they should've seen you, should've known you
Beth, Dale, and Irma ended up chatting and swapping stories and jokes for the remainder of the drive to Washington, D.C. Her situation was constantly looming in the back of her mind, but it was the first time in months that Beth had felt like part of a normal family. It made her long for the memories with her mother and brother as she spoke about them, but she remained cautious and was careful not to give any identifying details during their conversations. She thought she saw the faintest hint of suspicion on Irma's face a couple of times, but she'd quickly laughed it off and continued being as sweet as ever. Beth remained mindful, though, and prayed that being out of Georgia meant she had successfully evaded the people who were actively looking for her.
Dale and Irma whooped and hollered happily as they entered Washington, D.C., and Beth didn't think she'd ever seen two people who were so joyful about life before. They had been discussing the itinerary for the day in the nation's capital while Beth sat in the booth, lazily watching the scenery pass by outside as she listened. She wondered how she could be sure it was safe to roam the city with this couple. What if the story had spread farther, or even made national news? What if Dale or Irma caught wind of it and recognized her? Would they kick her out? Call the police? She was starting to think that maybe she'd just stay in the RV while they did their tourist activities.
Once they'd parked and gathered their things, though, Beth knew she couldn't sit inside an RV all day while the old couple was out touring the city. But she also couldn't put them at risk – or herself – by visiting every well-secured structure in the nation's capital and appearing on dozens of security cameras for six hours straight. But she could lay low, avoid the most populated areas, and try to pick herself up some more supplies that would be helpful once she got to New York. Now that she had a destination in mind, it was time to start putting a plan into action.
Besides, if the couple happened to find out about her true identity while they were touring, she didn't want to be a sitting duck in the RV, waiting for them to bring the police back to arrest her and catch her with all her money and a murder weapon.
Beth made sure to stuff her gun safely and discreetly into her waistband, and strapped her bag to her back before putting her sunglasses on. She followed Dale and Irma outside and waited while they locked everything up and pulled out their tourist maps. She leaned over their shoulders to glance at the map, spotting a shopping center located just a few blocks away. If she were going to be here, she may as well get some new clothes and try to disguise herself more.
"Now I think we can just walk to the Lincoln Memorial here, and then make our way to the White House and the Washington Memorial – Rosie, you're comin' with us, right?" Dale paused his explanation to Irma and turned back to face Beth.
"Um, actually I was thinkin' I might check out the shopping center, pick up some new clothes. You guys can go ahead and I'll meet back here with you," she answered, gripping the straps of her backpack anxiously.
"Are ya sure? It's a big city, different from Atlanta," Irma warned her, concern on her face. "More dangerous."
Beth smiled reassuringly. "I know. I'll be fine. What time should I meet y'all back here?"
Dale checked his watch and glanced at the map again before deciding, "Let's say seven. And if ya get back early – here, we'll give ya Irma's spare key since we'll be together."
He nudged Irma and she reached into her large purse to pull out a key dangling from a small keyring. She handed it over to Beth, who took it and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. They said their goodbyes and parted ways, taking separate streets away from the RV. It had been nice to have the company, but Beth had to admit that the breathing room was a little nicer.
She studied everything about her surroundings as she strolled down the street, passing people and signs and small businesses. She had put her sunglasses on to help hide her face and her pace was quick, as if she didn't have six hours to kill. It didn't take long to reach the shopping center. She was a bit surprised at its size compared to how it had appeared on the map. There were countless cars parked in the parking lots surrounding it, and people were walking all around the premises. It made her a little nervous to be back in a city and around this many people again. The last time she'd seen a crowd, it was a crowd of police officers chasing her into the woods.
Beth stopped at the corner of the sidewalk as she stared at the giant building looming before her. It was filled with security cameras and watching eyes, probably tourists, too. How many chances did she have to be caught if she entered? But after a few moments' contemplation, she decided that her need for a change of clothes outweighed the risk of being recognized, and she continued walking in the direction of the entrance.
