CH 1: Starting Over

Shoulders hunched and arms coming about her slight frame, Abigail Hobbs shivered as her sneakers splashed through puddles along the side of the road. Overhead, it was difficult to see through the sheets of blinding rain. Perhaps it had been a mistake to run. After all, hadn't her father always said she needed him? That she couldn't survive without his help?

No, Abigail decided. If she stayed, it wouldn't be long before he turned the knife from those girls to her own throat. Of that much she was certain. So rather than face the pressure and the guilt, she'd decided to take herself out of the equation altogether.

In her pocket, Abigail could feel her phone vibrating. It was probably Marissa Schurr. She'd told her best friend of her plans, and had promised to keep in touch during her travels. With the money she'd stolen from her father's sock drawer, there was only so long she could run before needing financial restitution, and Marissa had sworn to help her with that.

Blowing on her hands for warmth, Abigail tried her best to give off aloof, disinterested vibes as a pair of headlights cut through the darkness. Keeping her eyes down and pulling her hood over her head, she hunched her stance too little too late. The car slowed down and pulled to a crawl alongside her. The window began to unroll.

"I'm fine!" Abigail called over the loud roar of the rain. "Please, keep going!"

"You don't look fine to me!" the man called back. "You're soaked to the bone. If you don't get in now, your runaway problem could very well evolve into a medical problem."

Abigail finally slowed down, her head turning in his direction. She could barely see the man's face through the dark, but he sounded relatively young and disarming. With a frown, she asked, "Who says I'm running away?"

"You didn't have to, but the backpack certainly explains a few things," the man said. "I won't force you to do anything you don't want, but I'd feel much better if you got into the car. Someone with bad intentions might come along and be less friendly."

Abigail snorted. "And how do I know you don't have bad intentions?"

"You don't," he agreed, "but between me and the storm, your odds are significantly better with me."

Abigail tensed. In her head, she could hear her father's brusque lecturing: He only wants one thing, Abigail. Men are never to be trusted. But the longer she stood there getting soaked, the easier it was to ignore his warnings.

"Okay," Abigail said, reaching for the handle, "but only until the storm lets up."

"Fair enough," the man acquiesced. "I'm Cal, by the way. I take it you're not going to tell me your name? Or at least, not your real one."

As Abigail climbed into the car, she agreed, "I didn't intend to. For now, you can call me Jane." She'd chosen the name of the heroine from her favorite book, Jane Eyre.

Cal smiled. "It's very nice to meet you, Jane. Where are you headed?"

"Anywhere and nowhere. Where are you headed?"

"The airport, actually. I was out here visiting a potential investor. It's time for me to return to New York."

Abigail spared him a sidelong glance. New York was a considerable distance from Minnesota, and even if she didn't know who this "Cal" truly was, she was beginning to realize that her chances of escape were far greater with him on her side.

"An investor for what?" she asked, attempting nonchalance.

Cal was silent for a moment. After flicking the radio on to a soft, soulful seventies ballad, he said, "I live on a campus that instills the betterment of self. We've accepted a lot of wayward souls in my time."

Abigail's mouth twisted. "What's so wayward about you? I mean, you seem pretty normal."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"Hmph, true enough." Lowering her eyes, she chewed her lip before blurting, "If I pay you for a ticket, will you maybe take me with you? I-I mean, I don't need to live with you on your…campus, was it? I just need to get as far away from this place as possible."

Cal's face grew decidedly guarded. "Am I allowed to ask what it is you're running from?"

"My dad." It wasn't a lie, and was also an explanation Abigail knew might garner her some sympathy. "He just…it's complicated."

"What about your mother?"

"Either she won't do anything out of blind devotion, or she's afraid. We don't talk about it."

"I see."

"Do you?" Turning her head toward him, it alarmed Abigail by how much relief she felt at the thought of someone truly, genuinely understanding. Even without knowing the whole story, she wanted to believe that Cal could see her for who and what she was. Hiding from the truth had become utterly exhausting.

"I see that you're in pain," Cal said after a moment. "You're lost...adrift. I'd very much like to untether you from that burden, if you would grant me the pleasure."

"And how would you do that? I've been trying to outrun all my hurt for years. Fancy words and a degree can't change that."

"Perhaps not," Cal agreed, "but anything is possible with the light."

Abigail spared him a disbelieving glance. "You keep talking about light and campuses and unburdening...are you some kind of cult leader or something?"

"Spiritual adviser," he coolly corrected. "Unfortunately, it's a common mistake. My people are comprised of a spiritual movement that seeks total enlightenment."

"Of what?"

"Of everything."

