Chapter 21
Frankie woke up in an unfamiliar room. Looking around, she determined it was a cheap hotel by the faded wallpaper dating back to the 80's and the liberal use of teal and peach in the color pallet. The curtains were pulled closed, but she could see sunshine peeping around the edges. She lay on her stomach on one of the two beds in the room, the stiff sheets scratchy under her face. Melissa wasn't in the room, nor was their mysterious driver, but she could hear the shower through the closed door to the bathroom and there was light coming from under the door.
Trying to push herself into a sitting position caused pain to shoot through her entire upper body and she collapsed back onto her stomach. Remembering the events at the prison, she wasn't surprised. After all, she had slashed herself across the shoulders pretty good to force a trip to the infirmary and she had been shot by nurse Evil. But, what the hell, she'd been through worse, recalling the crash of the Quinn jet. She snorted. How fucked up was her life that being shot wasn't the worst thing that had happened to her?
The shower stopped and a couple minutes later Melissa stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel that barely covered her ass and another wound around her head like a turban.
"Oh, good, you're awake," she greeted Frankie. "Welcome back to the world of the living."
"I'm not so sure about that," Frankie grimaced. "I feel like shit."
"You should," Melissa turned away and, pulling the towel off her head and grabbing a brush. "I had to use the AED on you twice." She pointed to the device laying on the table near the bed Frankie was laying on.
"You had to shock me?"
"Yep," Melissa nodded, working the brush through her wet hair. "Thought I was going to lose you. Careful, I may have cracked a rib or two."
"No wonder I feel like I've been run over," Frankie groaned.
Melissa put down the brush, grabbed a bottle off the desk and handed it to her, "here, these should help with some of it." She went to the bathroom and returned with a plastic cup full of water. "I can't give you anything too strong, though, but I need you on your feet by the time it gets dark."
Swallowing three of the pills, Frankie asked, "what happens when it gets dark?"
"We've got to leave." Melissa went back to working the tangles out of her hair. "We're too close to the prison here, so we've got to get some distance between us and it tonight."
"Won't they be looking for us?"
"Just you, kid. And that's why we need to move."
"Why aren't they looking for you?"
"It's part of the deal for helping you," Melissa explained. "Leena looked enough like me that we might could be mistaken for each other at a distance. And the warden is going to make sure my DNA is what shows up on the autopsy report." She grinned, "I'll be officially dead by tomorrow and Leena Philip will be a fugitive."
"Huh, pretty impressive," Frankie grunted while trying to roll over to her side as gently as possible. "What about me?"
Melissa shrugged, "no clue and not my problem once I get you clear of this place."
"Lovely," Frankie muttered.
Another shrug, "sorry." A pause, then, "can you eat? We've got a couple hours before we can move, and it's been almost twenty-four hours since we escaped."
"Shit, I've been asleep for that long?"
"Well, you did get shot. A clean through-and-through by the way. And there's that gash on your shoulder. Next time don't get so carried away. It took twenty-one staples to get that bitch closed."
"Yeah, I don't think I thought that completely through," Frankie agreed.
"You think? Anyway, Hobbs OD'd you with the adrenalin, so your heart nearly exploded. I think your body needed that break before you did some more stupid shit to it," Melissa finished with a smug look.
"Can you give me a hand up?"
Together, they got Frankie into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Her breath caught in her throat as she fought not to pass out from the pain. Melissa was probably right about the cracked rib or two. Her ears rang and her vision grew fuzzy.
"Breath," Melissa crouched in front of her. "Take as deep a breath as you can."
Following her instruction, she drew a painful breath and released it.
"Again."
By her third breath, her vision was clear again and the ringing was subsiding.
"Just sit there for a moment and let your body get used to that position."
"How are you so good at this?" Frankie asked.
"Hello? I worked at a doctor's office," Melissa sat on the bed beside her. "I was working my way through nursing school, but prison kinda put an end to that."
Frankie almost told her that maybe she could finish once this was all over but held her tongue. Who was she kidding? Even out of prison, they weren't out of danger. Glenda still had her faction in Hydra after them. What the hell was she supposed to do? She didn't even know how to get in touch with Rory without putting herself in the line of fire.
Sighing, she nodded her understanding to Melissa. One step at a time.
After sunset, the two women left the hotel and Melissa drove them away from the city in a slightly beat-up sedan. Three hours later, Melissa checked them in to a cheap motel on the outskirts of Allentown. The drive had been exhausting for Frankie, no position she tried would lessen the pain from her ribs, gunshot wound, or gash across her shoulder at the same time.
