Chapter 4 - The Safe House
Michael’s truck smelled like pine needles, old coffee, and diesel fuel. It was the safest smell in the world to me.
As we turned down the main road, leaving the subdivision behind, the tension in my shoulders finally cracked. I didn't sob out loud, but tears began to spill quietly down my face, hot and fast, running over the swollen bruise on my cheek.
Michael didn't tell me to stop crying. He didn't tell me it was going to be okay. He just reached over with one giant hand, gripped the steering wheel with his left, and rested his right hand gently over my knuckles on the center console.
"Where are we going?" I managed to ask, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater. "I can't go to your place, Mike. He knows where you live. He'll come looking for me, or he'll call the cops saying I took off."
"He won't come to my house," Michael said grimly. "And even if he does, he won't like what he finds there. But you're not staying with me. We're going out to the cabin in Knox County."
The cabin had belonged to our grandfather. It sat on twelve acres of dense timber at the end of an unmarked gravel road, miles away from any major highway. It was crude—heated by a wood stove, with spotty cell service—but it was invisible.
"What about Leo?" I asked, my heart suddenly racing with panic. "He's at my mother's for the weekend, but Daniel—"
"I already called Mom at six this morning," Michael interrupted smoothly. "Before I came to your house. I told her Leo stays with her until Monday, and if Daniel shows up at her front door, she isn't to open it. She's keeping the blinds drawn and the doors deadbolted. My buddy Marcus—the off-duty deputy—is parked in her driveway right now."
I looked at my brother in disbelief. "You planned all of this before you even saw me?"
Michael flicked his turn signal and merged onto the highway heading north.
"Sarah," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "You think I didn't see the way you changed over the last three years? You think I didn't notice how you stopped laughing at family dinners? How you always checked your phone like it was a ticking bomb? I was just waiting for the night you were ready to leave. The second your text came through last night, the plan was already running."
For the next forty minutes, the highway blur swept past us. The suburban landscape of manicured lawns and shopping strip malls gave way to rolling hills, bare winter cornfields, and thick stands of oak trees.
When we finally pulled up the long, winding gravel path to the cabin, the sun had fully broken through the morning clouds.
May you like
Michael parked the truck, killed the engine, and turned to me.
"First thing we're going to do," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small brass tool, "is take the battery out of your phone. He can track your GPS. From this second on, as far as Daniel Hughes is concerned, you've vanished off the face of the earth."