When she was within yards of entering the doors, the threat of metal detectors entered her mind – how had she forgotten? It was Washington, D.C., they probably had metal detectors at the entrance of every building, even the mall. What if they caught her with the gun? It would draw attention, and if someone stopped her, they'd find her with a missing murder weapon on her person and then –
But no. She finally came within sight of the doors and realized there was no such weapon detection system present. She let out a breath of relief at the thought that the only detection systems she'd have to be going through would be anti-theft. And there was absolutely no likelihood of that happening with her – she had more money than she knew what to do with. And more than she personally felt any single person should ever have at one time.
The bag on her back was a giant handicap. As well as remaining mindful of her surroundings and who was giving her a second glance – if anyone – she had to be constantly conscious of where her backpack was. She felt it on her back, but as she passed through crowds of people between stores, trying to navigate some areas that were smaller than others, she worried that someone would pick-pocket her, and they'd find way more than they ever hoped to steal. After a few minutes of her inner turmoil, she finally gave in and turned her backpack around to hold it against her chest, the straps still around her shoulders. At this point, her freedom meant more to her than strangers' curious looks.
She spotted a woman's clothing store on the upper floor from where she stood on the ground floor, and figured it would suffice for a new outfit. She needed something plain and common anyway – the more she blended in, the better. But as she was walking towards the escalator, the display in the small window of another store on the first floor caught her eye, and she stopped to investigate.
She stepped closer to see that it was a "survival" store – like one of those places designed for Doomsday Preppers. But it sold real, useful equipment, and a lot of that was accessories for weapons. The display in the small window was a female mannequin wearing nothing but combat boots and a tight, white shirt – but the shirt had a small holster sewed into it right between the armpit and breast, where a fake gun was placed to simulate how it would discreetly holster a real handgun.
Beth stepped near the entrance to the store and peered inside a bit, unable to see any people inside who were shopping. She glanced around and realized there wasn't much traffic around this particular area of the ground floor, so she stepped inside the tucked-away store and began roaming around.
She found another display of the discreet gun holster, but it was amongst at least a dozen other types of holsters, some of them containing multiple pockets for storing more clips. She slowly strolled by each one, staring at them all, trying to figure out if she should take the chance and reach out to touch one, or check sizes. She glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to her, then reached out and carefully picked up one of the shirts from its display spot, letting it come unfolded and stretching it out before herself to investigate. It was just like what the mannequin was wearing, although it looked a little big to fit Beth's petite frame. She checked the inside for a size and found a bold, black L. She reached back to the pile and sorted through it until she found one that had an S stamped to the inside, trying to fold the first one she'd grabbed and replace it properly.
She was holding the shirt out inches away from her body, inspecting it and trying to imagine herself wearing it. She hadn't even seen, or felt, the tall man approaching her from behind.
"Good afternoon! D'you need any help there, young lady?"
His voice boomed out enthusiastically when he spoke, and she couldn't help but jump, startled, turning to face him with wide, terrified eyes. His smile grew wider beneath his handlebar mustache, though, and his blue eyes sparkled as he chuckled softly.
"Sorry there, didn't mean t'startle ya," he apologized, a bit quieter. He was a tall man, probably in his thirties, with pale skin, shockingly red hair, and a carefully groomed mustache and goatee to match. He had the build and tone of a military man, and wore a uniform with the name of the store embroidered on the chest pocket. Dog tags hung around his neck, and Beth guessed that they weren't part of the uniform.
She shook her head, forcing a smile and trying not to make too much eye contact. "Oh – it's okay. I-I was just looking."
The red-headed man smiled welcomingly and held out a hand, "I'm Abraham, this is my store. Just opened it six months ago. Thanks for comin' in, little lady."
Beth was a little taken aback by his enthusiasm, but appreciated the effort nonetheless. She guessed that he wasn't getting a big flow of customers in his store lately, judging by the looks of it at the moment. "Nice to meet you, Abraham. I'm, um – just browsing."
He then gestured to the shirt in her hand and said, "And those are new, just came in a couple weeks ago. Pretty nifty, huh? Can ya find your size? If you don't see it, I can check the back."
