Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 104011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
As I come upon my exit, I slow down, and as soon as I take the off ramp, the rain begins to pick up at an accelerated pace. Even though the roads are mostly barren, likely due to the storm warnings, I’m glad to get off the interstate. I’m positive I haven’t been trailed. I have too many years of experience under my belt to not be aware of someone following me. Plus, no one can link me to this vehicle; it’s been kept under an erroneous name, and I’ve kept it hidden for exactly these types of situations. About five miles after we left the facility, we changed vehicles, and then I donned a ball cap, a light jacket, and mirrored sunglasses to help conceal my identity.
I decided to take this route through the downtown area, because I wanted to create a zigzag maze, one last ditch effort to make double sure I wasn’t being trailed. I’m surprised to see the secondary streets of downtown are even more desolate than the interstate. I’m almost to my next exit, which would allow me to cross over the Cooper River and into Mt. Pleasant, when the bottom falls out of the sky. Raging, pelting rain comes down in droves, and my wipers become a useless weapon against the onslaught. Shit. I take off my sunglasses, and it’s still impossible to see past my own windshield. I manage to make it past one more block and pull over on East Bay Street, just before Adgers Wharf.
I grit my teeth in frustration; we’re so damn close. I hate having to stop. All I need to do is cross the damn bridge and make it to the Isle of Palms. Annoyed, I put the vehicle in park. It’s evident I’m going to have to wait this one out before I cross the waters. I look around, scoping out my surroundings, but my visibility is nil. The saying “pouring buckets of rain” has nothing on this monsoon.
Grant, the closest thing I have to a dad, has a beach house located ocean front on the Isle. I had made arrangements with him during my flight home asking to use the house for a day or two until I could finalize my plans. He doesn’t know this yet, but I need his expertise in helping me safely wean Julianna off Blyss.
My old man was an abusive drunk, and since I avoided him at all costs growing up, I wound up raising myself. I grew up on these very streets. My mother left the bastard when I was seven. Who could blame her, really? What I blame her for is the fact she didn’t take me with her. She left me behind, fending for myself as she found herself another meal ticket, one who didn’t want to deal with another man’s kid.
Needless to say, I was never home much. I first met Grant in the County Hospital’s emergency room located here in the downtown area. I had been an unsupervised little hellion and wound up running with the wrong crowd. I’d had a nasty knife wound in my side, requiring a few stitches at the early age of fourteen. He just so happened to be the doctor on call that night, and for some reason I can’t explain, he took me under his wing and provided for me in ways I can never repay him for.
The wind whirring around the vehicle catches my attention as it howls. I peer out my window and can barely see the palmetto trees swaying through the downpour. Each time I see these same trees still standing strong decades later, they somehow bring me peace; maybe because they’re a piece of my home. These palmettos have survived many hurricanes, including Hugo, a Category Five, which caused over ten billion dollars’ worth of damage back in 1989.
I decide to go ahead and shut off the engine and wait for the storm to settle a little. I briefly close my eyes, slowly exhaling to steady my heartbeat before I turn my attention to the backseat passenger. This girl undoes me at every turn, and I’m not looking forward to the sparring match she’s going to put me through.
I turn around to find Julianna still sleeping under the blanket I laid over her hours ago. Her golden hair has spilled out over the soft cotton cover, but other than her hair, she’s stayed well hidden and quiet for the entire trip. My God, she looks so peaceful and angelic laying here. I really didn’t want to drug her, but I needed no complications during this escape. I couldn’t afford to have her freak out on me or cause a big struggle, and I couldn’t take a chance on whether she would come willingly, or try and get away by kicking and screaming.