Chapter Twenty-Five

I choose a violent shade of purple eyeshadow and start in on my left eye. Within a few minutes, an impressive shiner starts to take shape. Fortunately, having a plan and a task to complete calms my nerves and my shaking hands. I add some magenta, a little sickly green… a dab of charcoal eyeliner. Done. I look away while stowing my compact. When I look back up, at the woman in the mirror, her battered face makes me wince. Good.

I slide on my sunglasses and check my reflection again, making sure that the dark lenses hide the bruising. I shudder to think about women who do this for real… hide their bruises from the world. But, I can't linger on this thought right now. I have my own set of problems.

Ping. I have a new text message and my heart thunks in my chest. This time it's from Christian.

12:40 PM

Hey baby, my Monday is boring without you…

Boring? Well, my Monday isn't boring. And apparently Sawyer is still waiting for me to come out of the bathroom. What do I say? Best to keep it simple and stick to the truth.

Miss you too.

Wish you were here.

XO

Oh this is the truth for sure, and tears threaten, my hands getting shaky again.

I can't go there. It won't be long now before they're on my trail, so I'd better get moving. I get out, manage to jaywalk safely across the busy street, and climb the short flight of stone steps into the bank. Christian's bank. Once the door closes behind me, all sounds of the traffic disappear. The lobby is marble and cavernous, a huge old-fashioned vault on one wall. Soft green carpets - the color of money - and live plants soften the atmosphere, making it feel both posh and understated.

I walk straight forward, my heels clicking on the polished floor, to the teller directly in front of me. "I'd like to make a large cash withdrawl, please." I say, trying to sound sure of myself.

"Of course," she says, not altering her friendly teller mask, "Do you have an account with us?"

"Yes," I say, "I'm Anastasia Grey… Mrs. Christian Grey?"

Her mask falters and her jaw drops for just an instant before she recovers. "Of course. Let me get the manager for you, Mrs. Grey." Now she's all fidgety, not meeting my eyes. I know, Christian has that effect on people...

She walks to a counter behind her, makes a phone call, and comes back. "Please follow me."

I follow her down a long hallway and into what must be the bank manager's office. It's not large, but the furnishings are meant to impress. Two large, leather, wingback chairs face a dark wood desk. An even larger chair is behind the desk. Two tall bookcases are filled with books and journals on finance. But, unlike my own dog-eared collection, they look brand-new and untouched.

Before I can sit, a mousy man with glasses and a thin mustache enters the room. He's wearing a dark, pin-striped suit and a gaudy tie. "Mrs. Grey, I presume." We shake hands, and his is fine-boned and moist. I see his beady eyes take me in, widening slightly when he notices my figure. "I'm Troy Wheelan, the general manager. Please, have a seat."

I do, and he settles in the seat behind the desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket and straightening his tie.

"How can I help you today, Mrs. Grey?"

"As I told the teller, I need to make a large cash withdrawl. And I need the money immediately. So just tell me what you need to make that happen."

He considers me for a moment. "And what amount?"

"Two million dollars," I say as cooly and confidently as I can.

His eyes widen again, and he lets out a little nervous laugh. "That's a large amount of money. Mrs. Grey."

Does he think I'm stupid? Of course it's a large amount of money. It's obscene, but it's not obscene for Christian Grey. I don't say anything, just stare him down as best I can through my sunglasses.

He sighs. "I'll need to see some identification, of course. And I'll need to speak to Mr. Grey."

"Please don't do that," I say, and I remove my sunglasses. I allow my lower lip to tremble, tears to prick the corners of my eyes. Then I press my hand into my lower back, pushing my belly forward and putting on a show. "I… I'm afraid of what he'll do next and… I need to get away." I'm sorry, Christian. Really, really sorry… This is for Marissa. This is for our daughter.

Wheelan visibly winces and jumps back a little. "I'm very sorry Mrs. Grey. I'll make sure that you get what you need. Now, some identification… and you'll need to write a check."

Shit! A check? I don't have a checkbook on me. Who writes checks anymore?! But then I remember - I do have one check tucked in my wallet. It was supposed to be for the girls' school fundraiser, but…

My phone starts vibrating, issuing an angry buzzing sound. It stops as the call goes to voicemail, then starts up again. Uh oh.

I find the check and pull it out, smoothing out the folds on the desk. Then I take out my newly minted driver's license... Anastasia Rose Grey. My old one expired on my birthday, so the timing was perfect.

Using Wheelan's fountain pen, I quickly scrawl 'Cash' then 'Two million dollars… $2,000,000." Wow… I can't even...

"Did you bring a bag?" he asks, and then continues when I stare at him blankly. "For carrying the money? It won't fit in your purse, Mrs. Grey."

