

He nearly tripped and fell a number of times while wading through the small patch of woods which separated him from the street. Pavement under the soles of his shoes felt like a miracle. Harry's first instinct was to bolt, to run as fast as he possibly could but he knew better than to do so. All he would get himself by doing that was tired, and that would make it far too easy for Tom to happen upon him come morning.

He set off at a measured jog instead, pulling the hood of the hoodie that he had on up over his head. Summer heat or not, concealing his face was far more important than comfort for him at this current point in time.

Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap. He measured his breathing to match his running pace. Away. Away. Away. Away. He'd be back with his family soon. With his parents. His friends. Would be able to see his Godfather. Would be able to walk his dog, Padfoot, again.

Would miss Tom terribly.

No! Stop thinking of him! He thought viciously and sped his pace. You're not allowed to ever think of him again until you're reporting him to the cops!

Something told him that doing that would be much easier said than done. His rucksack bounced against his back with a gentle rhythmic clatter, the last minute addition to its contents feeling as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

The sound of the car wheels on pavement drawing up behind him made his heart begin to race. Had his gamble failed? Was it Tom coming to drag him back into hell? Harry threw a surreptitious glance back over his shoulder and, realizing that it wasn't a black jaguar but rather a nondescript and somewhat rusted white truck.

He slowed his pace and stuck out his thumb.

When it pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the road ahead of him Harry could have burst into tears right then and there. As he reached it one of the windows rolled down revealing a man with a stubbled beard and a baseball cap.

"Where you headed?"

"I'd like to go to the nearest town, but really anywhere is fine. I just...need to get away from here."

"You one of those teenaged runaways?"

"Not exactly. I'm not running away from home so much as back to it."

The man grunted and jerked his chin towards the passenger side door. "Well, get in then. I'll take you to wherever you need to go."

"Thank you. Really. You have...no idea how grateful I am." Harry quickly scrambled around to the other side of the truck and leapt into the car, dropping his rucksack onto the floor beside him. The man who had picked him up could have easily been a murderer or a rapist but, at this point, anything was better than Tom Riddle's particularly disturbing brand of crazy.

The door shut behind him with a loud bang. The truck pulled away back onto the road.

"Where exactly are you headed?" he asked.

Harry looked up. "Colorado."

"A bit far from here."

"Yeah." He pulled his knees up to his chest. "It is."

"You weren't planning to walk there? Or to hitchhike? Doing either of those would be a little bit dangerous for you to attempt."

"No. I plan to take the bus."

"Have friends that live around here whom you could stay with?"

Yes, he did, but for the life of him he couldn't remember-. No! Stop it! You are not Harry Riddle! You don't know anyone around here except for Tom, and he's the one you're running from! "I'm just going to stay in a motel."

"Anywhere particular in mind?"

"Where-ever is cheap and close to the bus station."

Said place ended up being a rather sketchy no doubt roach infested motel on the outskirts of town, half of its sign broken out until it read H EL L. Splendid.

He hoped out of the truck after thanking the man and walked inside. As expected, the lobby was grim grimy and smelled strongly of mildew; if this was any indication for what the room would be like he'd have to crack a window just to make it livable.

It was immediately clear from the teller's reaction that the premises had never seen a platinum card before. A brief exchange and a couple of disbelieving stares got him the room key and Harry wasted no time in retreating into the shadowy bowels of what could easily have been a set straight off the filming of Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho.

Hopefully the modern rendition of the Bate's Motel would keep Tom from sniffing around in the event he ended up having to wait around for a bus back home.

As expected, the room was atrocious but-mercifully-the sheets of the bed seemed to be clean enough. The lights went out the moment that he flicked the switch. Harry sighed, crossed to the window and heaved it open before collapsing onto the bed.

With any luck, he'd be home the next night.