Melissa had tried to take her mind off the pain by telling her stories about her clinicals in the ER and about the different patients that had come in to see the doctor she had worked for, and it worked somewhat.
When they stopped to grab food from a fast food chain, Frankie's appetite was still notably absent, but she forced herself to eat part of her meal; she needed the calories to recover.
Once in their new room, she lowered herself gingerly onto the bed.
"Better?" Melissa asked.
"Yeah," she muttered; her voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm just going to go to sleep."
"Sweet dreams, kid."
She was hungry and needed to pee, but Momma had told her to stay in her room until she was told she could come out. That had been a long, long time ago. But Momma's new boyfriend didn't like children, so she had to stay hidden when he was around, which was a lot.
Her bladder spasmed, hurting. Surely Momma didn't mean for her to pee on the floor like the dog they had for a couple of weeks before Momma's boyfriend "took care of it."
Going to the door, she turned the knob. She was big enough to reach it without having to stand on her tippy toes. Pushing the door open she peered out. She could hear Momma and Uncle Bobby, as she had been told to call him, on the couch making funny noises, but she couldn't see them. The bathroom was on the other side of the living room, so she would have to go right by them.
Tip toeing out of the room, she crept quietly across the living room. When the couch came into view, she looked over. Uncle Bobby was on top of Momma. He was hurting her from the sounds she was making. She stopped and started crying.
Momma looked over at the sound, "oh, shit, Bobby, stop."
"What the hell?" Uncle Bobby spat, only it wasn't Uncle Bobby anymore. It was Rory as a teenager. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in prison"
That's when it happened. She lost control of her bladder. Urine ran down her legs, puddling on the floor.
"Oh, for fuck's sake! You are completely worthless. I can't believe I'm wasting my time with you."
Momma stood, but it wasn't Momma either; it was Glenda, "Darling, I'll take care of it. I'll make sure she never comes back."
"Good, because I'm through with her. She's not worth it. She's not worth anything."
"No, Rory," adult Frankie cried out to his retreating back, "I'm not worthless, Rory. I'm not worthless."
Frankie woke up crying in another horribly decorated room.
"Umf," she grunted, rolling over to her side. "Is there a rule that says cheap hotels have to be as ugly as possible?'
Silence was the only response she got.
"Melissa?"
She tried to push herself up into a sitting position but groaned at the pain.
"This sucks."
Even wiggling to the edge of the bed so she could swing her legs over was almost too much for her, but she stuck to it and before long she was sitting up on the edge taking deep breaths to keep from blacking out.
When her vision cleared, she surveyed the room. The other bed had not been slept in and the bathroom door was open with the light off. Melissa wasn't in the room and hadn't spent the night there either. A stack of bills laying on the table by her bed caught her eye. Standing slowly, she shuffled over to it. Beside the pile was a note from the hotel pad.
I did my part and got you out. This is as far as I go. I paid for the room through the end of the week, so take some time to recover. But don't take too long. You have some powerful enemies looking for you. Your people will find you when it's time. Keep your head down, kid, and you'll be okay.
Well, crap. She was on her own once again. At least it was something she was used to, and she operated best that way.
Three days later, Frankie left the motel on foot. Melissa hadn't left her the car, so she would have to find some other way to travel. Public transportation was out of the question this close to Danbury and so soon after her escape. Both Hydra and the authorities probably had her picture posted all over every bus stop, train depot, and airport nearby.
She had debated where to go over the past days. She knew where the Hydra compound was located but couldn't guarantee that Glenda didn't have orders out to shoot her on site. She knew Rory was looking out for her through the lawyer but had no idea how deep his control of the compound went with Glenda undermining him. She needed to get somewhere safe and hole up for a while to let things settle. Then she could figure out how to reach out to Rory.
New York was out of the question, as was Chicago, but she needed a large city where she could easy disappear. Looking at a map she picked up from the motel lobby, she considered somewhere further south and finally landed on Nashville. It was a good-sized city with a diverse population. It had been compared to Las Vegas when it came to entertainment. If there was a place where she could easily vanish, this was it.
Making her way to a nearby truck stop, she took a booth at the adjacent diner. Ordering a cup of coffee, she pretended to look over the menu while she appraised the other patrons. Ignoring anyone not dining alone, she focused on the three people eating at the counter. One was a middle-aged man with a huge beer belly that had him sitting at arm's length from his plate. Egg had fallen onto his shirt, leaving greasy, yellow trails down to his belly. His clothes looked like they hadn't been washed since last month and could drive his rig by themselves now. He was a hard no.