She shrugged and looked at the shirt in her hand. "Yeah, I was just trying to figure out which size I should get."
She held the shirt up to her torso and watched Abraham's face for an opinion as he studied it and thought for a second.
"Hm. Well, you're pretty small, and those are meant to be skin-tight so they're easily concealed beneath whatever shirt or coat you're wearing. I'd recommend an extra small," he answered, then pointed to a shelf just below the one she'd gotten the shirt from. "Should be some right there, on the bottom."
Beth followed where he directed her and found the XS-labelled shirts, picking one in black, and replacing the first one she'd had. She didn't bother looking at the price tag, feeling her face heating up more and more by the second as the red-haired man seemed to be desperate for someone to hold a conversation with.
"I, uh, I think I'll just take this. Thanks," she smiled forcefully.
Abraham beamed, "Fantastic! Let's go get you checked out. Unless you wanted to look around more?"
She shrugged and followed him to the front of the store, where he went behind a counter that held a cash register. He rang up the tag and gave her the total while her eyes darted around the ceiling and the upper corners of the small store, searching for signs of cameras or recording devices that could be capturing her face right now. But she saw none. She tried to discreetly reach into her bag and grab some money, blindly gripping a bill in her fingers and pulling it out of the darkness of the bag. She held it out across the counter and held her breath as the red-haired man took the hundred-dollar bill from her. But he didn't give her any odd looks, and he only held the bill up to the light for about one whole second as he checked to make sure it was real before shoving it into the drawer and pulling out the change in twenties and ones. She remembered that this was a big city and they probably saw large bills all the time, as compared to that podunk little gas station back in Ila.
"This is a smart purchase," he commented casually as she took the change from his hands and shoved it into her pockets. "You can never be too careful these days, it's always good to be prepared. Especially young ladies like you. There's a lotta bad people out there. It's good to be able to defend yourself. Don't matter how big he is, you can bring him down with one shot if ya know what you're doing."
Beth only nodded. Yeah, a lotta bad people. Like me. Who most definitely can bring a guy down with one shot.
Before she knew it, Beth was saying goodbye to Abraham and heading on her way out of the store with a handful of twenty dollar bills shoved in her pocket and a small, plastic bag carrying her new gun-holster shirt. She headed toward the escalator that would take her to the upper floor, already planning out in her head how she would change in the restroom before leaving the mall and ditching her old clothes, which would bring her one step closer to being unidentifiable. It would also help her to feel a little more clean since that night – even two lathers in the shower couldn't quite get the feeling of grime out of her skin.
She was nearing the escalator when something caught her eye – a newspaper stand resting against the wall outside of a nearby store. She stopped and walked over to it, looking up and down at the different papers that were on display. The Washington Post, The Washington Times, The Hill, The Washington Informer… They all had different, but similar, front page stories and headlines, as well as photos. But their sidebar stories differed, and out of curiosity, Beth reached out and picked up each one, scanning the entire front page's headlines before placing it back. They seemed to all be focused on either Washington, D.C.-based stories or national headlines, mostly political or international news. Beth could feel the tightness in her chest slowly fading, until she picked up The Washington Times and let it fall open, revealing the entirety of the front page. As her eyes scanned the page and reached the bottom right corner, the tightness came back, and it began to get tighter.
Right there, in bold, black newspaper print, was a headline screaming, "Major Drug Bust Outside of Atlanta; 18-Year-Old Wanted for Murder of Officer." Right below the headline was an aerial photo from the night the police arrived at the farm, and Beth's eyes raced through the words that were next to it. There were only a couple of paragraphs for the story, and it continued on another page, which Beth had to stop and search for. When she finally found it, her heart skipped a beat in her chest.
Staring up at her from the thin page of the paper was her own senior photo – the same one they'd shown on TV – and a few more paragraphs about the drug bust and the murder of the officer. She read it all with a fat knot in her throat, thankful to see that they hadn't put any more details into this story than she'd heard at the gas station, but shaken to her core all the same.