Oh! I shake my head.

"We have some… wheeled cases for transporting cash. I'm sure I can… Wait here, please."

At this point, I don't know who's more flustered - me or Wheelan. I pick up my phone. Two missed calls and one new voicemail from Christian. I don't even want to listen to it, as I know what it's about. How could I disappear from work? What was I thinking? This isn't like you, Ana. What's happening? Oh Christian, if you only knew… Tell no one. I can't take the risk.

My phone starts vibrating - Christian again. I pick it up, whisper an apology to my husband, and select the option to 'send calls from this number directly to voicemail,' essentially blocking him. I'm sorry, so so sorry, but I don't need the distraction right now. I need to listen for calls or messages from the blocked caller, from Instagram.

I'll explain everything later… when this is over. What if I don't get that chance? What if… NO.

I check my phone again. It's just past 1:00 - One hour until I need to be on the ferry. I sit back, trying to breathe deeply, and am surprised how calm I am. I know that I'm probably in shock. I allow myself to think of Marissa for just a moment - Where is she? What is she feeling right now? NO. I have to concentrate on the tasks at hand.

Get the money and get on the ferry. Right now, that's all that matters.

Breathe in… breathe out… try not to think… don't think…

When the door opens again, I jerk upright, my eyes flying open. Wheelan comes in, pulling an industrial-looking, silver, hard-sided suitcase. "Your money, Mrs. Grey," he says, looking uncomfortable. "And we… we wish you the best."

I thank him, and grasping the handle, pull it out and down the hallway. I can tell that it's heavy, and I am thankful for the wheels. I walk straight out, not pausing to look at anyone. I reach the SUV and open the hatch, gauging the weight of the suitcase. How much does this thing weigh? Fifty pounds?

I hear a voice behind me. "Let me help you with that, ma'am."

Oh good. A nice-looking young Seattlite, complete with bicycle helmet, dreadlocks, and a tye-dyed t-shirt. "Thank you," I gush, as he hefts the suitcase into the cargo area. He gives me a broad smile - his even, white teeth betraying his middle-class upbringing - and takes off on his bike. If he knew that he just had two million dollars in his hands…

I smile and slide behind the wheel, heading in the direction of the ferry terminal. Time check: 1:35. Wheelan might be mousy, but he pulled the money together in just under thirty minutes. Impressive. Brown tourist signs point the way to the ferry terminal, and soon the expansive loading area is straight ahead. I pay the vehicle fare to Bainbridge Island, and pull into lane three behind several other cars. I made it!

Lane two is already full, and soon cars are lined up behind me. I hear the ferry's horn, and watch it pull in to dock. A minute later, I hear the distinctive sounds of cars offloading, whirring down the ramp and thunk-thunking off onto the pavement before speeding off into downtown Seattle. Soon, engines around me are roaring to life, ready to load. I check my phone one last time - no messages other than three new voicemails from Christian. I swallow the lump in my throat and start my own engine.

Once I have successfully maneuvered onto the ferry, parking in the long row of vehicles on the car deck, I get out, taking my shoulder bag and pressing the 'lock' button on the fob. Yes, I'd better lock the car.

I take the narrow, metal stairs up to the passenger deck, and walk out to the bow of the ferry. And there it is - the distinctive, carved wooden sign telling the name of the ship - The Spokane. I run my fingers along it, feeling the grooves of the letters and letting myself think of Marissa. I walk over and stand next to the railing, in about the spot where they must have taken the selfie. Marissa and Riley… Who is Riley? They were here. Right here.

I look around me at the smiling clumps of tourists taking their own selfies, the Seattle skyline behind them. Normally, I love the ferry. The fresh sea air, the feel of the engine rumbling deep within the ship, Seattle fading behind with the water all around. But now I just feel… alone. So incredibly alone.

Suddenly, my phone pings with an incoming text message and I jump, digging my phone out of my bag. It's from the same blocked number…

2:15 PM

You made the ferry.

Well done.

Now figure out where to go next.

Marissa is waiting.

Ping. An Instagram update from Marissa. I quickly close the texting window and open the app. "Love the view from here. Having a great time!"

The attached photo shows the view from a small, four-paned window. The window has an unfinished, wooden frame and yellow curtains with little pink flowers. The view is of a green lawn sloping down to a creek.

I know this window, this view. It's my old childhood bedroom at my great-aunt's house. How in the… And I know where I'm heading. Forks.

Like before, my blood pressure spikes and I am light-headed with the rush of adrenaline. I grip the railing to steady myself, and I feel a tightening spread across my belly. The spasm clenches down for a few seconds, then recedes.

No, no, no… not now. Shit.