Interesting. X liked a touch of kink. He liked her. And oh, the sex was good. It was dream sex, but that was infinitely better than nothing. Which was what she’d enjoyed the past however many years. Nothing. Nothing and no one.
She whispered into X’s ear, as she moved slowly, taking all of him in, riding him as if it were the last time, the only time. I should’ve let them kill me … It would have been better than this, easier … No, no, they did kill me, and you let them…
Lizzy woke with her hands clenched and her heart pounding. It was dark outside. She wasn’t wearing a watch, the clock on the bedside table was blinking the wrong time, and she didn’t dare put the battery in her cell phone just to check the time. She should probably dump the cell, but she couldn’t make herself do that quite yet. What if there were an emergency and she needed it? As in making a call to 911, screaming for help because someone was trying to kill her? Yeah, she’d keep the phone for a little bit longer, at least until she had some sort of concrete plan.
She didn’t dare turn on a light, since there was likely a new desk clerk on duty by now and if he or she looked this way and saw there was a light on in room 107 … well, she didn’t want to take that chance. But with the heavy curtains tightly closed, she took a small risk and turned on the television. Just seeing what program was on helped her to narrow the time to within the hour. Flipping through the channels until she found a twenty-four-hour news station, she stopped. There, in the bottom left-hand corner, was the precise time.
She needed the precise time. Time was important. With a flick of her thumb, the television went dark again.
She’d slept five hours, which was amazing, all things considered. Another hour, maybe two, and she could venture out, find an old car, and hot-wire it. No way could she stay here until morning. The desk clerk’s intentions had been good, but what if Cindy had second thoughts? What if she told a friend who told a friend who told the wrong friend?
She couldn’t trust anyone.
If she stole a car that was parked overnight, it shouldn’t be missed for several hours. She should find a house, then, or an apartment building. Maybe a motel like this one, where maybe someone had been careless enough to leave his keys in the ignition. It happened all the time. But she wouldn’t do it at this motel, because it would bring too much attention to the place. Cindy would definitely talk if she thought a woman she’d helped had stolen a paying guest’s vehicle.
By tomorrow morning she could be well into Virginia, maybe even North Carolina. She could dump the car before sunup, and at that distance away from the city a bus would be safe enough. Well, as safe as anything else.
A plan. Finally.
And until then? She didn’t think she could sleep anymore. If she tried she’d be worried that she’d sleep too long, and that would keep her awake. Since the pain of remembering seemed to have disappeared, she sat and tried to remember … something, anything. Just some small things, such as where she’d lived, whether she’d worn her hair short or long, if she’d gotten a flu shot every year. She had for the past three years, but what about before that? That two-year gap remained stubbornly blank.
Less than an hour later, she heard the roar of a powerful motorcycle engine as it pulled into the parking lot. Someone coming in late would probably also sleep late, and the idea of stealing a motorcycle and flying out of town with the wind in her hair was oddly appealing. Did she even know how to ride one? Oh, hell yeah. She couldn’t pull up any particular memories, but she was suddenly certain that she was no stranger to a motorcycle. She’d already decided not to steal a car from this parking lot, but she was curious. She had to look.
With the lights in the room off, no one should be able to tell that she’d parted the curtains just enough to peer into the parking lot. The motorcycle’s parking lights went off just as she looked out, so she knew precisely where to focus.
The bike was on the other side of the