She had never imagined her photo being in a newspaper for something like this. The last time she'd seen her own picture in the paper, it was in sixth grade in Senoia's small town publication, and it was because she'd made the honor roll for the entire school year. But now? She was a wanted criminal, a fugitive of the law.
The article didn't mention that the FBI were after her, but she knew they had to be by now. It had been plenty of time for her to get out of the state, how long would they wait before releasing the news to national outlets? What if her face was being featured on a twenty-four hour loop on CNN right now? How many people had seen the newspaper? Who even reads newspapers anymore? How safe was she, roaming around with a different hairstyle and a pair of sunglasses and hoping for the best?
A million questions riddled her brain but she tried to shake them free. She placed the paper back where it was, picking up another paper that didn't feature her story and putting it on top of The Washington Times, hoping to deter people from even knowing about the paper's existence. What she really wanted to do was throw that whole stack of Washington Times into a fire, just like she'd done with her journal.
She quickly walked away, trying to look as casual as possible, even though she knew there wasn't anyone around paying any particular attention to her. She could feel her face burning as she rode the escalator up to the top floor, keeping her head down low and staring at the floor. That display of newspapers glared up at her from its spot on the ground floor.
The clothing store was quiet and fairly empty, pop music playing softly from the speakers in the ceiling. There were a couple employees at separate ends of the store, folding shirts and hanging up jackets. Only a handful of customers wandered between the displays and racks. Beth gripped her backpack to her chest as she stepped forward and gazed around the store. She tried to keep her face fairly low, turned away from any possible shiny surfaces on the ceiling that could be cameras. She tried to assure herself that it was nearly impossible for anyone to think to look for her on the cameras of some random clothing store in Washington, D.C. But she'd also seen a lot of crime television, and they made the FBI look like some sort of superheroes who could find you by using nothing but your scent.
As she strolled through the store, eyes searching the racks and displays for clothing she liked, she rounded a corner and nearly walked into another girl, whose eyes were glued down to the phone in her hands. Beth nearly stumbled, stepping back and apologizing.
"Oh, I'm so sorry – " she started.
The other girl seemed unfazed but didn't say anything, glancing up at Beth for only a second to see who she'd nearly run into before looking right back down at her phone. Beth cringed inwardly and stepped to the side in an attempt to go around the girl, but as she did, she noticed the girl looking back up and staring at her – as if she recognized her.
Beth turned her head instinctually away from the girl and rounded another corner, disappearing behind displays and shelves packed with clothing. She hadn't looked back to see just how long the girl had been staring at her, but anything more than a second was worth avoiding.
As she glided between racks and distanced herself well and far away from the suspicious girl, Beth grabbed a few things off the shelves that she had been eying but hadn't decided on. She was making a decision now to get what she needed and get out of the store, but not before making a couple last stops in the shopping center.
The bathroom was empty, momentarily, when Beth shoved her old, stained clothes down to the bottom of the trash bin that was stuffed with mostly paper towels. Irma had made a good attempt at washing them, but they'd gotten ripped and had earth stains that just would never come out. Plus, she'd been wearing them when she outran the cops, and she knew the authorities would have at least a vague description of the outfit. She even chucked in her old shoes, which she'd replaced with a brand new pair of casual black boots.
Glancing around one more time to be sure no one was coming in, she placed her backpack – now emptied of its contents – into the trash, shoving it down towards the bottom to join her shoes and clothes. She had bought a new backpack on a last-minute whim and transferred all her money and "survival" gear over in the privacy of the handicapped stall. The new bag was roomier, but not larger, and more discreet, so that it looked like an everyday purse rather than a Get Out Bag. Beth had wrapped the stacks of cash in the other clothes she'd bought – a couple of light shirts and a spare pair of pants – and stuffed it all into the bag safely. It zipped and latched shut, giving an extra step of protection. She threw it onto her back and checked herself in the mirror.
Her stomach churned deep inside her, and Beth realized she was leaving behind yet another part of herself. She'd felt like she lost a piece of who she was, at least somewhat, when she'd been forced to burn her journal, to leave behind all her memories and her entire childhood at the farm. And now, those clothes and that bag were the last pieces she still had left from her old life. If you didn't count the stacks of money, that is.