Abigail frowned at the vague answer, but decided not to antagonize him further. Cal was clearly becoming agitated by her scornful skepticism. Instead, she asked, "Well, what if I humored you? I'm so desperate to start over that I'm willing to try just about anything."

Cal shook his head. "It only truly works if you have faith."

"I don't believe in anything anymore...not really, anyway."

A long bout of silence followed. Only the sound of rain, the radio, and Cal's steady breathing filled the car, and Abigail found herself nervously fiddling with her coat sleeves. Her father would come looking for her soon. At this time of night, he would be making his rounds around the house, checking on the thermostat, the locks on all the doors, and finally, stopping by her room to visit before bed. He would discover that she was gone, and then...what? Would he dispatch a search party? Appear on the news all contrite and like a model citizen? The very idea made her curl in on herself.

"You're nervous."

Jerking upright, Abigail huffed before settling back against the car door. "And why wouldn't I be? My dad's going to be real mad if he finds me again."

"He won't."

"You promise?" Abigail hated how small she sounded in that moment, scared and lost as she entrusted her life to this stranger.

Unbidden, Cal reached over and touched her wrist. "I promise."

Abigail's first reaction was to jerk back – she didn't like being touched without her permission – but when it became clear that his intentions were that of moral support, she relaxed and returned her attention to the road.

"It should be another 20 minutes 'til we reach the airport," he told her. "Are you sure you'd like to come with me?"

Abigail nodded. "Yes, I'm very sure."

"And you're how old?"

"Nineteen."

"Good. I wanted to make sure I wasn't abducting a minor."

"You're not abducting me," she coolly said. "You have my consent."

Abigail got so damn tired of being marginalized because of her age. Would she ever be taken seriously? She'd done and experienced more than most adults would ever have to endure in a lifetime, so the fact she was barely out of school seemed inconsequential.

Reaching over her, Cal opened the glove compartment and pulled out a plastic baggy. "This isn't truly mine, so much as being available for my passengers, but if you really feel that badly, maybe you should take a moment to unwind."

Abigail scrunched her nose. "You want me to do drugs?"

"Well...I want you to feel better," Cal said with a hint of reluctance. "No pressure, of course. I, myself, haven't touched the stuff in at least a year."

Abigail looked down at the pot with a pursed mouth. She'd drank and snuck off to parties, if more for the sake of feeling like a normal teenage girl than wanting to, but pot was never something she had tried. "You got a lighter?"

Cal nodded, gesturing back toward the glove compartment.

Taking it in hand, Abigail unrolled the window and released a breath. "Well, here goes nothing."

Cal had been right about the marijuana having a calming effect, but now Abigail felt a little too calm. Her defenses were down, and as she and Cal continued to wait in the airport, she kept slouching against his shoulder with peals of laughter.

"People are starting to stare," he warned.

"That's yoooour fault, if you'll recall."

With a wince, Cal glanced at her lap and discovered she'd inhaled the hot dog, nachos, and drink he'd purchased from the snack line. "Well, at least you have a healthy appetite," he muttered. "If you keep this up, I might need more investors."

"Your fault," Abigail cheekily reminded him. With a sigh, she reclined in her seat and propped her feet on the table in between the rows of chairs. "Can you tell me the plan again? About what'll happen?"

"If all goes well, I'll be placing you with a couple friends of mine," Cal said. "Sarah and Eddie have two kids, but I think you'll fit right in."

"Why? 'Cause you think I'm a kid?" Bright eyes flashing, she rolled them toward the ceiling with a huff. "I'm not a charity case. If they don't want to house me, I can go someplace else."

"They will."

"You don't know that."

"I know the Lanes, and they both have incredibly generous hearts."

"Okay, but...how do I repay them?"

"Just be respectful, follow their orders, and obey the path."

Abigail chewed her lip. To her drug-addled brain, this all seemed so terribly surreal. "Okay," she murmured, "I think I can do that."

Cal smiled. "I know you can."

Their flight was suddenly announced over the intercom, and carefully, Cal helped Abigail up to her feet before taking her bag. "Come on," he urged. "We have a long journey ahead of us, but we can talk more when we're on the plane."

"Or sleep," Abigail mumbled, suddenly feeling incredibly weary.

With a chuckle, Cal placed a hand between her shoulders and steered her toward the boarding line. As he did so, both failed to notice the brief news alert about a missing Minnesotan girl – one Abigail Elizabeth Hobbs.

A/N: Apparently I'm all about exploring alternate realities lately, because I posted a Pushing Daisies AU just yesterday evening. Basically, any AU where Abigail is alive and better off is gold to me and worth exploring, and I really loved the idea of Abigail running away from her father's oppression and finding a seemingly better life. But of course, nothing is ever as it seems. ;)