Two stools down from him was an older woman with her gray hair cropped short. She was absently reading a book while she ate her waffles. Women could be tricky. Some could be coaxed to pick up a female hitchhiker by appealing to their mothering instinct. She might even get a couple of good meals out of it. Other's would go for an attractive younger woman, hoping for a hookup. Frankie had no problem with women and wasn't averse to trading sexual favors for a ride. A good many of them, though, were cautious to the point of paranoia; an attractive young woman trying to hitch with them would send off all kinds of alarms for them. The problem was figuring out which category this woman fit into quickly.
On the far end of the counter, a young man was playing with his phone while he ate. He looked a few years younger than her, probably Rory's age. He didn't look like a truck driver but might be a good option if he was going the right direction.
Sipping her coffee, she watched the trio from her booth. The disgusting eater was the first to finish and leave. She made no move to follow him. The young man was the next. Paying for his breakfast, he smiled at Frankie as he walked past her on his way out. Setting down her cup, she got up and followed him out a few seconds later.
Outside, she looked around for him, and caught sight of him getting into an old SUV. Shit! She missed him. But instead of pulling out of the parking lot and driving away, he pulled up to a gas pump. Frankie breathed a sigh of relief and headed that way.
"Hey," she greeted as she got near.
"Hey, back," he smiled.
"Where're you heading?" she asked, leaning against the side of the SUV.
He swallowed and blushed, "south."
"Just south?" she slid closer to him and glanced into the vehicle. A guitar lay in the back seat. Smiling like she just shared a secret with him, she nodded at it, "you're a musician?"
His blush was scarlet, but he nodded.
"Okay," Frankie breathed, "let's try this again. Hi, I'm Jackie. I'm a dancer and I'm on my way to Nashville to try out for a show." She held out her hand.
Getting someone to shake your hand formed the beginning of a rapport. Most people would automatically shake an extended hand out of habit and the exchange of a social convention put them more at ease and more likely to engage with the person whose hand they just shook. Psychologically, people tended to think more positively towards those that offered a hand to shake.
His blush faded a bit and he smiled slightly, "Bobby."
"Are you heading towards Nashville, Bobby?"
"No, sorry."
"My lame-ass friend was supposed to come with me, but she just chickened out last night and bailed on me. Now, I'm stuck here without a ride and I'll be damned if I'm going back home already. I was thinking," she smiled, letting it reach her eyes, "if you're going that way, maybe you could give me a ride as far as you can. I could pay."
"I'm…," he stuttered, "I'm not going to Nashville, but I can give you a ride to Norfolk, Virginia."
She reassessed him, this time taking note of his short, clipped hair.
"You a sailor, Bobby?"
"Yep."
"Well, thank you for your service."
"You're welcome."
"I think I'll take you up on that offer," she grinned.
She hadn't considered Norfolk, but now that she was heading there, it seemed almost perfect. With a huge transient population, there were many hotels that offered long-term leases at relatively inexpensive rates. With the large Navy presence there also came many strip clubs and bars. She wouldn't have any problem finding a job.
Well, strike the strip clubs, she corrected. With all the scars she had collected on her body over the last months, there was no way she could be a stripper anymore, no matter how good she danced. Maybe she could offer stripping lessons? Now that was a thought.
Bobby proved to be an entertaining companion during the drive. After his bashfulness wore off, he talked a lot about his time in the Navy and growing up as an Army brat. Frankie was content to just sit back and listen and relax during the trip. His ship was stationed out of Norfolk but was departing on Monday. While it had been docked over the last few months, he and three friends had rented an apartment together.
"Don't they provide you with a barracks?" she asked, surprised.
"Not if you're stationed on a ship," he shook his head. "That's considered your barracks, I guess."
"Wow, that sucks."
"Yep. That's why we got an apartment."
There was a short pause filled with the music from the radio.
"Do you have a place to stay?" He asked suddenly.
"Um, no. Why?"
"Well, starting tomorrow, we're required to sleep on the ship. I guess it's to keep us from being late on Monday or getting into trouble our last weekend in town and getting thrown in jail."
"I can see that, I guess."
"Yeah, anyway," he continued quickly. "Our rent is paid up through the end of the month, utilities included. If you want a place to stay for a couple of weeks, you're welcome to it. Just promise not to trash the place."
Frankie didn't know what to say. It was an incredibly nice offer from someone who had only known her for a couple of hours.
"What about your roommates?"
"I'm sure they won't mind, but I'll run it past them."
"Ok," she nodded. It would give her a couple weeks to find someplace better and figure things out. "I'll think about it."