And she didn't.
But she knew it hurt for a reason, and she knew it had to be done. She had to change, quickly, and move. Before she knew it, she'd be in a whole new state, a whole new city she'd never even visited before, and she'd have to make a new life for herself. Completely alone.
Beth stared at herself in the mirror that hung above the row of sinks in the public restroom. Her blue eyes were bloodshot despite her fourteen hours of sleep. The bags under her eyes probably made it more believable that she was twenty and not eighteen, and she wondered if she could pass for a little older if she had to. Her face was pale and her black eye was still noticeable – maybe that was why that girl had been staring? I hope… - and she thought for a moment about getting some makeup and making an attempt at her face. But she already didn't recognize herself…
Thankfully, the shirt she'd bought from Abraham had, in fact, been a good purchase. It wasn't even noticeable beneath the loose, dark green V-neck and fitted, black jacket that she'd bought. The gun rested in its holster peacefully, just under her arm and next to her breast, and it comforted her to finally have it in a safe place, but still on her person. She was also glad that the jeans she'd bought fit her perfectly, having taken a guess at what size to get without having a chance to try them on. Now she looked clean and casual, and her hair had faded just enough to look more natural. She had to admit that she liked not having to wash and maintain long hair anymore, or worry about ponytails or braids. She didn't look like a criminal on the run, at least. But she didn't look much like a Beth either. She could be just another tourist in the nation's capital; a nice, twenty-year-old girl who had left her abusive boyfriend and hitchhiked with two total strangers in an RV.
Yes, she definitely looked like a Rosie right now. Fading black eye and all.
There was a small kiosk near the entrance to the shopping center that Beth had passed when she'd come inside. Their sign featured cell phone cases, cheap smartphones and flip phones, and pay-as-you-go phone plans. Beth had a few of the hundred-dollar bills stuffed into the pocket of her jacket for easier access, prepared to make her last purchase and leave. She'd only been in the shopping center for maybe an hour, but she wanted to get back outside and put on her sunglasses, away from all the security cameras and curious eyes.
A younger Indian man was running the kiosk, casually walking around and straightening his displays as he waited for a customer. Beth had seen people come and go every few minutes, but it wasn't particularly busy, so she took her chance and walked over. The man's face brightened as he watched her approach, and he put on his pearly white salesman smile, eagerly welcoming her to his little store.
It only took a few minutes for the man to help Beth find an off-brand smartphone that could access the internet with a monthly plan that she didn't have to sign anything for. He sold her a few months' worth of time for the phone, and she tried to be discreet as she handed a fistful of hundreds over to the young man. He took them carefully and got her change, then gave her the receipts and bid her a good day as she rushed to walk away. The street was within sight, and all she wanted was to be away from these crowds of people once more.
The plastic bag swung from her hand as she walked, the phone, cards, and manuals all stuffed inside. She still couldn't believe she hadn't thought sooner to buy a "burner" phone that she could also check the news with. Even if she were on some security cameras in that random shopping center, there was no way the cops could trace her on this even more random, prepaid phone. Besides, it wasn't like she had anyone to call or text anyway.
It suddenly felt like a small stone had dropped down to the pit of her stomach. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared down at the ground blankly.
I have no one to call or text. I can't talk to anyone. No one can even know I'm alive, she thought to herself.
Tears threatened to push upwards from her throat and brim in her eyes, but she pushed them back down and forced her legs to continue moving. She straightened her back and slid her sunglasses on over her eyes, walking down the sidewalk and farther away from where the RV was parked.
Now was not the time to cry, she had to remind herself. The smell of food wafted in the breeze, and she realized she was coming up on a cluster of restaurants and fast food joints. The last of her morose thoughts drifted out of her head to be replaced by images of all the possibilities she could have for lunch.
No crying today, Rosie, Beth thought, her new black boots padding on the cement. At least your appetite doesn't ever have to change.
to be continued…